𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

See you tomorrow

Blanche, frustrated by Severus' response, conjoined her hands on the table. "You are a well-spoken man, Severus. You could explain; you are just choosing not to."

His vague answers were testing her patience. After her outburst, there was virtually nothing that he could say or do to top it. She was looking at him with an expecting stare, but Severus wasn't complying with her request: he looked distressed, but not enough to force an answer out of him. However, his frown displayed with painful transparency a restless string of thoughts that he didn't voice; it was so evident, so clear and yet unreachable, that it made Blanche's chest boil with rage.

Severus gradually lowered his face, looking at her hands for a few moments, then abruptly snapped his intense eyes back to her. A weird light flickered in them as he uttered: "Yes."
Blanche was perplexed. "What?"
"Don't make me repeat myself," he murmured sharply, "I said... yes. I am actively choosing not to."
Blanche knew she wouldn't get a word more on the matter out of him, so she just leaned back in her chair with a loud, exasperated sigh. "Enough. When are we putting up this goddamned Barrier?"
"The sooner, the better."
"Good. Tomorrow?"
Severus raised his brows. "Yes."

Blanche nodded and quickly got out of her chair. She was about to walk out the door when Severus' voice reached her. "Blanche," he murmured, softly enough to be inaudible to a careless ear, but loud enough to make her turn around, "are you prepared?"
Her hand was still holding the cold doorknob, and that sensation grounded her enough to make her answer sound at least semi-convincing: "Yes, Severus."
The shadow of a faint, bleak smile crossed his face. "Good."
"We are not going to die, after all."
"...Perhaps."

His last word, added like an afterthought, hit her like a train. Now that they had finally made their decision, the vague possibility of him putting his safety on the line, even more than her, had become concrete. That could have very well been their last meeting in his study, the place she had grown to treasure, of their lives.

Maybe it was the nighttime that made her sentimental, or maybe that prospect was really that hard to accept, but a wave of sadness caught her by surprise. Only now she was regretting her ideas, her plan - their plan - altogether.
"Severus, this is a stupidly dangerous idea."
Severus raised his gaze to meet hers. He looked tired, unusually so, when he replied: "No, Blanche. It's brilliant."

She was beginning to tear up. "No, it's not."

People were her greatest weakness, Blanche knew it fairly well. That man had somehow managed to break down her defense, and she couldn't understand why; and now, it was a real problem. He understood her more than anyone else, yet there was a distance between them she couldn't cover alone. At that moment, she figured out that she hadn't managed to do the same: Severus was still a mystery to her. He didn't seem to even want to be understood, always buried in his books and locked away in his chambers. Reaching him was an impossible mission. However, she couldn't imagine a life at Hogwarts without his steps echoing in the hallways, his severe voice resounding in the Potions classroom, or the view of his black cloak seated in the Great Hall. And, most of all, without working with him in his study.

She wondered why he was so ready to give it all up, how he could accept a fate so uncertain so easily.

A sudden sense of frustration filled her throat, along with a sincere urge to say what she was thinking out loud.
"Severus, I can't understand you. But I do want you to know that, if something were to happen, you would be greatly missed," she said as slowly as possible, "I would miss you."
He didn't move, but he lowered his eyes. After a few pensive seconds, he slowly replied: "You wouldn't, Blanche, I can guarantee that."
"I can't convince you of the opposite. However, I want you to know that I... esteem you."