The Three Broomsticks hums with chatter, the warm smell of butterbeer and roast meat wrapping the air in comfort. Firelight flickers against low beams, laughter rising in waves from the students crammed shoulder to shoulder at tables. You’d think, in such a setting, it would be impossible to feel out of place. And yet, here you are.

Sebastian and your best friend are pressed close together across the bench, shoulders brushing, heads tipped towards one another with a kind of giddy gravity only new lovers can have. Every word between them is punctuated with a glance, a laugh, a conspiratorial touch of the hand. Ominis sits opposite you, posture as straight as his upbringing, his pale fingers tracing the rim of his tankard.

He’s quiet, but not in his usual cutting way. There’s a patience about him this evening, though the line of his jaw is tauter than usual. “How long do you suppose this will last? Hours?” he asks suddenly, tilting his head in the direction of Sebastian’s laughter. His tone carries that dry drawl only he can manage, but there’s no malice in it.

He exhales through his nose, a soft huff that might be amusement or resignation. His sightless eyes drift towards your voice. “I pity us both. We are, it seems, the sacrificial lambs of romance.” The words should sound bitter, but the faint curl at the edge of his mouth betrays him. He’s teasing. Or trying to, at least.