𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

Goodnight

That night, Blanche didn't sleep well. Lorraine was a ghost from her past, and her appearance had strongly upset her; she was the embodiment of what she tried to escape from, and not only that: she was someone Blanche had abandoned. Six years before that night she had to say goodbye, leaving her behind. Well, she didn't have to, but she had no choice if she wanted to escape her fate and choose her freedom. She felt somehow justified, but really... Lorraine represented everything she wanted to detach herself from, and probably her biggest regret. Or maybe, Blanche's biggest regret was their father's death.

To think that Lorraine had been a disappointment to their family, somehow being sorted as a Gryffindor, was cruelly ironic. Blanche had been the golden child of a Slytherin family that held strong traditions at heart, and she wondered how Lorraine was doing in that regard, but she didn't want to know the answer. Lorraine remained loyal to her very... questionable relatives, and in a sense, deciding not to follow Blanche, she had betrayed anything she believed in; and coming for her, she betrayed her again. That said everything Blanche needed to know about her moral stature.

Blanche tossed in her bed, thinking of their mother. She didn't even know if she was still alive. She didn't care for her well-being; the problem was her unrelenting character. She'd hunt Blanche down to the ends of the earth if necessary, and Lorraine's visit was proof. She is still with them. Their father's death had shaken their mother to her core, but not even that managed to destroy her beliefs; her ties to the group, and especially to Narcissa Malfoy, were strong enough to keep her tightly in their grasp. She didn't have anyone else. Not even the Dark Lord's demise had terminated their oath.

The memories kept flooding Blanche's mind.

She had already come to terms with everything, especially the awareness that she didn't choose the Defense Against the Dark Arts field as much as it chose her. She studied to comprehend her family's world, and her parents thought that she was following their path. They didn't see... this coming.

Blanche gritted her teeth, tense to the point of shaking, as she sat up on the bed. She was a traitor in their eyes, and they didn't treat traitors kindly. Her late father's fate was proof.

Suddenly her fight with Snape felt futile, pointless. Every preoccupation she had in the last month did. No one could possibly imagine what was going on, besides Snape. She had no idea of how he managed to dissociate from them and to be still alive; probably his visibility managed to protect him from harm, at least for now. Their circumstances were certainly different. He and Blanche didn't know each other, and she was nothing more than a nuisance for the Deatheaters, while he had covered a key role; she didn't even know of his belonging to the association. They wanted to keep the highest ranks' identities a secret from the lower levels, as the end of any cult lies in giving out too much information to the weakest links.

Blanche got up from the bed. She needed to walk off some of the tension to manage to sleep at least for a few hours; she got dressed and headed out. Lumos. The dark corridors were empty, the portraits silent. She felt slightly better while taking her night stroll; she was slowly calming down from her hysterical state while listening to the sound of her steps echoing down the halls. She needed to be alone, at least for a while.

She abruptly stopped when she saw a soft light coming from behind the corner she was approaching. Students? She knew she had to do her job, and she decisively turned around the corner, almost bumping into Snape. Of course. He was the last person she wanted to see after that afternoon's scene.

He stared at her in silence, immersed in the semi-darkness; he was frowning, holding his wand before him in his usual upright posture. Blanche straightened her back, laying her eyes on him. How is he still alive and well?

She didn't know how to react to his silence. The quill episode replayed in her head, but her anger was gone, and now she was just sad and exhausted. He tilted his head, slightly squinting.

Surprisingly, his presence didn't irritate her. She looked at his lit wand, and then at the illuminated hand that grabbed her wrist in the afternoon. She remembered the feeling of the warm fabric she felt on her fingertips when she grasped at his arm to stop him.

After a couple of silent seconds, he muttered: "...My apologies for my demeanor."

Blanche was taken aback. The last thing she expected was an apology. She hesitated, but then she replied: "I'm sorry for... looking."

He nodded slightly.

Blanche felt relieved. She wasn't as tense, and she almost said something else. He would be the only person who could understand her situation, but she knew better. Occlumens.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They parted ways, and she went back to her room.