𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

Care for some coffee?

The first day of school was long, but eventually, the evening came. Blanche felt like she'd been at Hogwarts for ages, yet it was only the 4th of September: the beginning of the year, not to mention the week.

At the end of just the first day, she had a newfound respect for her former teachers and their patience; how they had managed, she couldn't explain. That job was terrible. By 7 pm, as she headed to the Great Hall to have dinner, she was already done with at least half of the students: most of them stared at her blankly, waiting for the lecture to end and only occasionally taking notes; just a couple of them had shown genuine interest in her teachings. The class that had satisfied her the most was the first, with the new students; the second-years had also made a good impression on her. As for the students above the third year, they had put her patience to the test with an unattentive, baffling arrogance. It wasn't clear how witnessing the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998 didn't open their eyes to the vastity of what they were up against: "the Dark Arts" was a boundless category of refined rituals that comprehended, but wasn't limited to, the most basic curses. That didn't seem to cross their minds at all. It was as if they thought they had already seen every possible curse and countercurse under the sun, and boy, were they wrong. Ignorance was bliss, but knowledge held crucial, tragic value in this context. She couldn't wrap her head around why they wouldn't be the most motivated to learn more. A truly motivated student had yet to be found amongst them, but Blanche was still hopeful: it was the first day, after all.

She arrived in the Great Hall and rapidly passed by the Houses tables, barely noticing the students' voices lowering at her passage, to go sit at the teacher's table.

"Good Merlin, what happened to you?"

Minerva, neatly put together, had a concerned look on her face as she watched Blanche sit down beside her. Incredibly, she didn't look tired in the slightest.

"Oh, nothing. It was a long day," Blanche replied with a faint smile. Matching Minerva's energy was a difficult task, and she seemed to get it, as she only replied: "You'll get used to it, dear, don't fret."

Minerva's poise was comforting and priceless in Hogwarts' dynamic environment: the students' antics were unpredictable, and, for some reason, the school seemed to bring disgraceful events on itself. She always managed to make Blanche feel calmer, no matter what the situation at hand was.

Sprout cleared her voice, catching their attention. "Anyways, guess how many students drilled Mandrakes without protection today," she said with a sigh, and without waiting for an answer, she put two fingers up in the air, "Two. It's unbelievable."

"Two students in the Infirmary on the first day," said Minerva, digging her knife in a neat steak, "not a record, fortunately. Are they well?"

"You tell me! Are they? Really, the instructions were clear..." Sprout sighed, slightly amused. Minerva raised her brows, giving her a knowing look that reeked of exasperation.

Blanche slowly started alienating herself from the conversation while a wave of uncoordinated thoughts flooded her mind. She wasn't in the mood for meat, but to conjure something else would be rude. She felt a bit sorry for how she had involuntarily berated Morton - publically - but, on the other hand, she had it coming. Thinking of her, she couldn't help but recall the attentive stares of a couple of the older students, and following that line of thought, she found herself pondering the difference that a traumatic experience could make for younger people.

It was only Sprout's nudge to bring her back to reality. "Are you still with us?"

"Yes, I'm just tired, Pomona. I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"That you should come to visit the garden. Its preparation is almost complete."

That was great news. Blanche smiled, knowing well how much it meant to her and how a project close to one's heart was the greatest thing to have success. "Absolutely."