𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

An inconvenience

The dinner in the Great Hall went smoothly. People greatly entertained Blanche, despite her introverted nature, and Hogwarts made her feel comfortable enough to want to make new acquaintances, maybe even friends. The school had meant a lot to her in her formative years, as it had been her home and an effective distraction from her actual home life. She soon had to admit that the staff was composed of several intriguing members; however, the people who impressed her the most, other than McGonagall, were certainly Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout.

Flitwick held an unexpected, quick wit: he had a way with words, and the conversation was surprisingly pleasant and amusing; Sprout, on the other hand, radiated calming energy, and her evident love for Herbology was admirable. Blanche was glad of meeting them officially, also thanks to Minerva: she was an undoubtedly skilled mediator, who knew exactly when and how to introduce someone in a conversation.

At the end of the meal, while everyone was chatting, McGonagall stood up; ringing a tiny spoon on her glass, she got their attention, and they all turned in her direction.

"It's my privilege to give you all a warm welcome to Hogwarts; to the newcomers and to old friends, I say that I'm glad to have you here. As you all know, it's time to prepare: the students will be here in a week. Therefore, the traditional staff meeting will take place tomorrow night. I trust you all will do your best, and I sincerely hope that Hogwarts will soon feel like home," she said with a warm smile, "I also hope that those of you who are new will find here not only colleagues but friends. It's an honor to have you all here. Have a pleasant evening and a wonderful year." She rose her glass, eliciting applause from the staff; everyone looked calm, yet excited. Blanche wished she could bottle that moment of serenity to preserve it on a shelf, and she tried to engrave the wonderful sensation of peace in her heart.

After the after-dinner salutations, everyone went back to their respective quarters; however, Blanche couldn't but notice that Snape cut her path while heading out. She wasn't surprised, but she was irritated nonetheless.

How old are you?

He didn't apologize nor acknowledge her, he didn't turn, he didn't say a word: he just fled down the corridor leading to the Dungeon, with a way faster than needed pace. At least, she wouldn't meet him again until the next day. Good.

As she got to her room, she realized that she wasn't feeling particularly tired. She lazily took her wand from her sleeve to ignite the fireplace, muttering: "Incendio."

It was time to organize the course for the upcoming semester: the students had a lot to learn under her guidance, and scheduling a program was a heavy workload that, indeed, she needed to get done before the meeting. She sat at the desk, leaning back on the high backrest of her chair, and conjured her pen and some paper from one of the bags she had yet to unpack; she was about to start when an intrusive thought sparked in her mind.

And he called me unprofessional!

The image of him cutting her path like a five-year-old flashed before her eyes, igniting a spark of irritation in her chest. Unprofessional!

Shaking her head she tried to eliminate it, but to no avail. Her fingers tightened around her pen, and she let out an exasperated sigh. Work called, but her mind was distracted by a manchild.

He had the nerve of calling her an inconvenience.

Snape had a pleasant baritone voice, but that tone he had used... loathsome. Everything about him was irritating: his shady contempt was grating, and even when he was silent, his complacency was way too noticeable.

I'll show you what an inconvenience I can be If I put my mind to it, Professor Snape.

She was aware of the fact that acting out of spite wasn't a functional attitude to have, but the thought gave her satisfaction nonetheless: she smiled a little, relieved by the idea of petty upcoming payback. She hadn't a plan, but that wasn't important; the occasion would surely present itself, and she'd take it.

She spent the majority of the night working, ignoring any further thoughts about any of her colleagues, and before she knew it the light had changed. The sun was about to dawn when she eventually dozed off, waking up a couple of hours later to the morning's light.

A new day, the same old habits.

Another dysfunctional pattern of hers was her being a night owl, which wasn't exactly practical in a world based on daytime activities; especially in an academic environment regulated by strict timing rules.

She sighed, took a shower and got dressed in her usual attire: a black turtleneck and a pair of black pants. She didn't care for fashion, even though she appreciated the refined clothes she saw other people wearing. They got her attention without fail: it looked like fun, and she always thought, good for them. It just wasn't a Blanche thing, as it would be more of a hassle than anything and she preferred her plain, dark clothing to bring as little attention as possible to her figure.

She was exhausted, but she wanted to see how her colleagues were doing, so she dragged herself to the Great Hall for breakfast anyway. On her way, she decided to greet the portraits: she still needed to get used to them, but their company was starting to feel familiar and pleasant.

The prospect of the meeting was stressful, as it was a great opportunity to obtain the professional esteem of her new colleagues: she wanted to be taken seriously, and for that reason, she'd have to work for the rest of the day on her programs. She didn't hate the idea. The Dark Arts had always been her favorite subject, and their opposite craft, Defense Against the Dark Arts, was even more of an interesting topic: it had completely captured her in the last few years, and getting to teach it thrilled her. It was a useful art in itself that would probably save many lives down the road, and it was a privilege to form the youngest witches and wizards to protect their integrity: she looked forward to it.

In the Great Hall, she greeted everyone with a friendly gesture as she sat at the teacher's table; Snape wasn't there yet, and that made her feel somehow relieved. Good.

Minerva gave her a gentle smile while sipping on a cup of tea. "Good morning Blanche, how was your first night here?"

Her motherly attitude went well with her curated appearance and Blanche felt immediately reassured by her calm and authoritative presence.

"It was great, thank you. Productive and refreshing," Blanche said, lying shamelessly. It had been a productive night, but refreshing, not so much. Minerva slightly raised her brows, probably noticing Blanche's deep eyebags, but didn't make any remarks. Anyways, new energy from an unknown source was animating Blanche: her newfound rivalry really gave her new force.

She conjured some pancakes and lightheartedly chatted with Sprout, who proceeded to illustrate her garden plans. Her passionate explanation convinced Blanche of its brilliance, and by the end of the meal she promised to support it during that night's meeting. She also had the opportunity of meeting Professor Hooch, who had approached Sprout to ask her about her Burning Bush farming: her explosive energy in the morning was a bit much for Blanche's taste, but she seemed alright.

At this point, Snape entered the Great Hall with fast, meticulously curated steps; in the broad daylight, he looked even darker, clashing with the luminous atmosphere of the Hall. His face was void of emotion, just as the day before. Blanche waited for him to pass by to say: "We were waiting for you, Professor Snape."

Minerva hid her amusement with a cough.

He didn't reply, but he did raise a brow while striding to take his seat; he had heard her, and Blanche was satisfied by knowing that she had gotten under his skin.

She excused herself and returned to her room, immediately getting to work: the dig at his ego had soothed her irritation, and with that, she was able to concentrate. She ended up working all day, too focused to care about the passing hours, and suddenly, the day was gone.