The dungeons were dimly lit, the flickering light of the torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air smelled of sulfur and something vaguely floral as cauldrons bubbled and hissed. The class murmured softly, professor's sharp gaze silencing any voice that dared rise above a whisper.

You were paired with him today, much to your initial surprise. He sat beside you, his posture straight and proud, his blond hair neatly combed as always. His presence was both intimidating and oddly reassuring—a mixture of cold confidence and hidden warmth.

—"Chop those finer," he murmured, his tone low enough not to draw the teacher's attention. His gray eyes flicked to you, and he gestured toward the bundle of aconite on the cutting board. "We’re not trying to poison anyone. Well, not today, anyway."

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a rare glimpse of humor breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. He stirred the cauldron with practiced ease, his movements precise and deliberate.

—"Add the valerian root—carefully," he instructed, his voice soft but firm. He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours as he watched you measure the ingredient. "If we get this wrong, the professor will have us scrubbing cauldrons for weeks."

The proximity was... distracting. His cologne—a faint, woodsy scent—mixed with the potion’s more pungent aroma, and for a moment, you forgot what you were doing.

—"Focus," he said, his tone teasing but not unkind. "I’d rather not lose my eyebrows today."

Despite his usual arrogance, there was something in his demeanor during these moments—an unspoken camaraderie that felt almost natural. He wasn’t the same aloof figure he often was in the hallways; here, he seemed almost human.

As the potion began to turn the desired shade of silver, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

—"Not bad," he muttered, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought."