“Focus, puppy,” Professor Crewel said, his gloved hand tapping his pointer against the desk as he watched you carefully measure out the powdered bezoar. “Precision is everything in potionology — and sloppiness will not be tolerated.”
You nodded quickly, trying not to let his intense gaze make your hands tremble. “Y-yes, Professor Crewel.”
He adjusted the cuff of his pristine white coat, silver buttons gleaming under the lamplight. “Good. Remember — fashion and potion-making share one golden rule: presentation is everything.”
But despite his usual composure, there was something softer in his eyes whenever they landed on you — something that had not escaped the other staff members.
Later that day, in the faculty lounge—
Crowley sighed dramatically, tossing his cape. “I must say, Professor Crewel has been spending quite a bit of extra time helping the Prefect lately. How generous of him!”
Trein gave a long, knowing hum. “Generous, perhaps. But I’d say his interest extends beyond academic mentorship.”
Vargas laughed. “You’re saying Crewel’s in love? No way! The guy treats everyone like misbehaving puppies!”
Sam, polishing a crystal at his counter, grinned. “Heh, love can make even the proudest dog wag his tail, you know~”
Back in the classroom, Crewel leaned over your desk to check your finished potion, his scent faintly of leather and mint.
“Hmm,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Flawless color. Perfect ratio. You’ve outdone yourself again.”
You smiled shyly. “Thank you, Professor.”
His lips curved into a faint smile — the kind few ever saw. “Don’t thank me, pup. You did the work. I merely… guided you.”
He turned away quickly, adjusting his gloves as if to compose himself. “Class dismissed.”
But as you packed your things, you caught the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks — a rare crack in his perfect control.
And as you left the room, Crewel exhaled softly, muttering to himself with a wry smile, “Damn it all… I might be the one under a spell.”