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D iana arrived at the temporary medical station at precisely seven o'clock, determined to get a head start before Alarick appeared. She needed time to assess the space without his distracting presence—and by distracting, she meant irritating. Obviously.

The makeshift infirmary was smaller than her regular space, but workable. Alarick had already installed cabinets and a treatment counter. The walls were painted in the same soothing pale blue as her regular infirmary, which she grudgingly admitted showed attention to detail. For someone who once accidentally turned himself purple with an experimental ward, he occasionally demonstrated surprising thoughtfulness.

She began unpacking healing supplies, arranging everything according to her system that made perfect sense to her and absolutely no one else.

"You're here early."

Diana nearly dropped a vial of hiccuping solution, which would have been a disaster of epic proportions. The last time someone broke one, the entire east wing couldn't stop hiccuping for three days. Professor Shadowfyre's lecture on "The Subtle Art of Silencing Spells" had been particularly ironic.

Alarick stood in the doorway, carrying a toolbox and wearing a faded t-shirt that hugged his shoulders in a way that would have been distracting if she were the type to notice such things. Which she wasn't. At all. Not even slightly.

"So are you," she replied, not looking up—a heroic feat of willpower.

"Thought I'd get the major warding in place before students start arriving." He rolled up his sleeves—the man apparently had a pathological aversion to proper sleeve length. "Need help with those supplies?"

"I'm perfectly capable of arranging my own healing station." Diana placed a jar of burn salve with unnecessary force.

"Never suggested otherwise." He began tracing ward patterns along the walls, his magic leaving faint blue outlines that pulsed like heartbeats. "Just offering an extra pair of hands."

"Your hands have their own job to do."

His chuckle made her spine tingle in a way she resolutely ignored. "Fair enough. By the way, I added stabilizing fields for your sensitive healing arrangements." He gestured to barely visible runes etched into the counter edges.

Diana paused, genuinely surprised. Those fields were complex magic, typically used in high-end hospitals. "That's... actually useful."

"Try not to sound so shocked," he said with that half-smile that did absolutely nothing to her pulse rate. "I do occasionally have good ideas. Even at my tender young age."

"Yes, well, the elderly often underestimate youth," she shot back, immediately regretting the admission that she'd noticed their age gap.

Before Alarick could respond, Professor Frostwind burst in, her rose-gold hair practically sparkling with excitement and zero subtlety. Ceries was one of the co-heads of the Herbalism department.

"Just checking on the setup." Ceries glanced between them with all the subtlety of a unicorn in a china shop. "How's the collaboration going?"

"Professionally adequate," Diana said primly, just as Alarick answered, "Delightful."

Ceries's smile widened like a cat who'd found an unattended bowl of cream. "Wonderful. Oh, Diana, we need to discuss the new batch of healing herbs I’m cultivating for your potions. Why don't we review them over dinner tonight? We could go to the Grumble and Brew." She turned to leave, then stopped with theatrical timing. "Oh, and Alarick, you should join us. Your input would be valuable."

"The Grumble and Brew?" Diana raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit rowdy for a professional discussion?" It was a gastro pub headed up by a troll, after all.

"They have the most amazing Volcanic Rock Steak special tonight," Ceries said with suspicious enthusiasm. "The troll chef literally serves it still sizzling on enchanted lava stones. And their Bubbling Cauldron Cocktails are to die for! Two people can share one with these adorable paired straws..." She trailed off at Diana's look. "For, um, efficiency of consumption. Purely professional."

Diana froze mid-arrangement of potions. "That's hardly necessary—"

"Actually, that would be helpful," Alarick cut in, the traitor. "I'd like to coordinate the infirmary wards with whatever protection the students are practicing."

"Excellent! It's settled then." Ceries beamed like someone who'd just successfully arranged a first date for her socially awkward friend. "Seven o'clock at The Grumble and Brew. Just a professional discussion over food. Nothing matchmaking-like whatsoever."

She didn't actually say that last part, but her expression screamed it.

After she left, Diana rounded on Alarick. "You didn't have to agree to that."

"Afraid of being social with me?"

"I'm afraid of nothing." Diana straightened to her full height, which still left her looking up at him like a disgruntled cat facing a particularly amused tree. "Least of all an informal dinner with colleagues."

"Good. Because I make excellent dinner conversation. I've been told my anecdotes about magical plumbing disasters are riveting."

Diana's lips twitched. "I'm sure they're as fascinating as my tales of treating magical acne gone wrong."

"See? We'll have a delightful time." His smile softened to something genuine. "Has anyone ever told you that you're intimidating?"

"Am I?" The question caught her off guard.

"Absolutely. The brilliant, beautiful, head nurse who can heal a shattered bone with a flick of her wand? It's rather impressive."

Diana blinked, uncertain how to respond to both the compliment and the revelation that he'd noticed her years ago. She was saved by the arrival of Pecorina Havarti, clutching her wrist with all the dramatic flair of a theater student auditioning for the role of "Tragically Wounded Heroine."

"Nurse Maelstrom, I think I sprained my wrist during practice." Pecorina's pained expression transformed instantly when she spotted Alarick. "Oh, you're here too." She batted her eyelashes furiously.

Diana suppressed a sigh. "Let me see, Miss Havarti."

The girl extended her perfectly healthy wrist, though her eyes remained fixed on Alarick as if he might disappear if she blinked.

"No swelling, no discoloration," Diana noted dryly. "Can you rotate your wrist?"

Pecorina demonstrated perfect mobility while asking loudly, "Will Mr. Blackthorn be working here every day?"

"Your wrist is fine," Diana pronounced. "Return to class."

"But what if it starts hurting again?" Pecorina protested, with the commitment of someone who deserved an award for persistence.

"I'll risk it," Diana said firmly. "Off you go."

After Pecorina left, Alarick turned to Diana with undisguised amusement. "Do you want to hear about the stabilizing fields I set up.”

"More than my next breath," she said sarcastically.

To her relief for nearly an hour, they worked alongside each other in something approaching harmony. His knowledge was impressive, his approach innovative. She even caught herself suggesting modifications and—most alarming of all—enjoying herself.

Their peaceful productivity was shattered by the arrival of Principal Starcatcher, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who was supposedly just checking on a renovation.

"Diana, Alarick. How's the temporary station coming along?" Malachai glanced between them with barely concealed interest.

"Adequately," Diana answered. "We should be operational by afternoon."

"Excellent. By the way, Alarick, we've assigned you quarters in the east wing, faculty section."

Diana's head snapped up. "The faculty section?"

"It made the most sense," Malachai explained with fake innocence that wouldn't fool a freshmen. "The room happens to be just across from Diana's quarters. Convenient if any medical emergencies arise during the night."

Diana narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm sure he will be far too busy to spend much time in his quarters."

"Actually, I'm a big believer in proper rest," Alarick countered. "Early to bed, early to rise, and all that."

Diana shot him a look. Was he in on the matchmaking plot too?

"Perfect," Malachai said. "Diana's typically up with the sun as well. Perhaps you two could develop a morning routine. Coffee, breakfast, professional discussion..."

"Principal Starcatcher," Diana interrupted, "don't you have administrator duties to attend to? Anything?"

After he left, Diana rounded on Alarick. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

"About what? The room assignment?" He looked genuinely surprised. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"Right." Diana turned back to her supplies, annoyed with herself for feeling annoyed.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I can decline," Alarick offered, his voice more serious. "Stay in the contractor quarters instead."

The sincerity in his tone made her look up. "No, that's... It's fine. The faculty wing makes more sense logistically." She returned to arranging potions, determinedly professional. "Just don't expect me to be neighborly. I keep odd hours."

"Noted," he said, resuming his warding work. "Though I should warn you, I sometimes practice advanced techniques in the evening. Nothing dangerous, but there might be occasional flashes of light."

"I'm sure I can manage." Diana focused on her task, trying not to imagine what Alarick might look like practicing advanced magic in the evening, shirt off maybe, face concentrated in that way that was absolutely not attractive.

At noon, Alarick set down his tools. "I'm heading to the dining hall for lunch. Care to join me?"

"I need to finish this,” Diana said, though her stomach chose that moment to growl with the volume of a small dragon.

"You need to eat," he said, his tone concerned.

"I brought something," she lied.

"No, you didn't.”

Diana sighed. "Fine. Lunch. But only because I need to ask you more about these healing wards."

"Of course. Purely professional." But his smile suggested he saw right through her excuse.

The dining hall was crowded when they arrived. Diana felt uncomfortably conspicuous walking in with Alarick, especially when Ceries and Malachai wore identical expressions of delight usually reserved for successful matchmakers.

"Our matchmaking friends aren't being remotely subtle," Diana murmured as they found a table.

"Does that bother you?" Alarick asked.

Diana considered while arranging her napkin with unnecessary precision. "It's complicated by our age difference."

To her surprise, he nodded. "Ten years. Though I'm not sure why that matters."

"It doesn't," she said quickly. "But they probably think you need a maternal figure to supervise your work."

Alarick nearly choked on his water. "Maternal is not the word that comes to mind when I think of you, Diana."

The way he said her name, combined with the unmistakable appreciation in his gaze, sent heat rushing to her face. "My point is that their efforts are misguided."

Agreed." He took a bite of his lunch. "So, what's the most bizarre magical injury you've treated?"

Diana considered for a moment, grateful for the shift to neutral territory. "A junior who tried to enchant her hair to change colors with her mood. Unfortunately, the spell affected her internal organs instead."

"Oh no," Alarick winced. "What happened?"

"Let's just say we could tell exactly how terrified she was by the glow emanating from her stomach." Diana's lips quirked. "She lit up like a festival lantern every time someone mentioned exams."

Alarick laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "And here I thought my story about accidentally making all the door handles melt was embarrassing."

"Door handles?" Diana raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite herself.

"An experiment gone wrong at Frog’s Hollow High. Let's just say the strengthening spell backfired." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "The maintenance staff threatened to hex me if I ever touched the hardware again."

Diana surprised herself with a genuine laugh. "Your magical modifications do have a certain creative flair. Even if they're occasionally disastrous."

"High praise indeed," he teased. "Next you'll be admitting you don't actually hate having me renovate your infirmary."

"Let's not get carried away."

His laugh drew more attention from the students. Diana focused on her food, determined to maintain professional distance despite the unwelcome warmth spreading through her.

As they walked back after lunch, Diana was uncomfortably aware of the whispers following them. She maintained a professional distance, though part of her—a part she refused to acknowledge—noticed how easily they fell into step together.

"So," Alarick said as they approached the west corridor, "dinner tonight. Should we coordinate our arrival to avoid the appearance of coming together?"

Diana gave him a sidelong look. "Are you mocking me?"

"Not at all. Just trying to accommodate your obvious discomfort with being seen with me."

"I'm not uncomfortable being seen with you," she protested. "I'm uncomfortable with the assumptions people make."

"Fair enough." They reached the temporary infirmary, and he held the door for her. "Seven o'clock, then. I'll try to contain my youthful exuberance to avoid embarrassing you."

"Your what?" Diana turned to face him, finally catching the teasing glint in his eye. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A little," he admitted. "You're rather magnificent when you're flustered."

Before she could formulate a response, he moved past her to resume his warding work, leaving Diana torn between irritation and a treacherous flutter that had no place in a professional relationship.

Six weeks, she reminded herself firmly. Six weeks of maintaining proper boundaries despite matchmaking colleagues, lovesick students, and a man whose rare genuine smile was becoming dangerously difficult to resist.

She'd survived magical emergencies far worse than Alarick Blackthorn.

Probably.