Sylvia thought for a moment, tilting her head to look at him. "Well... tell me how you view the Triwizard Tournament? Honestly, not just some perfunctory 'it's fine' or 'it's nothing'."
Will set down his grape juice and leaned back against the sofa. The firelight from the fireplace shone on his face, making those silver-gray eyes look as though they were glowing.
"Honestly?" he said. "I don't really have any thoughts on it, other than wondering if it'll affect my brewing of Felix Felicis."
"Is that really your reaction?" Sylvia asked. "Aren't you scared at all?"
"Scared of what?"
"So many people have died throughout the history of the Triwizard Tournament, and you aren't worried in the least?"
Will fell silent for a moment, his gaze falling upon the leaping flames in the fireplace.
"A little bit worried," he ultimately said. "Still, once you've been chosen, you can only move forward."
Sylvia looked at him, then suddenly reached out and gave his arm a light slap. "Are you still putting on an act with me?"
"An act about what?"
"Will, just how far has your magic level actually reached?" Sylvia locked eyes with him. "You're always being evasive, and I don't believe someone who could cast Confringo back in their First Year is going to be worse than most sixth or seventh-year students now."
Will was taken aback, then smiled. "You certainly have confidence in me."
"Of course I do," Sylvia said, lifting her chin.
The two of them locked eyes for a few seconds. A piece of oak in the fireplace gave a crisp snap as a spark sputtered out, and both looked away. Will picked up a piece of cake to ease the atmosphere—truthfully, he had eaten quite a full dinner, and right now he really wasn't hungry.