Chapter Text
Ominis
Where Diagon Alley turned into Knockturn Alley, there stood an establishment that, at first glance, looked just like any other building in the area. Its windows were darkened to shield it from the prying eyes of passersby, and the faded paint on its walls gave no indication of what truly went on inside of those walls.
But those who looked closer might catch sight of the posters outside, their enchanted images moving as they announced upcoming events and performances; an open balcony where girls sometimes smoked and laughed loudly, luring in customers with a wink; and a sign that read The Witching Hour, flaming in a deep burgundy. Under it, there were ever-changing, blatant phrases, such as:
“The most magical and risqué performances in all of Britain!”
“This May, we proudly present: ‘Fire, Frolic, and Flesh’-Fridays!”
“We won’t tell your wife—ask about our secrecy deal for adulterers!”
To Ominis, these things were naturally insignificant. He couldn’t see the flashing red lights or suggestive posters—what he sensed was the smell of tobacco and perfume, and the sound of the piano and wind instruments. The feel of velvety drapes, carpets and cushions. The mysterious atmosphere filled with laughter, sweat and sex.
He opened the door, causing the sign on it to swing (“PRIVATE EVENT 7–8 June 1895 - Back to the regular schedule on 8.6. at 12 a.m.!” ), and stepped inside. His wand preceded him, though he didn’t actually need it to navigate here. He knew this place like he knew his own home. It almost was like his second home at this point, had been for over a year and a half now: ever since he had run into Garreth Weasley just weeks after graduating from Hogwarts.
Soon after graduation, Ominis had found that real life wasn’t as kind to a blind wizard as the school had been. Ominis had gotten good grades from every N.E.W.T. he had taken, but those didn’t seem to matter to employers. His big brother, Marvolo, had tried to help in every way he could: offering Ominis the opportunity to live with him and using his connections to get him a job at the Ministry, where he himself worked. Ominis had managed to get a short gig as a filing cabinet organiser, but he hadn’t enjoyed it much. It had been boring and even though no one dared to be openly cruel, many spoke to him as if he were slow-witted, simply because he was blind. Marvolo had tried to cheer him up by saying it would get better over time, that people would come to see his intellect and talent—but Ominis wasn’t too optimistic.
One evening, Marvolo had suggested they should go for a drink at Leaky Cauldron, a relatively popular pub in Diagon Alley that was located close to their apartment. As Marvolo had ordered their drinks (two glasses of Château Latour), Ominis had recognised a familiar, warm voice greeting him at the bar. He would’ve called Garreth as an ‘acquaintance from school’ at best—they had never been exactly friends—but they still had ended up chatting all through the evening.
Garreth had told them that during the days, he worked as a shop assistant at Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, gathering experience about potions (and how to not blow them up)—and during the nights, he worked as a performer in The Witching Hour.
“What’s that?” Ominis had asked as Marvolo let out a loud scoff.
“A brothel!” Marvolo had sneered. “‘Performer’—that’s certainly one way to put it!”
“I’ll have you know that in addition to the, hmm, carnal services, we also offer comedies and burlesque. A lot of people just work as dancers.” Garreth chuckled. “But if you happen to be interested, for just 40 Galleons, you can buy me for an hour…”
After that night, Ominis had ended up in Garreth’s bed—he didn’t pay for it, mind you, except with his virginity. With Garreth, it had been easy and comfortable right from the beginning, and although they shared no deeper romantic feelings than an effervescent sexual chemistry, they had been almost inseparable since that incident. Garreth had told Ominis more about his job as a performer (“It’s a cabaret-saloon, not a brothel,” he had explained. “Well, all right, it is a brothel too—but mostly people come there to see the shows!”), and Ominis had been extremely intrigued. So intrigued, in fact, that he had found himself at The Witching Hour that same week.
Garreth had arranged a meeting for Ominis with the owner: Della Deemer, or Madame Dee-Dee, as everyone called her. She was a boisterous woman, her voice roughened by firewhisky and cigarettes, her entire presence glowing with assertive strength. As soon as Ominis had introduced himself, she had taken his face between her large hands and shouted, “An heir of Slytherin? With this pretty face? Working for me? Oh, darling, we don’t need to continue this meeting any further—you’re hired! We are going to be rich!”
Madame Dee-Dee, as it had turned out, was right. Even though the performers never used their real names, once Ominis had started working there, word of it and his heritage had spread quickly. It seemed that multiple wizards—and some witches too—had a weird fetish for Salazar Slytherin, and fucking a Gaunt was the closest they could get to experience the actual real thing.
What had been even more shocking was that Ominis actually enjoyed it. He enjoyed being adored, he enjoyed being praised, and yes, he did enjoy the sex too, although he would rather have it with someone he actually had feelings for, it still was the best job he could’ve imagined. He had learned how to dance sensually (snakelike), how to dress to get the most attention (outfits originally meant for girls), how to flirt with the customers (“I don’t need a sight to know you are one handsome man…”), how to make them feel as if they were the most special person in the world (“Oh my, so big—I don’t think I have ever felt anything like this before! I can’t wait for you to split me in half with this thing!”). And as a reward, Ominis earned gold. A lot of gold. So much of it, that one day he came home with a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild.
“By Salazar—what’s the occasion?” Marvolo had asked, his voice thick with astonishment.
“The occasion is that I am officially earning more money than you.” Ominis had grinned so widely it made his cheeks hurt, but it was worth it to hear Marvolo’s shocked gasp and the silence as he didn’t come up with anything snarky to say. Before that moment, Marvolo hadn’t been a fan of Ominis’ new job, but after a few glasses of the red wine he had reluctantly admitted that it did have some perks.
And now, after almost two years, Ominis was just as popular and just as excited about his job as he had been back then. The only thing that had changed was that he could choose more freely which services he would offer to which customers—there weren’t many who could afford to spend time with him between the sheets. He mostly gave private dances and offered a listening ear to those who simply enjoyed his company, without any sexual part in it.
“Ophidious!” Madame Dee-Dee’s vibrant voice hailed him the moment he stepped into the receiving area, where the concierge or Madame herself welcomed clients and learned about their preferences, making it easier to nudge them in the right direction within the building. The middle floor contained a large banquet hall for the biggest shows, while the lower floor was dedicated to smaller, more intimate performances and general socialising. The upper floor housed the employees’ rooms, where they also entertained those customers who could afford the honour.
“Good evening, Madame,” Ominis greeted in his courteous style.
“Ah, my little silvery serpent!” Madame gushed as she rushed to receive Ominis with unusual enthusiasm. “My dear Ophidious, I hope you remember what day today is!”
“Of course.” Ominis nodded. ‘Ophidious’ was the name he had chosen to be his stage name, an archaic term for ophidian. Madame Dee-Dee had suggested he should really go all in to the role as an heir of Slytherin—that’s why most of Ominis’ outfits also involved snakes, both accessories and real ones.
“So many important gentlemen, coming from across the seas, we must serve only our best,” Madame fussed. “That is you, my darling! And Fiendfyre, naturally.” She let out a loud laugh.
“Is he already here?” Ominis asked.
“You know it! Came in bouncing almost two hours ago! He’s the star of the show tonight after all, he wanted to make sure it will be perfect! What a good boy he is.”
“Sounds like Fiendfyre.” Ominis grinned. “I will go get ready with him, then.”
“Yes, yes, you do that.” Madame was already pushing him towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms. “I’ll be expecting you all downstairs in an hour! And could you be a dear and remind Moonstone to put on those heels I bought for her? She’ll have the guests swooning at her feet with her height!”
“I will,” Ominis complied with a smile as he climbed the stairs. He let his wand guide him to the right door: he and Garreth—Fiendfyre—shared a room where they got ready for their performances and also entertained those who wanted more private treatment. He knocked twice. You should never barge into a room in a brothel without knocking.
“Come in!” Garreth’s voice shouted. Ominis pushed the door open and his sense of smell was greeted by the strong scent of aftershave.
“Wow, Garreth, are you planning on knocking out the clients tonight with this odour?” Ominis teased and waved his hand in front of his face, trying to fan the stink away. “Make them faint and steal their wallets?”
“You think it’s too much?” Garreth asked worriedly. “Shit! I should’ve stopped after two pumps.”
Ominis chuckled and put down his satchel. “Don’t worry,” he assured as he pointed at Garreth with his wand. “One of the basics of beautification spells: how to correct the mistakes.”
He waved his wand, muttering “Fragriscede”, and the air was fresher in an instant.
“Thanks, mate!” Garreth laughed. “Why am I this nervous? I’ve done shows before!”
“It’s probably because of the ‘fine gentlemen coming all the way from Durmstrang—we need to show them how we do it in London.’ ”
“Damn, Madame Dee-Dee hasn’t shut up about it in weeks, has she?” By the sounds of it, Garreth now carefully sprayed himself with two pumps of perfume. “It better be worth it.”
“Probably not for me, at least,” Ominis sighed, laying his costume for the night on the bed. “Men on business trips never dare to purchase me in front of their colleagues, even if they want to.”
“Yeah, but they always come back for you the next day!” Garreth remarked, nudging him on the side playfully before sitting on the bed. “Hmm, I wish I knew where Durmstrang was located, I could add some jokes about that…”
“I don’t think it would be very wise to make fun of their home country.” Ominis giggled.
“If they don’t have a sense of humour, that is,” Garreth said sagely. “And they’re from somewhere up north, right…? So they probably don’t have that…”
“Maybe that’s why Madame Dee-Dee chose you to lead the show then,” Ominis stated, smiling sweetly.
“Fuck you, I’m nervous enough already!”
“Loosen up, will you? After the girls enter the stage, everyone will forget you were even there.”
“Rude!” Garreth threw a pillow at him. “It’s true, but still—rude!”
Ominis laughed, throwing the pillow right back at him before taking off his trousers to change into what he called his performing-drawers (a tiny piece of clothing that covered his genitals but highlighted his buttocks) along with a suspender belt for his stockings.
He and Garreth were two of the four male performers in The Witching Hour. The rest of them were girls, as most of their clientele were wizards looking for female company. There was less variation among the girls, since most straight men were simple-minded: they just wanted a girl. But as male performers, they each had their own specific role, a particular fantasy that they aimed to fulfill.
Garreth was muscular, funny, and wild, often leading the short comedy shows the cabaret-saloon offered, and especially popular with female customers. Ominis was the sensual one, and he had learned that feminine clothing on him drove some men mad with lust—women too, though more rarely. He was sharp-tongued and teasing, and his Slytherin heritage was his biggest selling point, even if it was never directly stated.
The other two male performers were Sunny and Dragon Tail: Sunny was the connoisseur of extreme fetishes, such as BDSM involving latex costumes depicting animals, and Dragon Tail… well, he had a huge cock.
Other men performed in the house too, as part of the Vaudeville shows held in the banquet hall, but they never stayed long and rarely offered any specials after the performance.
As for the girls, Ominis got along with most of them. Everyone at The Witching Hour worked there of their own free will (“If you force them, they get grumpy, and who wants to sleep with a grumpy?!” Madame Dee-Dee had once ranted), which made them, for the most part, good-natured. There was no real rivalry among them—except for Imperius, who was snide and fiercely competitive, always boasting about how many more men she had “caught” than the others.
Ominis especially liked Moonstone, Chimaera, Catnip, and Sparkles; they had rooms closest to Garreth’s and Ominis’, and often borrowed scarves or stockings, or rehearsed with Garreth for the upcoming show, as they were usually part of it. Unlike Ominis, who didn’t care about stepping up to the stage; that kind of attention, where all eyes were on him and he was expected to do or say something funny, was far from enjoyable for him.
“Could you help me with this?” he asked after taking off his shirt and lifting up a top made entirely of pearls.
“Sure,” Garreth answered and took the clothing from him, helping him to push his arms through the correct places. “All right, so, at first in my show, as I walk to the stage, I’ll do the regular exotic scarf dance trick. Be all stumbly and act like a fool. The scarves will get tangled and get caught on stuff, and ultimately one catches on fire!”
“Who’s helping you set it on fire this time?” Ominis inquired, arranging and untying some of the pearl strings.
“Dragon Tail. I still haven’t mastered it wandlessly.” Garreth let out a sigh.
“Wandless magic is a rare talent, don’t beat yourself about it,” Ominis consoled him as he sat down in front of the makeup mirror.
“I promise you, someday I’ll be able to do it! But for now, Dragon Tail is a great assistant. So—after the scarf trick, I’m going to be chatting up the audience. Let’s hope most of them speak English!”
“If not, I’m sure you can entertain them enough with your seductive suspender dance.” Ominis waved his wand, conjuring up a pearly shimmer on his cheekbones, eyelids, tip of his nose, and cupid’s bow.
“Naturally,” Garreth chuckled. Ominis curled his already long eyelashes around his wand, making them stand up even more. “I have a good feeling about tonight,” Garreth continued, kneeling beside him to help him put on the stockings. “My gut is telling me that something amazing is going to happen.”
Ominis hummed as an answer. He hoped Garreth’s gut was right.
Because, of course, there were days that weren’t so good. Some days, there was a slimy client who didn’t understand “no” or the limits of what they had paid for. Other days, there were men who bought a dance just to call him derogatory names. And then there had been that one dreadful day when his father had visited the saloon, paying for an hour with Ominis just to tell him what an embarrassment he was. Ominis later heard that Sunny had felt the weight of Avaric Gaunt’s anger that night in a private session.
Ominis hadn’t thought he could hate his father more than he already did, but he had clearly been wrong.
For those moments, his mind had conjured a trick: a fantasy he played over and over inside his head whenever things got uncomfortable. A trick that had, at first, shocked him. Where had that thought even come from? Why on earth was his mind filled with memories and fantasies of Sebastian Sallow?!
During those moments, he thought of Sebastian’s smell; Sebastian’s eyes on him and how his breathing got slightly uneven when his face was directed at Ominis; the feel of Sebastian’s skin, the sound of his voice in the mornings and his laugh and the softness of his hair and the sound of his moan behind the curtains on that one night in the seventh year—
Ominis had been utterly shocked when those images first emerged in his mind. Why, oh why, did he think of Sebastian? He hadn’t thought about him in years—well, that was a complete lie. Of course, he had thought of him during their last two years at Hogwarts, even though they weren’t friends anymore after what happened when they were fifteen. Even though Ominis never spent summers with him again, choosing instead to reach out to Marvolo—the only sibling who had been even remotely kind to him growing up—and stay with him. Even though Sebastian never spoke to him again, not after the Catacombs and that haphazard apology Ominis never believed. He never even tried to contact Ominis, only willing to engage in polite, distant conversations about schoolwork or to inform him that he had gotten mail… Not even at Anne’s funeral had he offered Ominis any comfort, or sought it for himself.
So it made no sense. It was stupid. Ominis was stupid to dream about Sebastian being there when he danced or stripped his clothes off or sucked some stranger’s cock. It was stupid stupid stupid—
And still, it helped. It made him feel safe. After it had happened about ten times, he stopped resisting it. He reasoned that it was some remnant of the sense of security he had felt when he first met the Sallow twins.
He simply refused to face the question of why he didn’t think of Anne at those moments.
He hadn’t heard of Sebastian since graduation. Only thing he had heard was from Garreth, who had heard from Isaac Cooper, a former Hogwarts charmer and current Quidditch prodigy, who had heard from his parents living in Feldcroft that the Sallow home had been empty for over a year now.
It didn’t matter. Sebastian Sallow didn’t matter. And if Ominis found some solace in those stupid thoughts sometimes, be it. It surely had nothing to do with Sebastian. Just good memories.
“You should put some shimmer in your hair too,” Garreth interrupted his musings. “Then you’re perfect.”
“Thank you, Garreth.” Ominis smiled, waving his wand to do as Garreth had suggested. “Is it time soon?”
“Yeah, we should get going.” Garreth handed him his long gloves. “Damn, I got nervous again. It’s twisting my stomach.”
“Please, do not entertain the crowd with the sounds from your bowels,” Ominis said as he rolled up the gloves.
Garreth let out a howling laughter. “You know, some people have kink for that too!”
Ominis wrinkled his nose as he stepped into his heels. “I do, in fact, know that. Don’t remind me.”
With a fit of laughter they exited the room. Ominis had his wand drawn as usual, and he spotted Moonstone’s tall figure in the hallway.
“Wow, Moonstone!” he said appreciatively. She must’ve been at least over a head taller than him now—she was already a woman of impressive size, but now even more so. “I guess you got those new heels Madame got you!”
“I certainly did!” Moonstone’s soft voice exclaimed. “And you, Ophidious, dear Merlin… how do you look like a sin and an angel at the same time?”
“Right?!” Catnip’s voice sighed. “Please leave some men for us too, will you?”
Ominis chuckled to the absurdity of the comment. “I’ll try!”
Chatting excitedly, they hurried down to the lowest floor. As they came within earshot, Madame Dee-Dee’s voice boomed, “All right, girls! And boys! Now that everyone’s here, I’ll go over the plan for the night. Scarlet and Doxy, your attention too, please!”
The last of the chatter died down, and they all formed a neat row, facing Madame Dee-Dee’s compelling voice.
“I trust that by now, everyone here knows how important guests we are having tonight. We will be hosting several professors from Durmstrang, including Headmaster Halvorsen, as well as faculty from Arctic Hills’ Magical School and officials from the Swedish and Norwegian Ministries of Magic. About forty people in total. It is essential that each guest who seeks company finds exactly the companion they desire! I need you all at your best.” She clapped her hands. “We have a long night ahead of us! Everyone, you know your positions. Stage dancers, you follow Fiendfyre’s instructions, he’s hosting tonight’s show. Imperius, darling, where is your whip—”
People began to swarm around the saloon like bees in a hive, each hurrying to their place. Ominis turned to Garreth.
“You are going to ace it,” he reassured him, cupping Garreth’s face between his hands. “You are the funniest man I know. It will be amazing.”
Garreth let out a slightly shaky breath. “Thanks. And you—you look absolutely mesmerising tonight. Under these lights, it’s almost like you’re glimmering.”
“Save that flattery for the guests.” Ominis grinned and tapped the top hat on Garreth’s head.
“Hah, all right then—I need to exchange a few words with the pianist! See you after the show!”
“See you. Knock them dead!” Ominis called after him. Once alone, he exhaled slowly. It was time to add the final touch to his outfit. He pointed his wand at his arms and muttered, “Serpensortia.”
The scales tickled his skin every time as the snakes slithered their way around his arms, shoulders and chest. Ivory Ball Pythons—easily tamed, docile. They seemed to enjoy their lazy existence on Ominis’ body, as long as he just remembered to feed them mice every now and then.
“Ah, Ophidious, you and your serpents look absolutely lovel—” Madame Dee-Dee's praise was interrupted by the ringing sound of a bell echoing in the space. “Oh, that must be them!”
Judging by the clatter of her shoes, she rushed up to the stairs to meet the guests. Ominis took his position in the welcoming committee. He was handed a tray (magical, so it couldn’t trip over) full of flutes of champagne just when there was a loud burst of laughter, sounding like a large group of men. His lips automatically curled into a practised smile as he heard the ruckus approaching from upstairs.
“Welcome!” the performers said in a chorus. Some of the guests whistled in appreciation. Ominis tightened his grip on the tray as he felt the first flute being taken, and soon after, it rapidly became lighter.
The smile on his lips didn’t waver, despite the odd feeling he got from the strange language the guests spoke, and the fact that he didn’t understand a word. He felt a lot of gazes on himself, but no one seemed to be addressing him directly. There was one warm and sharp gasp that someone breathed straight to his face—probably another guest who was spooked by his eyes.
Madame Dee-Dee made small talk with the guests, encouraging them to take a seat at the little tables scattered around the saloon, all facing the small stage. Ominis’ tray emptied, and he returned it to the bar, taking his wand from the strap on his thigh—everyone wore one, since naturally, no one wanted to leave their wands upstairs during work hours, though only a few had clothes with pockets.
Ominis stood near the walls with the other performers, waiting for the chitchat to slowly quiet down as the lights dimmed. A veil of anticipation filled the space, but it didn’t last long. Soon, the drapes over the stage were pulled back, and the crowd broke into polite applause. Ominis’ wand told him that Garreth was there, right in the centre of the stage, bowing exaggeratedly.
The show began, and Ominis was relieved to hear the audience chuckle and gasp as it went on. They were warming to him quickly. Ominis imagined how Garreth faked stumbling with his scarves, making him seem like a complete clown.
A loud gasp informed Ominis that the fire had made its entrance. He grinned. He knew that at this point Garreth would dance around in mock panic, as though the fire wasn’t part of the performance at all. One by one, the scarves would catch on fire, filling the stage, swallowing Garreth—
An explosion ripped through the air, causing some guests to scream in alarm, only for them to erupt into thunderous applause. The fire vanished in another explosion, leaving Garreth standing there, his triumphant beaming almost tangible.
“Velkommen! Dobro požalovat! Or—whatever language you speak, welcome!” Garreth’s resounding voice boomed. “This is the Witching Hour, and I will be your host tonight! But please be careful, I burn hot.” Ominis knew Garreth well enough to know this was the part where he winked vehemently, especially judging by the loud giggles some female guests let out. It was clear Garreth would be hustling tonight.
Garreth moved into a stand-up, laughing at his own misfortune and cracking jokes about Durmstrang’s hidden location and the Northern people. Ominis couldn’t help but chuckle with the others. Even though he had witnessed Garreth perform multiple times, it was just as entertaining every time.
“And now, for the real magic, ladies and gentlemen…” There was a hint of playful mystery in Garreth's voice. “Someone might think you came only for my dazzling charms, but we all know it’s the girls that you are here for! If anyone passes out from their beauty, I’ll be happy to resuscitate you...!”
A roar of laughter echoed through the space, but it was quickly drowned out by the sounds of the band as they played a short, pompous fanfare. There was a clear shift in the mood as the girls walked to the spotlight—the air seemed to get thicker, and the music quickly became more seductive to match the ambiance. From this point on, the sensual part began. The girls danced in smooth movements, twirling and spinning around Garreth, who just enjoyed himself and let the girls steal the show.
The performance ended with a dramatic note of the piano, and the audience seemed breathless already. There was a second where the crowd processed what they had just witnessed before they filled the room with applause, cheers, and whistling.
After that, the other performers, who had been stationed next to the walls, made their way to the guests. There was always someone who had been giving them glances or whom they themselves had their eye on, making it easy for them to pick the first client to entertain.
Ominis always waited for someone to come to him, to call for him. It took surprisingly short time for it to happen tonight.
“Oi! Willie boy!”
Ominis knew that was directed at him, but he didn’t react in any way. He did not obey disrespectful behavior. He smoothly continued his walking, but after two steps he was called again:
“Do you hear me? You—blonde with the snakes!”
He turned towards the voice, smiling charmingly. “Yes, darling? Can I get you anything?”
“You’re the Gaunt, right?” some other man said with a thick accent.
Ominis’ smile didn’t waver. “Allegedly.”
“Yes, right,” the man huffed. “I made business with a Gaunt once. Sold me a carriage that ran away the next day, filled with my stuff! What a bastard…”
“Oh, poor you,” Ominis cooed and stepped closer to the speaker, stroking his shoulder softly. He felt big, muscular. “Could I perhaps give you a slightly better experience?”
There were few men in this group, and they all burst out laughing at Ominis’ offer. He didn’t feel embarrassed—especially since the man he was stroking wasn’t laughing.
“Umh—I’m not—that’s not what I’m asking—”
“Well, if you change your mind,” Ominis said, backing away, “come find me, dear. I promise that after an hour with me, I will be the only “Gaunt” you will remember for the rest of your life.”
With a wink he turned around and walked away, sensing their eyes on his swaying hips. He made his way toward the bar, his ears catching Chimaera’s loud laugh. The dancers must have returned from backstage. His wand sensed them gathered near the serving counter, so he approached.
“Hi!” he greeted. He didn’t feel any guests around, so he could continue freely, “You were amazing, all of you! The audience was practically sweating when you entered the stage.”
“Don’t be silly,” Catnip giggled. “But thank yo—”
“Who cares,” Doxy interrupted. “There’s something more important. Ophidius, ten o’clock, there is a hottie who can’t take his eyes from you. He must’ve been staring at you from the moment he walked in. He looks like he could eat you alive.”
“And in a… in a good way?” Ominis made sure. Suddenly he became very aware of being watched, which wasn’t an unusual feeling considering where he worked, but now he almost physically felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck. As if someone was trying to peer into his innermost being.
“Definitely in a good way!” Catnip confirmed.
“Oh damn, I see him,” Chimaera said enthusiastically. “And he is really cute! Brown hair, freckles, dark eyes… a little chubby in the middle but not too much. Dress robes. Very handsome.”
“He’s having a conversation with someone,” Sparkles continued the commentary. “One of the guests, I mean. But he keeps glancing this way. Oops, I think he realised we are all staring—guys, be more discreet!”
“Bonbon just approached him—and she’s dismissed immediately! He didn’t even look up to her, just waved his hand goodbye!”
“Ooh, but his colleague is intrigued… Yeah, he’s completely under Bonbon’s charm, hah! Here’s your window, Ophidious!”
Ominis, who had listened to the narration with amusement, now grinned. “Which table?” he simply asked.
“Seven,” the four girls declared in chorus.
“Wish me luck!” Ominis turned, slipping smoothly between the tables, past clients whose voices grew louder by the minute. The drinks and entertainers were clearly doing their job of lifting the festive mood. As he neared his destination, he slid his wand back into the strap on his thigh to avoid giving the impression he was attacking his target.
At table seven, he was greeted with a sharp gasp. He took it as a compliment, because it usually was, and put his most seductive smile on his face. He leaned his hands on the table, bending one leg to tilt his hips outward. “Hello,” he purred.
The man stayed quiet, but his breathing got louder and uneven. Ominis decided to try a more straightforward tactic.
“I heard you have been watching me,” he said, sitting next to the man. The magic trickling around him was somehow familiar. Ominis tried to pick his brain for the memory, to understand where this feeling was coming from, but he found no logical explanation. “You know, you could have just asked for me. I am here for you.”
Still, silence. Ominis wanted to frown but held it back. He usually got some kind of reaction.
“Mmh? Are you shy?” He placed his hand on the man’s knee, close enough to tempt but not enough to startle. That feeling of familiarity hit him again—just as the man flinched.
“I—Ominis—”
That voice—firewhisky, caramel, cocoa. That scent—books and burning wood. And that magic, that energy… Sunlight. Safety. Sweetness. Everything.
Suddenly, all of the fantasies Ominis had dreamed of for over two years rushed through his mind, like in a race. It took him a second to get that name past his lips, even though his brain struggled to believe this was real.
“What—Sebastian?!” He jumped up from the seat like the body next to him burned him. Maybe it did.
“I can’t believe—you—oh fuck, Ominis—”
“It’s Ophidious here!” Ominis spat with so much venom in his voice that the snakes on his arms hissed with him, seemingly threatened. “Calm down,” he sibilated to them just as much as to himself.
Because he was angry. And shocked. After all these years—after all the work Ominis had done to get over him (well, at least, he had tried to get over him)—Sebastian Sallow had suddenly appeared into the world again, thrust into Ominis’ life as if he had been dropped from the sky. How in Merlin’s name Ominis was supposed to be professional now?
“It’s been so long.” Sebastian’s voice was hoarse, full of emotion. Was he about to cry? Why did Ominis notice? “And you… you are here.”
“So it seems,” Ominis snorted at the stupid comment. “Why are you here?”
“I’m on a business trip,” Sebastian replied, still breathless. “I work at Durmstrang, in charge of the literature used in school... So basically, I’m a librarian.”
“Isn’t that nice.” Ominis couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone. So Sebastian had fled the country to a school that accepted and even taught the dark arts. Figures.
“And you… you work… Could you sit down? So we could talk?”
“I’m working! I can’t just sit around!”
“Hey, Ophidious? You look—is everything all right here?” It was Imperius, her usually sharp voice having an unusual soft tone.
“Yes,” Sebastian said quickly. “I was just going to buy a dance. From him.”
“You were?” Ominis’ eyebrows rose to his hairline.
“Hah! If you can afford it!” The snark in Imperius’ voice was back as he slapped Ominis’ arse before leaving them on their devices. Ominis was so used to it he didn’t even wince.
“Well she surely has an attitude,” Sebastian chuckled.
“She does. And men love it,” Ominis remarked.
“So—how much?”
“4 Galleons for one song,” Ominis started listing automatically. “10 Galleons for ten minutes—”
“And how about for a private dance? An hour?”
“That’s—that’s 15 Galleons.” A lie. Why did he lie? It was 50 Galleons!
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sebastian immediately pointed out. Damn him and his sharp mind. “If ten minutes here is 10 Galleons, how an hour in private can be—”
“Do we have a deal or not?” Ominis asked rather impatiently.
“Y-yes! Of course!”
Ominis extended his hand. There was a short rustling before a few coins were placed on his palm. He reached out to his wand to count the money: exactly 15 Galleons. He waved the wand, making the gold disappear from his hand into a box on his dressing table upstairs.
“Great then.” Ominis smiled a forced, trained smile. Just another paying customer, he tried to convince himself, but didn’t believe a word. He reached his hand towards Sebastian’s, saying his usual line, “For the next hour, I’m all yours.”