Igor was right. This was a scene straight out of some twisted horror movie, between House's scatter-brained appearance and the violet substance frothing inside the cauldron, whatever that was. Some potion. Wilson didn't even know if there was a purple potion that he could think of off-hand. He'd studied the things quite a bit, even, after all - it was one of the more interesting classes. Much less dry than, oh, say, History of Magic or Divination. Not that Wilson would ever take Divination, ever, if not only because House would mock him mercilessly about things like horoscopes. Potions, though. Sure. But, at any rate, yes, this was right out of Frankenstein. With much less black and white and no Boris Karloff to be seen anywhere.

House looked completely focused on the task, and Wilson couldn't help that slightly paranoid feeling that it was simply so House had somewhere to look that was very much not him. The man had a knife in hand, though, and it was enough to make anybody skittish. At any rate, considering how quickly House had left the room the last time Wilson had seen him, the few days of not having seen him anywhere in the school (although, to be fair, Wilson had been avoiding him a bit too), and now, random Potions? That rigid way he held his shoulders as he worked? Oh, yeah. Wilson had screwed up this time, and so very royally.

"You, uh," he started to say, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks as he took a few hesitant steps into the classroom. Oh, God, that potion looked sickly. Boiling in a completely uninhibited fashion and... that couldn't be healthy. For anybody. "You... Potions?" That... wasn't really a sentence, but, hey, he was nervous, and House's whole carefree, Pierre said 'I-don't-care' attitude wasn't helping things much. Of course, neither did the sketchy, bubbling potion. But that was beside the point. "What is this...?"