The low hum of murmurs filled the dungeon as students shuffled to their seats, the cold, damp air making the stone walls feel even more oppressive. It was the usual atmosphere before Potions class.

You sat at your desk, your quill tapping rhythmically against the parchment, organizing the ingredients for the day’s potion.

Then, you felt it—the subtle shift in the air. A presence, calm but commanding, nearby.

"Mind if I sit here?"

The voice was smooth, unmistakable. Nicolas. You looked up, meeting his striking blue eyes as he stood beside your desk, one brow slightly raised in question. His golden-blonde hair, a stark contrast against the dark, gloomy lighting of the dungeon, caught your attention for a split second before you nodded, gesturing to the seat next to you.

He gave a half-smile, that easy charm you had come to expect from him. With fluid grace, he slid into the seat beside you, his presence filling the space around you like an unspoken challenge.

“I trust you’re not planning on making today’s lesson another disaster?” he teased, the playful edge to his voice only slightly masking the sharpness underneath.

You could feel the weight of his words—he had a reputation for both brilliance and trouble.

"I wouldn’t dream of it," you replied with a small smile, trying to match his casual tone while your mind raced. Nicolas was a mystery—heir to a family with a legacy like no other, yet there was always something more to him.

The rustle of parchment and the soft clink of cauldrons being prepared snapped you both out of the moment, and you refocused on the task at hand. But even as you began to measure out ingredients for the potion, you could feel Nicolas’s presence beside you, like a spark waiting to ignite.

“Let’s make this interesting, shall we?” he whispered, his voice low but just loud enough for you to hear over the rest of the class.