Breakfast was scrumptious as usual, though it was telling how most of the students had stopped extoling the food's virtues, used to the fare by now. Sebastian always noticed; at home, all he and Anne got were Uncle Solomon's sad attempts at cooking. Luckily, Anne had begun to take over near the end of summer. Still, Hogwarts' victuals couldn't be beat. He was contemplating how one might go about appreciating the house-elves who provided each meal, if they'd even let you, when he heard Anne to his left twittering with another Slytherin girl.

'What are you going to wear? Are you going to order new dress robes?'

Anne raised her eyebrows at the girl.

'Oh. Right. But there is Madame Florette's Second-Hand Fashions.'

'Maybe,' Anne said.

Sebastian tried not to let Anne's conversation bother him. They didn't possess the same wealth as most Slytherins. Uncle Solomon wasn't poor, but he lived frugally in a small cottage spending coins as little as possible. Most everything they owned was ancient or hand-me-downs from the past.

'Well, what really matters anyway,' the girl—Priscilla—went on, 'is who you go with. Any ideas?'

Sebastian noticed Anne's cheeks pinken and couldn't hide a smile at her discomfort. He nudged Ominis beside him. 'You hearing this? Girls. All about balls and dancing when it comes down to it, even Anne.'

Ominis huffed a breath through his nose as he swallowed his latest chew of sweet porridge. Most of the girls in their dormitory had gone all atwitter once the headmaster had announced Hogwarts would host a ball at Halloween. The day was still three weeks away but they'd been going on about it ever since.

'I wouldn't go to a ball,' Sebastian declared, 'even if you paid me a thousand galleons.'

'Perhaps because you can't dance,' Ominis said.

'What? I can dance.'

Ominis grinned. 'I've watched you try. You can't.'

'I can!'

'Prove it.'

Sebastian rose from his seat and began to twirl and sway in the aisle.

'Sebastian!' Anne cried out. 'What are you doing?'

Ominis, holding his wand to watch his friend, shook with laughter.

'Sit down,' Anne urged, grasping at her brother's robe.

Sebastian sat back down on the bench. 'There. I can dance.'

'Not well,' Ominis said.

'You don't have to do it well. Most girls just want to dance. They don't care how you do it.'

'Oh, is that so?' Anne said. 'Tell him, Priscilla.'

Priscilla leaned round her to fix Sebastian with a stare. 'The dancing prowess of a male at a ball reveals his refinement and aptitude for being a life partner. That's what La Belle Femme says.'

Sebastian guffawed at the mention of the girlie fashion magazine. 'Well, if La Belle Femme says it…' Ominis shook beside him.

Anne rolled her eyes. 'Ignore them. They wouldn't know the first thing about going to a ball anyway. It will be Sebastian's first.'

'It won't, because I won't be going.'

'Suit yourself,' Anne said. 'I suppose you'll never be a refined gentleman.'

'Who would want to,' Sebastian said. 'That's not my goal in life.'

Anne rolled her eyes again and went back to discussing with Priscilla.

'You notice how much Anne's changed?' Sebastian asked, spooning his own sweet porridge into his mouth and talking round it.

Ominis had laid down his wand and seemed to be concentrating on his porridge bowl.

'Have you noticed?' Sebastian pressed.

Ominis swallowed his latest bite, then raised his head with his characteristic tilt, not quite looking Sebastian in the eye. 'Girls change at this age. We change.'

Sebastian glanced over at his sister. He'd heard that before; and he didn't like it. Anne was becoming so…so…girlie. Sebastian meant to stew some more over the changes in his sister, when a fluttering of wings and chorus of hoots filled the air. The mail had arrived. Owls swooped down to the tables, dropping off folded letters and various sized packages. A large eagle owl neared his plate, dropped a thick envelope, then departed. Anne received one, too.

Sebastian picked it up and sighed. They received a letter and a gift every month from Uncle Solomon, but the contents were never inspiring—a folded parchment reciting the happenings of Feldcroft (always boring) and a bookmark or chocolate frog card or old Gobstone that didn't even spit or…

'Socks,' Anne said, grinning as she showed the green handknitted pair to Sebastian.

'Brilliant,' Sebastian deadpanned and peeled back the wax seal to open his own envelope. He pulled out a matching green pair.

'It's Mrs McCrain's work,' Anne said. 'They'll be warm when it turns cold.'

Sebastian dropped the unwanted socks on the table.

'He is trying,' Anne said, looking Sebastian in the eye.

Sebastian huffed. Uncle Solomon could try all he wanted. He wasn't their parents. He was restrictive and overly protective, nothing like their parents had been—what he remembered of them anyway.

Several Slytherins pointed towards the hall entrance. A lone owl, late with whatever it carried, was winging through. It zipped to the left from the door, swooped down, and its wing caught Ominis, brushing across his face. Ominis jumped and leaned back in his seat. 'What the—'

Anne's hand latched onto Sebastian's arm. He glanced at her. She was grinning; he grinned back.

The owl took off. It had left a small brown paper package behind. Ominis fingered the crinkling paper. Sebastian's best friend hardly ever received letters from home and never packages unless he had forgotten something that necessitated sending.

Ominis' brow was creased in confusion.

'Open it!' Anne urged.

Sebastian could barely contain his excitement as he watched his friend carefully find the seam with his fingers and gently peel back the paper. Ominis was so strange, sometimes. Most every other student would have torn into the package without a thought. Ominis laid a hand on the objects inside. Sebastian knew they would feel soft but there would also be a toughness to the material.

'They're spelled to prevent liquid adherence,' Anne gushed. 'And they prevent burns, too.'

Ominis lifted the pair of supple, gray gloves. He ran his fingers along every inch then turned a stunned blind gaze in the twins' direction. 'But it's not my birthday.'

'We don't need a reason to send you a gift,' Sebastian retorted.

'They must have cost a fortune,' Ominis went on, starting to sound like he was going to refuse to keep them. 'How would you afford them?'

'We found ways,' Sebastian said. Really months in the summer doing any odd job Anne could find around their small hamlet, and sometimes outside it, but he certainly wasn't going to tell his best friend that.

'I can't…'

'Don't you dare look a gift horse in the mouth!' Anne declared. She leaned over Sebastian to swipe the gloves out of Ominis' hands. 'They're thin as well, even though they're protective. They won't interfere with precise movements.'

Ominis sat for several seconds, silent. Sebastian stifled a laugh. Ominis Gaunt was never at a loss for words; if he didn't speak it was only because he didn't wish to. Sebastian slapped him on the back. 'If I had to hear you complain about being burned in Potions one more time...' He reached for a plate of large sausages and placed one on Ominis' plate and another on his own. 'Speaking of, we're going to be late. Eat.'

Anne handed the gloves back to Ominis, who carefully rewrapped them in the paper, then stabbed his fork into a sausage. He tilted his head at them again. 'Thank you.'

'Of course,' Sebastian said round a mouthful of sausage.