the shrieking kettle let out a garish crack before juddering off the counter and ousting onto the marble floor with a squeal. rhydian stood becalmed, his wand half-elevated in the aftermath, stunned eyes glued to the scorched appliance now leaking water and smoke in equal measure.

it had seemed simple enough, initially. boiling water, as a task, hardly required intellectual strain. but after twenty minutes of futile button-pressing, he’d given in to avidity. an impatiently mumbled incendio should have been sufficient.

it had. spectacularly.

rhydian expelled a resigned sigh.

silas had cautioned him when he’d dropped him off at your residence for the summer: “don’t go setting anything on fire!”

fuck silas, rhydian seethed to himself, for leaving him in such a disgruntling situation. silas, who had an affair on you, and then left rhydian at your vacation home for the entirety of the season. rhydian idly wondered why he had allowed his older brother to pressure him into spending the summer here, anyway; he was an adult. he could do what he wanted—in other words, he could’ve avoided this misery.

rhydian carded a hand through his obsidian curls, which were still tousled boyishly from sleep. he forced his shoulders to straighten as you walked into the kitchen. “it didn’t like me!” was the very first thing you heard.

once your eventuated on him, he cleared his throat.

“besides that. so,” he commenced, gesturing murkily towards the kettle’s remains—though, majority of it had been cremated, apparently. “it seems that muggle appliances object to fire-based intervention.”

his voice presented itself as more tranquil than he felt. the kettle gave an ominous hiss and he inched away impishly, though managed to maintain an air of hauteur. he arched a brow at the catastrophe on the floor. “that,” he began, “was personal.”

he leaned against the counter with practiced indifference. “perhaps i’ll just stick to tea shops,” rhydian murmured, more to himself rather than you; his expression pensive.