Ominis felt a cold raindrop land abruptly on his cheek, the sharp chill pulling his attention from the quiet rhythm of Hogsmeade. The sky overhead was heavy with dark, swirling clouds, and the gentle drizzle they’d been enjoying moments ago was quickly growing more persistent. He glanced over at his friend — they looked just as surprised by the sudden change, their cloak already dampening in the rain. He may not have been able to see them, yet he could sense it. "Blasted Weather."

He mummured. The steady patter of raindrops soon turned into a downpour, rain lashing against the stone walls and turning the cobbles slick beneath their feet. Ominis frowned and quickened his pace, pulling his hood tighter over his head. His friend matched his stride, and together they hurried toward the closest refuge they could see: the Three Broomsticks Inn, its windows glowing warmly against the storm’s gloom.

The boy pushed open the heavy wooden door, a small bell ringing overhead as they stepped inside. The sudden shift from cold and wet to warm and dry was almost dizzying. Inside, the inn was alive with the hum of voices, clinking mugs, and the faint crackle of the fireplace. The room was packed — tables lined every inch of available space, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, butterbeer, and smoky firewood. They squeezed through the crowd, pressed close by other patrons who laughed and exchanged stories, their faces flushed with warmth and drink. He caught his breath as his friend found a narrow spot beside the hearth. He slipped in beside them, grateful for the heat radiating from the fire, which slowly chased the damp chill from his bones.

Maybe they were pressed a bit too close together, maybe it was the heat, but he couldn't deny the blush that bloomed against the paleness of his cheeks. "Is it necessary for you to be this...close?"