𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

To new friends

It was Thursday night, the 31st of August, when Minerva stood up after the usual dinner and cleared her voice, catching the staff's attention by ringing a spoon on her empty glass. Its faint sound tinged in the empty Great Hall, which would soon be hosting hundreds of students. The Houses' long tables were still empty, but that wouldn't be the case for long: their arrival was planned for the next day, Monday afternoon. That prospect was somehow relieving: the Hall, with vacant benches and tables, felt unnaturally void without the kids' voices to animate it.

Minerva waited for everyone to be silent before speaking. "I sincerely hope that each of you is well-rested and prepared. As you know, tomorrow the students will finally be here - Merlin help us all," she said, eliciting a few chuckles, "I bid us all good luck. I propose a toast to a new, hopefully, serene school year!"

Everyone clapped at Minerva's toast as she raised her glass with a warm smile; their applause reverberated in the luminous Great Hall, filling Blanche with unforeseen glee. She didn't expect to be so genuinely excited, but she was, indeed: actually, she was thrilled. The idea of meeting the students to whom she'd teach delighted her. Her preparations were complete, and she felt, as Minerva said, ready. It had been years since she'd felt to be looking forward to something so light-heartedly compelling; it was an unfamiliar sensation, but a welcome one nonetheless. As everything was falling into place, for once, what filled her heart was pure cheer and that feeling she wanted to treasure. Her colleagues were interesting, intriguing even, for the most part, and the work sounded promisingly engaging. Maybe she'd make a difference in the students' lives, or maybe not, but the mere possibility to do so was exciting.

Several bottles of champagne appeared, conjured by a flick of Minerva's wrist, and the glasses of those who agreed were soon full. Blanche usually wasn't keen on drinking, but this time she wanted to let go of her rigid appearance and celebrate.

Flitwick was particularly cheery. "I propose another toast," he almost yelled, raising his glass and flashing a bright smile in Blanche's direction, "to new friends!"

His toast made her quite happy. He was one of the people whose company she enjoyed the most: he made her feel welcome from the first moment, and his reserved but friendly nature made him a great match for her personality. Blanche smiled back, enthusiastically raising her glass to then turn around to toast with Sprout and Hooch. They looked delighted with the turn the evening had taken, and it showed: their smiles were contagious. "To new friends!" yelled Hooch, hitting the desk. "Rolanda, watch your tone," said Sprout, blatantly amused, before gulping the whole glass. "Yes, Ma'am. Has the spirit of Minerva possessed you or what, Pomona," Hooch replied, winking, "you're no fun."

Blanche couldn't help but laugh, turning to Minerva. She was distracted chatting with Pomfrey, taking minuscule sips from her glass, and didn't notice Blanche's gaze. To get her attention, instead, was Flitwick, who was buoyant: his small constitution didn't get along well with alcohol, it seemed, and he'd had at least three glasses of champagne. "Minerva! Why so serious?!"

She was surprised, but not too surprised, by how he had addressed her. It probably was nothing new. "Filius! Control yourself," she replied with a semi-hidden grin, when Hooch cut her off: "Yeah, come on! Wanna hear a joke?"

Blanche was starting to lose interest in the conversation as Hooch tried to get Minerva to laugh, and her eyes to wander; suddenly, they were met by Snape's gaze. He was sitting next to Professor Trelawney, who looked confused as always while chatting with Professor Vector. Blanche didn't like Trelawney much: she always looked like she had her mind someone else, and her stare was always creepily scrutinizing, as if she was seeing something behind her interlocutor's back. Blanche had no patience for Divination practitioners, even if, she had to admit, it was quite useful on certain occasions. After all, Trelawney had successfully predicted Voldemort's demise many years before; overall, despite her innocuous and messy appearance, the woman creeped her out. On the other hand, she had a good impression of Vector, who looked way more disciplined and steady; Blanche briefly wondered what they could ever be talking about, since they seemed to have so little in common.

Their conversation, however, seemed not to intrigue Snape in the slightest. His glass was still full, placed in front of him untouched, and he looked utterly bored; however, a spark of interest lit his eyes as they locked with hers, as if something had suddenly amused him.

He didn't avert them for a while, unlike any rule of politeness - or residual decency, even - would recommend; instead, he plainly stared at her. Blanche was still mad at him for the treatment he had reserved her for the whole week, and his stare was almost a provocation, in that context. There was a pattern in his actions, a studied malice that blatantly aimed to irk her.

What is your problem?

She sent these words, loud and clear, in his direction, hoping that his questionable habit of randomly sneaking into people's minds hadn't abandoned him in the last 24 hours. He irritated her to no end, yet she didn't know how he managed to anger her that much, as he was no different from any of the arrogant men she'd ever met - and they were, regrettably, a lot.

He remained motionless for a couple of seconds before slowly standing up; then, without a word, he left the table with his cloak floating behind him to head to the Great Hall's exit.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

As soon as she thought these words, Snape slowed down. He seemed to hesitate for a couple of steps, but then he picked up his usual fast pace; and, in a moment, he was gone.

"Don't mind Severus," Sprout exclaimed, calling her back to her senses, "he's always like that. Propose a toast!"

"Toast! Toast! Toast!" Hooch cheered, eagerly backing up Sprout's encouragement and grabbing her glass from the table. Minerva's attention was caught by the noise, and she looked at Blanche with a reassuring, expectant smile. "Go on, dear."

Blanche hesitated for a second, trying to think of something worthy of a toast.

What can I say?

She took a quick glance at the bright Hall and at her colleagues, who were waiting for her to speak. She was beginning to feel at ease around them and enjoy their company; moreover, she couldn't think of anything else to say. Finally, she loudly stated, raising her glass decidedly: "To us!"

That evening felt like a last dinner with new friends, the end of their time together before the start of the year; there wouldn't be many occasions to have such a nice evening, with the students around.