𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

Why do you always look annoyed?

Severus entered the Great Hall at 8 am, as he did every Sunday. It was semi-deserted: being a rest morning, most students slept in, and so did the staff. The castle, on such occasions, was unusually quiet; the calm, peaceful atmosphere of those mornings was the only thing he had always loved about the place. While walking down the central aisle, he briefly admired the enchanted ceiling showing the charming glow of a lovely dawn. The House tables were almost empty, except for a couple of early-bird students chatting at a moderate volume; the morning's rays were lazily filtering through the thick glass of the enormous windows.

As he glanced at the teachers' table, he noticed there were only two figures seated: the immediately recognizable dark silhouette of Blanche and Minerva. They were conversing quietly, but they looked all but content.

Blanche looked utterly exhausted, holding her head in her hands; Minerva, on the other hand, looked all but serene. Worrying.

He tried to discreetly slide by them, but to no avail: Minerva caught him as soon as he approached the table.

"Severus! Come."

That was not an invite, that sounded like an order. He simulated the shadow of a polite smile and silently obliged. "...Yes?"

Minerva's grave countenance suggested agitation on her part. "It's been a month, Severus." Minerva's voice was unsettlingly tense.

He raised a single brow, opening his mouth to reply, but Minerva cut him off. "A month, Severus. Must I remind you of the utmost importance that our students' safety holds? I trust you both to deliver what I know you're skilled enough to create. Have I made myself clear?"
Blanche sat silently, avoiding Severus' gaze by firmly keeping hers on McGonagall's face. He couldn't help but notice her fatigued appearance: she was as pale as a corpse, and he could have very well mistaken her for one if not for the deep, dark rings that circled her eyes.

Minerva stared at him dead in the eye, with worried, pursed lips. Following a brief pause, he cleared his throat, conjoining his hands. "We are laboring, Minerva, far more than you suppose," he said in his calmest voice, and turning to Blanche, he added, with a trace of irony: "Actually, Professor Less, I must inform you that a few of your textbooks have been left stranded in my study."

She eventually looked at him. She appeared agitated, and her eyes harbored an unusually hectic light that struck him.
Minerva seemed barely reassured by his remarks, as she didn't smile as she got up; she left them with only a prolonged, admonitory glance. The only people left at the teacher's table were them: Blanche sitting in her chair and him, still standing in front of it.

She averted her gaze from him, letting out an exasperated sigh, and conjured some pumpkin juice with a fatigued, frustrated motion.
Severus suddenly felt awkward. He parted his lips as if to say something, but he changed his mind because he didn't know what to say. He felt clumsy, even.

That morning, he had become aware of her visit the moment he had woken up: he had felt the cloak slipping from his shoulders, as it always did when he unbuttoned it to sit at his desk. He never cared to pick it up when he was in the study, and the night prior made no exception to the rule. The cloak was out of place, as were some books and notes he didn't recognize piled on top of his.

Upon further examination, he had found, under the worn-out cover of an "Advanced Defense Spells and Countercurse Engineering" copy, a handwritten inscription: "Bea, 1999". Every sheet was crammed with black words traced in the same penmanship, each one covered in scribbled notes, annotations, erasures, arrows, and every kind of remark; between the pages were adjunctive essays and, here and there, Severus found the tiniest pieces of paper, all with a single word written on them: "useful". He couldn't help but skim through them, feeling their irregular surface with his fingertips. He knew well how many nights such a massive amount of work must had taken.

She had been there while he was asleep.
The mere thought of someone witnessing him in such a defenseless state profoundly flustered him.

After a while, he cleared his throat, standing still.

"Sit. I feel observed," uttered Blanche, pointing at Sprout's empty chair at her left. Severus hesitated for a moment. "Please," she murmured, taking a sip of juice. He scanned her for a second, deciding whether to accept the invite. In the end, to convince him was her weary appearance. He nodded slightly and went around the table with slow, measured steps, finally taking the seat near hers. Severus, for once, didn't know how to act, so he just conjured a cup of coffee in silence to keep his hands occupied. He felt he had to apologize, but there was no logical reason to do so; nonsensical apologies would only make him seem like a fool, so he kept his lips sealed, waiting for her to speak.

The control of the situation eluded him.

He probably had an aggravated expression as, after a while, Blanche asked: "Why do you always look so annoyed?" Blanche's voice was calm, but he could detect a hint of a smile. Severus felt taken aback by her question, so he automatically evaded it with another question.

"Why do you?" His voice was monotone, but it came out feebler than he intended. As Blanche remained silent, he stiffly turned to look at her. She was examining him with a lifeless stare.

"Because I am. Nothing helps. Don't avoid my question, Severus." Blanche's answer was unusually fragmented and surprisingly swift-paced; Severus frowned, and it took a while for him to reply. The woman, even when exhausted, was clever.

"You need to rest," he finally murmured, staring blankly into his mug. Blanche scoffed, visibly bothered. "Lack of sleep makes one prone to delirium," he stated, averting his eyes from her.

Blanche slammed her cup on the table. "I'm not going crazy, Severus."

"...I understand."

He put down the mug with an overly careful, unnatural motion.

"I know what you're thinking," Blanche whispered, leaning towards him. He could feel her empty, unyielding stare stinging his skin.
Severus raised his brows. "One's family..."
Blanche cut him off. "Do you have a subpar family history?"

His breath got stuck in his throat for a moment and uneasiness suddenly sank its claws into his chest, accompanied by a deeper sting of anger. With a quiet cough, he tried to swiftly conceal his state of disquiet.

After a minute of stone-cold stillness, he slowly got up, without looking at her. She quickly grabbed his arm with a surprisingly firm grasp.
"Don't leave, Severus... please," she muttered, drained. Her voice cracked while pronouncing his name.

The conversation was getting too personal to be had in public, as the Hall was slowly filling with students. However, those last words resonated with him. He could feel her hand, desperately clutching to his arm, through his vest. It was a bizarre feeling. Severus didn't feel threatened, and his uneasiness vanished as he ultimately looked into Blanche's fatigued, mortally serious eyes. He felt their weight on his chest.

They were pleading, no, demanding an answer; and the deep void he saw in that dark, bottomless stare pulled a word out of his mouth before he could restrain himself.

"Yes."

He was stunned by what had just escaped his lips. He bit his tongue, without averting his gaze from hers. He didn't say a word more.

Silence filled the space left between them. Severus suddenly felt her hand barely tremble, and as she finally loosened her grasp, he abruptly freed himself. Astonishment and anger filled his chest. He took a step back with a harsh motion, still glaring at her; he opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out of it.

He just withdrew, turning around and strutting down the Hall. He could feel her stare on his back and that angered him even more. He pushed a couple of unlucky students, standing between him and the door, out of his way.

He was furious.