𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

Are you okay?

"The things I'd do for a butterbeer," Amanda sighed. The apparent unwillingness of her Arithmancy essay to write itself, despite the two whole hours she had spent staring at the blank page, visibly bothered her.
The habit of studying crouched on her bed, which she had picked up from Eleanor, wasn't working well for her: the blue bedsheets were too inviting, and the golden light of the afternoon made her feel sleepy. The quiet atmosphere of the Dormitory didn't help: there were only a few girls around, most of them located in the near Common Room.

Her remark fell flat, but she was looking for an excuse to, once again, distract herself. She sighed again, louder, in Eleanor's direction: "I'm tired!"

Eleanor didn't raise her head. Instead, she muttered a few words under her breath, without averting her eyes from the book she was quickly browsing. Was she even reading it?

"What?"

Eleanor finally gave her an annoyed glance as she repeated slowly: "Stop being a crybaby." Her writing hand didn't stop scribbling on the paper while she spoke, proceeding at an unsettlingly nonchalant speed. Her utter lack of concern for her struggle, combined with the sharp remark, took Amanda by surprise. After a brief moment of silence, Eleanor probably realized that her answer had been too harsh, so she followed up with: "If you get that done, I have something in store for tonight."

Amanda didn't feel comforted by her last words. At all.

Lately Eleanor's constant, frenetic activity made her more anxious than motivated. While stimulating in the beginning, Amanda realized that it made her feel self-conscious about her lack of similar effort. Eleanor rarely idled about: she was perpetually up to something, but she spent most of her time devouring volumes at a pace Amanda couldn't keep up with. Her clearly competitive nature was a menace to Amanda's calm; however, she knew that she should have imitated her, rather than being glad of not being her classmate.

"What do you mean?"

Before Eleanor had time to reply, a booming roar exploded in their ears. The whole Castle vibrated as if a bomb had just been detonated in its foundations, shaking them off their beds and scattering their books on the floor. Amanda instinctively covered her ears, trying to protect them from the blaring growl echoing everywhere, mixed with the terrified screams of the other students in the dormitory; a cold grip of fear paralyzed her, and she didn't even try to stop her fall to the floor. She was about to look around to understand what was happening, but as soon as she lifted her gaze from the floor, a blinding flash of blue light hit her eyes. She screamed at the top of her lungs. Her head was completely empty, enveloped by a net of fear that trapped her line of thought and annihilated it.

Was she about to die? Were they all about to die?

Amanda had never thought of her death as a near, possible event, but the intense, abrupt fear was forcing her to face it. There were many things she still wanted to do, many people she wanted to meet, to get older and experience the world; was that all? Was this all there was to life, for her? These thoughts circled her head, making her eyes sting. She couldn't stop her hands from trembling, and her heartbeat boomed in her ears.

Finally, after a few minutes, the sound suddenly ceased, leaving place to a deafening silence. Amanda didn't move for a while, scared to open her eyes; but when she did, she saw a cautious Eleanor swiftly getting back on her feet like nothing happened and, after stepping over a panicked girl crawled on the floor, walked to the window to peek outside.

"I knew it," she murmured, "A warning would have been nice, fucking cray-crays."

Her low-pitched voice barely reached Amanda, who couldn't bring herself to reply: she was hurt by El's nonchalance. She hadn't even bothered to check on her before running to the window. Apparently her curiosity surpassed, by far, her empathy.