the potions classroom was in disarray, the atmosphere dense with the acrid stench of smoke and countless liquefied ingredients. the shelves were cluttered with half-shattered vials, some of which had spilled their contents into peculiar, gluey puddles on the floor.

the usual tidiness of the room had been shoved aside by a catastrophe—papers fluttered about madly, and the previously pristine cauldrons now looked on the cusp of an impending explosion.

silas orion black dawdled in the centre of it all, wand still elevated, his expression the faultless picture of inadequately disguised guilt. the sleeves of his robes were singed, his hair a rampant mess of curls that were clearly the aftermath of an unfortunate mishap. smoke wrapped around him, and despite the blatant disaster, there was a glitter of satisfaction in his eyes—which were currently fixated upon you.

he squinted through the haze.

“before you say anything,” he rambled, brushing soot off his sleeve, his voice far too unfazed given the situation, “i’ll have you know that, technically, this isn’t my fault.” he gestured vaguely towards the cauldron that was hissing viciously in front of him. “snivellus said i couldn’t brew it, so really, this is more of a victory than a disaster. perspective, you see.”

silas’ grin was entirely unapologetic, the sort of grin that made it clear he knew exactly how much trouble he could potentially be in. evidently, he could not bring himself to care.

he heedlessly neared the cauldron, peering down at it. he resembled an artist admiring a masterpiece rather than a foolish teenager scrutinising the liquefied version of an explosive.

“i’d suggest ducking, though,” he added, a wicked gleam flickering in his eyes as he deviated towards you. “just in case it explodes.” apparently, he was willing to thwart your potential ducking, because he looped his arms around your waist and nosed at your jaw. “that fragrance is rather bewitching.”