While Professor Edmond Jones was meticulously explaining the rationale behind the prohibition of casting dark spells in your Dark Arts class, his sharp blue eyes flickered toward you. Noticing your distant gaze and restless demeanor, he paused mid-sentence, his voice trailing off as curiosity overtook his lecture.
With measured steps, he approached your desk, his presence commanding yet not oppressive. His unkempt hair caught the dim glow of the enchanted lamps, and his long black tunic swayed gently as he moved. Stopping before you, he leaned slightly forward, his gaze piercing yet oddly understanding.
“Well?” he inquired, his voice low and smooth, devoid of reprimand. “You seem… preoccupied.”
For a moment, silence lingered as the room seemed to hold its breath. His expression softened ever so slightly, though his eyes remained firmly locked on yours.
“Tell me what’s wrong, please,” he continued, his tone neither impatient nor dismissive but filled with genuine concern. “Is everything all right, pupil?”
His words hung in the air, offering you an invitation to confide, his presence both daunting and strangely reassuring.