𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

Are we cruel people, Severus?

Blanche reluctantly ended up taking Severus' unsolicited advice: the sleepless nights had ultimately caught up to her, affecting the quality of her work. Despite being well aware of the urgency of the task Minerva entrusted her - them - with, she had slept all day, only waking up at 8 pm.

The grey glow of dusk, filtering through the window, hurt her eyes as she opened them. Her bed was comfortingly warm; the mere idea of needing to get up was dreadful, especially after that morning's awful scene. Embarrassing. She had lost her self-restraint, and being close to dozing off on the table was no adequate excuse.

She groaned, eventually rolling out of bed to get dressed. Her hair looked a mess: she hadn't undone her usual braid before collapsing on the bed, and it showed. When she finally decided to venture outside, she looked like she had seen better days, but at least presentable. At the moment, Severus was the last person she wanted to face, let alone work with; however, she had no other choice. Moreover, she had left her books in his study.

The candles lit the halls through which she roamed without hurry, passing by several groups of students who were returning from dinner in the Hall. The dungeons were dimly lit and quite chilly; slightly unpleasant, but familiar. It was almost November, after all.

When she arrived in front of Severus' door, too soon for her taste, she almost decided to head back; her sense of obligation was the only thing standing between her and that option. She was about to knock when a familiar, low voice reached her from behind her back, accompanied by a soft rustle. "Go in, Less."

A shiver ran down her spine as she turned around to look at its source. Severus was standing next to her motionless, looking at her with an indecipherable countenance; his eyes were immersed in the shadow projected by the few burning candles, but she could sense his scrutinizing, intense stare dissecting her. The soft glow of the flames emphasized his cheekbones, giving him a grave, authoritative appearance, and so did his upright posture. He was almost intimidating: the black figure towered over her, absorbing the whole corridor's light in her eyes.

She nearly took a step back.

"Good evening to you too, Severus," she said, trying to hide her nervousness.

He didn't reply, remaining immobile. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Blanche cleared her throat. "Shall we begin?"

"If you'll do me the favor of entering," he articulated slowly, pointing narrowly at the door.

Is he still mad?

She obliged, opening the door.

The chamber was flooded with volumes as it was the night prior; a couple of them, at the top of their stacks, were open, showing several sheets of handwritten notes tucked between their pages, as well as many sketches of the castle's perimeter.

Her attention, however, was immediately caught by the view of her most treasured book lying wide open on Severus' desk. Her notes were on full display, mixed with half-written sheets of paper that didn't belong to her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The mere idea of it being on the table, disclosing her meticulous research to Severus' probing gaze, was terrifying to Blanche. She could feel his intense, dark eyes carefully scanning her words, his hands turning the pages, delicately skimming through a part of her essence; she could hear his thoughts as he read her annotations, accompanied by the scribbling sound of a firmly held pen as he studied them. She had never felt as exposed to his judgment as at that precise moment.

Advanced Defense Spells and Countercurse Engineering wasn't a book like many others. It had rebuilt her from the ground, converting her fascination with the Dark Arts into a blazing adoration for the opposite, refined field: the Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was a sophisticated craft that mirrored her upbringing, the shadow of her most respected talents, but most of all, a chance at redemption.