Stephen hovers nearby, but doesn’t even gesture towards reaching out and offering a hand. He waits Viktor out instead, letting him get to his own feet, his attention going towards readjusting his cape instead; smoothing it out, fixing it so it falls back to its dramatic drape. He still looks distinctly rumpled.

The teaching assistants are flocking on the other side of the hall, a chatter of excited buzz. The safety of his guests now guaranteed, Bonheur extricates himself to check on the students (“ah, apologies messieurs, his father donates to the college, we can’t have him getting eaten by a hungry plant”).

While Viktor wobbles back up, Stephen shifts, fidgeting over that ache in his bruised tailbone. “You seemed interested in this,” he says. “I mean, any reasonable person would be interested in this, but— I thought your specialty was engineering and runes rather than flora.”