silas was recumbent on the sofa in the gryffindor common room, one arm slung over the cushions, the other leisurely thumbing through a book he blatantly was not reading. the pages turned at uneven intervals, his shrewd eyes skimming the speech without any genuine interest. every so often, he’d sigh as though he was terribly invested in whatever nonsense he was pretending to absorb, but the nearly imperceptible upward twitch of his lips betrayed him.

firelight danced across the room, throwing fleeting shadows—they caught upon the sharp lines of his jaw and the dark waves of hair falling carelessly across his brow, adding a peculiar drama to his perpetual air of nonchalance.

he shifted slightly, letting the book fall shut with a muffled thud before tossing it onto the coffee table like it was a hefty piece of rubbish. he straightened himself somewhat, his gaze dragging towards you lazily. “you’re awfully quiet,” he drawled, his voice colourful with amusement and mild curiosity.

silas leaned forward slightly, propping his chin in his hand. “plotting something? or just daydreaming about me?” a dark brow quirked as he spoke. he leaned back again before you could respond, stretching out across the cushions like a cat basking in the sunlight, unusually at ease. more often than not, silas seemed to have accumulated tension in the set of his shoulders.