I wasn’t very inclined towards the Flufftober or my other Halloween Horror prompt, but I did like this Halloween dialogue prompt I found. 

Day 10: “Stop putting your potions in the fridge!”

*

If Alec would write a book about anything in the world, of his years of poor life choices and horrible luck thrown his way, he would title it: How To Live With A Witchy Roommate.

Alec had first learned about the truth and expanse of Magnus’ abilities by accident. Magnus had been conducting a spell to have poor weather with hopes of deterring a professor from showing up to class to give their bimonthly death exam. Unfortunately for him, he exposed Alec to magic and failed that month’s tests. Since then, Alec has been privy to knowledge of how to cure moonsickness, remove attached entities - both benign and malevolent, change the color of someone’s hair by certain Latin phrases, and anticipate the weather two weeks in advance. All of which Magnus was very unwilling to share with him, but he learned very early that Alec rarely gave up on things.

The first and most important thing Alec learned was to retain and protect the secret of the witch. Under no circumstances, unless dire, was a witch allowed to reveal themselves as a magical user to a non-magical one. The result of the encounter would result in disciplinary action - as stated mockingly by Magnus - by the highest authority of the Council, and the non-magical user will be removed from magic’s way. (Alec never quite understood why he was an exception to this, and Magnus never elaborated when he did ask.)

The second was to never mess with the witch’s familiar, Chairman Meow. He was not to be confused with the wandering spirit guide, Church, who happened to appear in the apartment from time to time despite being on the twenty-third floor. The Chairman was soul-bonded to Magnus in ways he would rather not have discovered. When needed, and allowed, Magnus could see through the eyes of the feline and wander the city without ever stepping foot out of the flat - or hide under Alec’s bed to see what he did in his spare time.

Number three was to keep out of the apothecary when the door was closed. An open door meant that either harmless chemicals and ingredients were being used, Magnus was researching something for a client, or that it wasn’t being in use. A closed door meant danger, harmful potions, and products, or it wasn’t being in use. Alec could tell the difference when he approached and the door would suddenly slam shut in his face, inches from his nose.

The other rules fell into line with the years that passed. Water the plants. Do not get close enough to Charles the Orchid for him to release a potent hallucinogenic gas. The plants in the window are not meant for consumption - and no, they cannot be kept in the apothecary, because the other plants will complain about how they smell. The parlor chair is reserved for emergency resting only. In the case of an emergency, the bust of Cleopatra is to be saved. Let Queen Victoria crash.

Then there were some rules that, despite being called “rules”, were never followed by all houseguests.

“Magnus,” Alec cried, holding the orange juice container at arm’s length. “Stop putting your potions in the fridge!”

“Stop putting your food in my potion-fridge,” came the cry back.

“This is the community fridge and you have a non-magic user - What even is this?” Alec had nearly half a mind to smell the bottle, but a larger part screaming at him to not even think about how that would result. He carefully poured the contents, a dark purple sludge, down the kitchen sink with hot water and the disposal on at full blast.

“Don’t -” Magnus barged in in all his glory, an open black silk top with matching bottoms. Alec was lucky he wasn’t wearing his other robe which he found only wearable when it was the only thing touching his skin.

Both men watched at the final drop of mystery gunk fell from the lip of the container into the sink and erupted with a small puff of smoke that made the air smell like freshly cut grass.

“You didn’t.”

Alec shrugged, tossing the container into the trash alongside the other dead potions he had found earlier in the week. “I clearly did.”

Magnus’ eyes darkened, but the tips of his fingers lightened with shooting sparks of blue electricity. “You better run, Lightwood.”

“You can’t use magic against me.” It was number six in the Rules and Regulations of Magic-Makers and Other Magic-Wielding Creatures book.

Magnus threw a small burst at the tips of Alec’s bare toes. The cold bite of power made him leap back. “Watch me.”

Alec had pushed Magnus on plenty of things; cleanliness, the treatment of the mysterious Church, which way the toilet paper was supposed to be hung. Taunting him to use his magic was not one of them. If anything, they both knew he would do it. That’s why Alec bolted out of the kitchen and through the dining room and front foyer with Magnus hot - sparkingly cold - at his feet.

Rule number whatever, Alec recalled amidst the hallway sprint, don’t leave artifacts lying in the hall.

Alec grabbed the Shield of Lancelot - Magnus had objected to its hanging on the wall due to the ‘improper’ lighting of the city - and held it up against a handful of half-assed electrical current. The magic bounced off of the metallic curve, allowing the sparks to fall flat on the floor.

Magnus pointed a plainly painted finger at the shield. “You better not have damaged that.”

“Me?” Alec carefully returned the object to its place along the wall. “You’re the one chasing me with your sparky fingers, Mr. Thunderbolt.”

Magnus loosed something mixed between a whine and a growl, spinning his hands together with the fingers orbiting each other. The space between his hands held small shards of white light. The power of the current in his hands made the hair on Alec’s arm stand on end. “I’ll show you a thunderbolt, Mister -”

A sharp feline cry came from behind Alec, followed by a bump to the lower back and a swipe along his left flank. Magnus’ power stopped.

“That’s not fair.”

The Chairman circled Alec with care and precision. At the dip of Alec’s leg, the cat crawled into the small space in his lap to claim his spot, saying: Don’t you dare.

“You’ve turned my own cat against me.”

Alec stroked the back of the familiar, pulling out long purrs. Magnus stiffened, throwing his hands on his hips. He muttered something in a language Alec might have heard before but would never translate.

“That potion was for a client. I’ve been working on it for almost a week -” Magnus paused, loosing a frustrated groan.

“I’m sorry,” Alec fessed. “But to be fair, I almost drank it. Whatever it was.”

“Hair serum.”

Alec furrowed his brow. “I thought that only takes a day to make.”

The Chairman left his spot in Alec’s care, moving to dance in circles around Magnus' ankles. “Werewolf hair control before, during, and after a first transformation.”

Alec hummed. That was new. “The potion bottles are to the left of the sink, for future reference.”

Magnus scoffed. “I think I’d know that. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Magnus drawled to pick up his familiar, “I have a potion to remake.”

There was something in the way that Magnus walked that had Alec’s eyes following wherever he went. He stayed on the floor, listening to Magnus shuffle his feet, murmur something to the cat, then move around the kitchen. Silence. A cabinet opened, and the same swear word filled the air.

“Find it?” Alec mused, standing.