The smell of mint, sage, and faint disaster filled the classroom.

  Sunlight poured through the glass windows of the herbal lab, gleaming off rows of potted plants and glass jars labeled in neat handwriting.

  "Alright!" Ermin clapped his hands once, the sharp sound cutting through the chatter.

  Half the class blinked.

  "Master—uh—Professor?" one of the Pines asked carefully. "Why are you teaching us today? Isn't this supposed to be Mrs. Lydell's class?"

  Ermin scribbled something on the chalkboard—'Basic Herb Studies: Identification & Caution in Field Use'—and turned back, expression flat.

  "Excellent question," he said. "Apparently, this is a basic course, which I am qualified to 'fill in'. And you wouldn't be asking this question if some of you"—his gaze locked squarely on the Pine Hollow rows—"hadn't given Mrs. Lydell a week-long migraine."

  A few students from other houses nodded in sympathy.

  "In our defense," Trey said leaning back in his chair, "her voice is very soothing. Induces sleep."

  "Thank you, Lancaster," Ermin replied dryly. "That explanation just added three more days to her leave."

  A ripple of laughter spread across the other tables.

  Ermin sighed. "Good thing for all of you, I have Mr. Creek assisting today—if you have questions or are unsure which end of the plant is poisonous," he turned and glance directly at the Pines once more, "or if you simply do not trust your own housemaster's competence."

  Trey raised his hand. "Professor, that's because you go to Francis every time your stomach hurts."

  Ermin didn't even glance at him. "And that is precisely why he brewed me a pot of anti-headache tea this morning."

  Francis, standing at the counter sorting specimens with professional calm, replied, "Correction, sir—it's for both of us."

  Luna stifled a laugh; Reid smirked behind her hand.

  Even the other houses relaxed a little—Pine Hollow chaos had a way of making the whole room feel alive.

  Ermin sighed softly then started teaching. He explained all and all about the herbs you might accidentally find in the field. Then he gestured toward the trays of herbs. "Today's task—sort each sample into two categories: safe for field use and... avoid unless you enjoy agony."

  Francis passed along the trays, and stopped by each table, answering questions.

  "Great," Trey muttered to Luna. "He's here to save us."

  Without looking up, Luna said, "No, Trey. I think he's here to save everyone else from us."

  After that, the class began its activity. Students leaned over baskets, muttering guesses and consulting the diagrams.

  At the next table, Blake had claimed the seat beside Abby, despite three perfectly good ones across the aisle.

  Abby stiffened the moment he sat down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

  She still half-expected him to tease her—old reflexes. When he reached over her shoulder to point at a leaf sample, she flinched before realizing he wasn't mocking, just helping.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Relax," he said quietly, catching her hesitation. "I don't bite."

  Her cheeks went pink. "I—I know."

  Blake smiled faintly, wrapping his index finger with one of her curls like it was natural, before turning back to the herb chart. "Then stop looking like I'm about to steal your notes."

  "Can you stop messing with my hair?"

  He released the curl, letting it sprang back in place. "Why not? It's soft."

  And smelled nice.

  "I—"

  "That's a compliment. Learn how to take it." He said, picking up a nightshade leaf and putting it in the 'safe' basket.

  "That one is poisonous! Blake!"

  "And now you save my life."

  Meanwhile, in the back, a different storm brewed.

  Because Bluebell was doing something else completely.

  "Sorting herbs shouldn't involve matches and explosives."

  Before she reached for the bunsen burner, Abel caught her by the wrist, warning, stopping her from burning down the hall.

  "I just wanna know—"

  "Don't," Abel replied—too quickly.

  His voice was calm, but there was a gleam in his eye.

  "I'm not going to," she said, narrowing her gaze, then proceeded to drop some suspicious solution into the nearest flask instead. It hissed, bubbles forming—

  BAM!

  Instead of burning the entire hall down, Bluebell was, well, dying her whole face purple. Her hair stood on end.

  Because someone had been forcing her wrist, redirecting the bomb right into her face.

  "Abel!"

  He coughed politely through the haze. "See? I told you not to."

  "You— you redirected it!" she accused, cheeks flushed violet from the fumes– the color matching her eyes.

  Abel shrugged, feigning innocence. "You can't prove that."

  But the tiny smirk tugging his mouth proved everything.

  Bluebell seethed. "You sly fox!"

  At the front, Ermin couldn't stop rubbing his temple. "I see Mrs. Lydell's migraine wasn't herb-related after all."

  Francis slid him a clipboard. "You could still leave. I'd cover."

  "No," Ermin said grimly. "I'm going to see this through, if only to understand how this dorm hasn't burned down yet."

  Trey raised his hand. "Lack of flammable herbs?"

  Ermin stared at him like he was contemplating early retirement.

  "That was not a question, Lancaster."

  Trey opened his mouth anyway.

  Ermin cut him off, jabbing a finger toward a tray of spiky green leaves.

  "And if you insist on being clever, at least wipe your mouth with these."

  Trey blinked. "What are they?"

  "Spume nettle." Ermin's tone turned almost pleasant. "Causes swelling, itching, and temporary loss of dignity. A perfect fit."

  Luna choked back a laugh.

  Francis didn't even try—he covered his mouth to hide a smile.

  Trey pulled his hand back from the tray very slowly.

  "Noted."

  "Good," Ermin said, satisfied. "Now keep sorting before I start assigning essays."

  He pivoted away from the disaster zone of Pine Hollow and headed toward the corner table by the window—where Eve– The Sleepyhead– was still napping with the serenity of someone who had slept through storms, wars, and possibly death itself.

  Purple smoke still heavily drifted in the air.

  Ermin sighed again, heavier this time. He tugged the nearest window open and fanned the air hard, eyes flicking toward her—still asleep, cheek pressed to her sleeve, breathing slow and even.

  He kept fanning until the smoke thinned, until he was sure she wouldn't breathe any of it in.

  Then he knocked lightly on her table.

  Eve stirred, lifting her head a little, eyes heavy. When she saw him, she smiled faintly... and promptly set her head back down again.

  "Breathe toward the window," Ermin said, his voice softer now. "And at least finish the assignment. I'll let you nap later."

  Her reply came muffled through her sleeve. "I'm not even in this class, sir."

  He frowned. "Then why are you here?"

  "Free period," she mumbled. "Just passed by... needed a rest."

  "Ah." He exhaled, glancing at the open window, at the pale light spilling across her desk. "Better go nap at home. This place is hazardous. Wake up."

  Eve turned her head slightly, eyes half-open. "But I don't wanna wake up now..."

  Ermin's hand paused mid-motion. The edge left his voice.

  He watched her for a quiet moment, then shifted the window wider, making sure the breeze reached her.

  "Then at least breathe easy," he murmured.

  She gave the smallest nod, already slipping back into dreams as the last traces of smoke drifted away.

  Francis, meanwhile, made his slow circuit of the room—checking trays, answering hesitant questions, and quietly fixing whatever survived the chaos.

  He passed a Cedar Grove table where two students whispered over a half-melted herb sample.

  "Is it supposed to smell like that?" one asked.

  Francis didn't even look up. "No."

  They both nodded in terror.

  He continued his inspection, scanning the room—the wilted plants, the purple stains, the faint snoring by the window.

  A sigh escaped him, quiet and long.

  "I'm going to need more than just tea," he murmured.

  From the corner, Reid—who had been pretending to read—lifted her cup. "I'll brew something stronger."

  Francis gave a weary half-smile, icy blue eyes softened. "Please do."

  The bell rang. Students groaned, packing up their bags, laughter echoing faintly through the herbal haze.

  Mint, sage, and faint disaster still lingered in the air.