𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

I esteem you

Minerva had, in fact, been in his study that week; several times actually, five to be precise. Severus felt generally comfortable around her, after everything they had been through together, but that wasn't always the case: that week in particular, he had dreaded her visits. The tension she brought with her was unpleasant to have near; moreover, it weirdly reminded him of the grim attitude she maintained during the events leading up to the Second War.

He hadn't forgotten her perturbed expression when she had raised her wand to attack him, and even if that was all in the past, seeing her so visibly upset made him restless. Their talks had grown increasingly tense as the days passed without hearing from Less, who was secluded in her chamber developing a curse of frankly dubious design.

One night in particular, while he was studying the curse's effects, Minerva had visited him without announcing herself. His heart had dropped when she had asked him: "Can you guarantee that the curse will not be detrimental to the students' safety, Severus?"

Of course he couldn't, even if, in an impulsive moment, he had approved of Less' idea as it was peculiarly clever; however, its many flaws were becoming gradually more apparent to his attentive eye, and one of those was undoubtedly its shady consequences. He hadn't a satisfying reply for Minerva, who knew his nature far too well to be an easy woman to fool: not even his cold appearance could elude her careful gaze when he had replied with a curt: "Yes."

He hadn't technically lied, as he counted on his capability of correcting Less' project to an adequate extent.

Minerva had gravely glared at him, standing firm, holding her graceful poise, yet looking older than ever; and his blood had frozen in his veins when, following a long pause, she had rigidly responded: "It disheartens me to think of you so openly trying to deceive me, as not only have I closely watched you develop into the remarkable wizard you are today, but as I raised you myself; against all odds, I reckon you are one of my greatest triumphs and, holding you in high regard, I have grown to consider you a close friend. However, you are testing my patience."

Severus had felt put on the spot: Minerva's accusatory stare had cornered him. His conscience wasn't clean, and they both knew it.

"I ought to express my doubting towards Less' strategy; I trusted your awareness of the Dark Arts being unwelcome in what we may consider our home, if not in time of utmost need."

"May I ask why Less and I were charged with this responsibility if you don't trust our judgment?"

His snappy response had betrayed his uneasiness, as he had realized when he had already spoken; Minerva had caught his distraught tone and had pursed her lips.

Severus had tried to recover by vehemently adding: "Less' technique is unprecedented and, for as much as we value tradition, her emancipated studies have given to her approach an unorthodox brilliance that stands unrivaled in my eyes; you may define it foolish, even heretical, but its undeniable brightness is what you asked for."

"Heretical? Severus, blaspheme is the proper term to define such an initiative."

"Rigidness of the mind is a weakness which we cannot afford, Minerva, as it has been the downfall of many celebrated witches and wizards. I esteem Less' work enough to be sure of its ultimate success. Do you hold my opinion in such low regard?"

With the last statement, he had put his own credit on the line by leveraging on their personal history, and he knew it. She had seemed to be vaguely surprised.

"Why in Merlin's beard are you defending such recklessness? It's unusual for you to do such a thing."

Severus hadn't replied, staring at her dead in the eye. Minerva had raised her eyebrows, frowning, before excusing herself with a concerned stare.

"Goodnight."

And now that Blanche was before him, everything seemed too difficult to explain clearly. Yes, Severus had vouched for her; he had exposed himself with Minerva, and that was because, despite Blanche's terrible nature, she was admirable in her unapologetic, free-spirited conduct. She was trapped, like him; but, unlike him, she'd had the might to dissent and redesign her future. By fleeing, she had actively escaped her fate, attempting to create a new fortune with the force of desperation: her unruliness, well concealed under her ostensible rigidity, was what he lacked and, for that reason, respected.

He lacked the vital force, the self-preserving determination that animated Blanche's core; he desired such things to ignite his soul, yet he didn't comprehend them.

Severus had never realized how much he craved freedom, or even death itself, than he did at the moment Narcissa had saved him. His whole adult life, the ghost of his mistakes had followed him; he had felt his regrets clinging to his back like strands of ivy to an old house's walls, strangling his hands in their grasp and dragging his every action. He had been a slave to them, and because of them, he had sacrificed everything on the altar of magic history; that had brought him recognition, but hadn't been enough to put his anguish to rest.

A trail of death hunted him as countless people had been turned into mere memories because of the part he had played in an endless, destructive cycle. Hogwarts' victims alone were enough to keep him up at night, and it was only fair; and even if it wasn't, life had never been fair, and he had been left with nothing. He had hypotecated his future, counting on the fact that he was a dead man walking; Severus had been persuaded he'd be gone by the time the War would end. No one but Minerva had his back, as he had kept his distance from people he even brought himself to like, such as Sinistra, who many years prior had been quite a charming, yet superficial acquaintance; or such as Lucius, who'd now avoid him like the plague, and many more. Nothing and no one was left for him to rely on, except for Minerva, who had the school's best interest at heart as her utmost priority nonetheless.

Severus knew that, over Hogwarts' walls, there was nothing for him but a painful, lonely end.

It was far too much to explain, it was far too personal to tell Blanche, who was still expecting an answer. Severus was unable to articulate a well-thought phrase, still sunk in his chair; he was tired, oh, so tired.

As Blanche's eyes scanned his, he felt her close to him as never before, not even when she was in his arms. He could sense their likeness of heart as well as their fundamental dissimilarity; Severus desired to reach her, to clench and steal her vitality, but the fundamental differences in their characters made it impossible for his soul to match hers. Yet, he wanted to touch that parallel nature and grasp it tight between his fingers: he ardently desired to learn of the darkest secrets hidden in its depths, to relentlessly probe it and feel its ephemeral texture on his hands as if it was of cloth.

His esteem for Blanche's traits suddenly made him feel uncomfortable. The woman irritated him without end, yet he felt pulled to her by an unsatiable curiosity that had gotten the best of his judgment. The fierce dislike he had once felt towards her had vanished, leaving place for an undefined, pleasant sensation. This new awareness shook Severus, who tried to look unfazed.

After a long pause, he finally opened his mouth to reply.

"I esteem you. That is all." His voice was quiet, slightly hoarse as he slowly enunciated each word.

The surprise on her face astonished him.

Following a brief silence, she softly replied: "I esteem you too, Severus."

He felt an unexplainable knot constricting his throat as he looked at her. The dim light of the candles reflected in her eyes, projecting soft, trembling shadows on her features as she silently sat down.

The thought of her figure lost in his hands flashed in Severus' mind for an instant; the blazing lust that had possessed him as soon as he had kissed her sank its claws into his chest, as he remembered the feeling of her hands passionately tangled in his hair and her frantic gasps caressing his skin.
The mere recollection sent a shiver down his spine.

"Minerva is doubting, Blanche. However, I trust in our mastery," he added quietly. She slightly nodded. Her gaze was pensive, fixated on the desk between them. Despite his curiosity, Severus didn't try to use Legilimens: unfortunately, her Occlumens had been well restored after his previous antics.

What is she thinking?

"We should get to work," she abruptly said, snapping out of her meditative state, "it's all in my notes. What do you think?"