The dungeons smelled faintly of smoke. That is more smoke than normal. Finn was almost always brewing something, for class, for a student, for another professor, for his family. For himself. Finn actually really liked the sounds and smells of the potions. So every so often he would just brew himself something amusing, or work on improving potions. So, the dungeons were always smokey, but they were a bit more smokey recently. Finn didn't mind the smoke, but he figured most of the students would, so he set up a few wind/air charms to get rid of the bulk of the smoke.
There was an air of exhaustion around Finn. He was slightly pale with dark circles under his eyes. He felt like he hadn't slept in a week. Finn could not handle this three course work.... how the heck had it happened, anyways? He'd probably made some joke about dropping in on flying, but at least that class wasn't too often, not every week like potions, which of course, unless he and Reagan decided not to teach anymore, was his main position, but Theory... how had he gotten that one? Maybe he subbed it once.... or was being sarcastic but taken seriously, oh.... he missed Pickles. In either case, instead of sitting on the back of the chair as was his custom, he was leaning against the board, watching the students as they came in, each to sit at their own cauldron.