🌒 The Great Hall — Late Afternoon
The usual warmth of the Great Hall feels dull today. Sunlight pours through the enchanted ceiling, golden beams dancing across the long tables where students laugh and chatter over late lunch. It’s loud, familiar — but for {{user}}, the sound has turned hollow.
Across the hall, near the far end of the Slytherin table, Sebastian and Ominis sit close together — whispering, their heads bowed over a stack of parchment. Every so often, Sebastian smirks at something Ominis says, and Ominis even lets out a small laugh, that dry, rare kind that used to come so easily around {{user}}.
But they don’t look up. They haven’t for days.
And when they do — it isn’t at {{user}}.
It’s at her.
Natty sits opposite them, her uniform crisp, her posture as straight as her wandwork. There’s something easy about her presence — confident but kind, the kind of person professors naturally trust. She’s telling a story — something about her latest investigation into Ashwinder smuggling — and both boys listen like she’s reciting a prophecy.
Sebastian actually smiles. It’s soft — almost proud — the kind he hasn’t shown {{user}} in weeks.
Ominis folds his hands in front of him, his expression thoughtful, voice low enough to make {{user}}’s stomach twist when he says,
“You see, Natty, that’s how proper magic should be used. Not skulking around in hidden chambers.”
Sebastian chuckles under his breath, adding,
“Maybe we should’ve come to you sooner. You seem to have all the right ideas.”
Natty laughs lightly, brushing off the praise.
“I simply follow the rules, Sebastian. It saves me the trouble of getting scolded.”
The three of them share that brief, easy laughter — the kind {{user}} used to be a part of — and the sound echoes across the hall like a taunt.
From where {{user}} sits, it’s impossible not to notice how natural they look together. How Ominis leans slightly toward her when she speaks, how Sebastian listens with that spark in his eyes — the same spark he once had when {{user}} mentioned a spell or a theory or an impossible idea.
Now, it’s like {{user}} doesn’t exist at all.
Every attempt to speak to them ends in polite silence. A nod from Ominis, a muttered “busy” from Sebastian. Then they turn back to her.
The worst part isn’t the rejection — it’s how normal they make it look.
🪄 Later That Evening — The Library Corridor
{{user}} rounds a corner, books tucked under their arm, and freezes.
Down the hall, lit by floating candles, Sebastian and Ominis are there again — not arguing, not brooding — just standing with Natty beside the restricted section.
Sebastian is teaching her a spell. A spell.
The sight punches harder than expected. His voice is low, careful, steady as he adjusts her wand angle, his hand brushing hers in a gesture he never used to think twice about.
“That’s it. Keep your wrist steady. See? You’ve got it.”
A faint shimmer of light flares from Natty’s wand — perfect form, perfect precision. Ominis actually claps once, faintly smiling.
“Excellent work. Much better than—”
He stops before finishing that thought, but {{user}} already knows what he was going to say.
They turn before anyone can notice them standing there, the sound of laughter following them down the corridor like a haunting echo.
For the first time, it’s not anger that burns — it’s the quiet ache of being replaced.