𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

Welcome to Hogwarts

August 28th, 2000, at 11 a.m., was a great time to be at Hogwarts. The Castle was immersed in the lazy light of the latest morning, surrounded by a quiet, charming stillness: the summer had yet to end and the school year had yet to start, as it traditionally did, on September 1st. Its majestic structure was breathtaking: with a myriad of gothic towers extending towards the sky and their enormous pointed arch windows, it was truly a marvelous view. The sea was murmuring, driven by air that smelled like rain: the weather was changing, but that wasn't the only news the season was about to bring at Hogwarts.

Without warning, a dashing green flash illuminated the air, heralding the sudden arrival of a woman at the Northern Entrance of the school. Blanche had just Teleported, bringing along her three sturdy leather suitcases. However, her precision in magical transportation did not extend to her landing accuracy.As she materialized in mid-air, about three meters above the ground, a startled shriek escaped her lips. She had grossly miscalculated her landing, leaving her dangerously suspended in mid-air. With a desperately quick thinking, she cried out in panic, "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" - an improvised attempt to prevent what could have been a disastrous fall. 

Any master of the craft would have rightfully raised their brows at such a view, but that unorthodox method had saved her more than once; and well, it had saved her again, but it surely hadn't saved her luggage, which hit the pathway with a loud thud. 

Oops. 

As she softly landed on the ground, she thanked Merlin that nobody was around to witness such a pitiful performance - from no one less than the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Teleportation isn't for everyone, she thought with a resigned sigh.

Her arrival had cleared the cobbled path leading to Hogwarts' Northern Entrance; from there, she could catch a glimpse of the Viaduct Courtyard, of which the familiar view made her feel at home. Well, technically, that school had been her home for many years as a student.

This time, however, things were different: she was approaching her new workplace, as her application to the infamous and prestigious chair of Defense Against the Dark Arts had been - unexpectedly - accepted. The cursed history of the position had probably kept many candidates away, favoring her; she didn't want to flatter herself too much, but being chosen had been a success which had given her new confidence nonetheless. Despite that, an unforeseen feeling of dread had been looming over her for a good month: she wasn't sure if she was ready for the upcoming academic year, and if she loathed something more than Teleportation, it was being unprepared. Merely thinking of the word made her quiver.

Pull yourself together.

With a flick of her wrist, Blanche commanded her baggage to obey, and with a subtle swish of magic, her suitcases obediently levitated off the ground, trailing behind her as she made her way toward the Entrance Hall. With practiced ease, she slipped her wand into the left sleeve of her coat, 

As she stepped into the hall, her eyes immediately fell upon a figure she knew well - a silhouette that seemed to embody timeless grace and strength. There, in the heart of the hall, stood an elderly woman, her demeanor exuding a quiet confidence that spoke of years of experience. Clad in a rich burgundy gown that draped elegantly over her form, she carried herself with a regal poise that commanded respect.

Every detail seemed meticulously chosen - the gown's golden buttons adding a touch of warmth to the ensemble, the glasses perched upon her nose lending an air of scholarly authority; not a single strand of her hair was out of place, neatly tucked away beneath a dark, pointed hat.As Blanche laid eyes upon her former mentor, Professor McGonagall, she couldn't help but marvel at how little had changed in the decade since they last met. Despite the passage of time, McGonagall remained a steadfast beacon of stability and guidance - a constant presence in a world that seemed ever-changing.

She was speaking with an over-obsequious Filch, who held a heavy stack of books and looked quite content; but, as soon as she noticed Blanche, she quickly dismissed him. The rhythmic tap of her heels against the stone floor echoed through the hall - a familiar sound that stirred many memories in Blanche's mind. She was glad to hear that sound after so many years - unexpectedly so. 

Smiling politely, Professor McGonagall's keen gaze swept over Blanche from head to toe. She didn't seem to recognize Blanche, and a brief pause followed before she spoke. "Good morning, Miss," she began with a tone both courteous and inquisitive, "May I assist you?"

"It's Madam," Blanche replied with a smile, "Good morning, Professor. I'm Blanche Less."

Blanche's response seemed to catch McGonagall slightly off guard, though she maintained her composure with grace. As the epitome of courtesy, she refrained from any further comment on the correction. "Excuse my oversight, Professor Less," McGonagall acknowledged with a warm smile, "Welcome to Hogwarts. We have been anticipating your arrival. May I inquire about the details of your journey?"

Her words carried warmth, yet her gaze held a hint of scrutiny as she observed Blanche with meticulous attention. "Turbulent, I'd say," Blanche responded evenly, meeting McGonagall's gaze with a steady expression. "I Teleported just outside the school grounds."

"If I may, that was a great choice. We do get a lot of complaints about our means of transportation, after all."

A more relaxed smile appeared on Blanche's features, but she offered no further explanation, prompting McGonagall to continue out of courtesy. "I trust that you'll find a new home here," McGonagall said with a polite, warm smile. "I am committed to imparting very much-needed skills to the next generation of witches and wizards," Blanche replied firmly, trying to soften her body language, "To the best of my abilities."

Blanche had a tendency to come off as rude when fatigue set in, and this morning proved to be no exception. McGonagall, perceptive as ever, didn't appear entirely convinced, her lips pressed into a thin line - a subtle, yet telling sign of mild concern.

"Very well, then. Your quarters are in the Faculty Tower. Do you need guidance, perhaps?"

Even though McGonagall's company was pleasant, this brief encounter had already drained her. The thought of more social interaction was daunting to Blanche, who cut the meeting short: "Thank you, Professor, but I'll find my own way," she said, attempting to muster a sincere smile. Hastily, she added, "Your offer is greatly appreciated. I'll certainly seek your assistance on other occasions."

McGonagall nodded approvingly, offering a friendly gesture of dismissal; however, Blanche couldn't shake the feeling of McGonagall's gaze carefully scrutinizing her. There was a noticeable contrast between McGonagall's warm Gryffindor nature and the evident, methodical prudence she exhibited. This intriguing blend effortlessly captured Blanche's attention, leaving her impressed by the complexity of the esteemed professor.

Peculiar.

A hint of tired frustration gnawed at Blanche's chest. It was clear that McGonagall wasn't particularly impressed, and as much as Blanche prided herself on her ability to read people accurately and deftly navigate conversations,  when she was in a bad mood - which was, admittedly, often - she couldn't deal with the burden of small talk.

She wanted to find her room and hide until she was ready to commit to a conversation. Any conversation.

As she raised her gaze to search for the stairs, Blanche realized she hadn't looked at the Great Entrance at all. Just as she remembered, the vast expanse of space, stretching upward between imposing columns, was bathed in brilliant light. It resembled a cathedral in its magnificence, though its purpose was far removed from religious worship: instead, it stood as a testament to the pursuit of knowledge—a temple erected not to deities, but to the power of learning and enlightenment.

While contemplating the hall, Blanche caught McGonagall's fleeting glance as she engaged in conversation with another newcomer, Professor Sprout, whose demeanor was as cheerfulnù as ever. Sensing the weight of McGonagall's scrutiny, Blanche immediately turned around and hurriedly ran up the stairs. Her suitcases trailed behind her, a silent testament to her hasty retreat.

I'm just tired. I'll fix that later.