Lustful Alchemy

13. SHARP

It's almost dinner time, yet I can't bring myself to get up from the chair behind the lectern, too tired even to think. The last students have already left for a while, but my ears are still ringing with the buzz of their chatter, giggles, and pointless questions, which would have been answered if they had bothered to open the textbook. Between Alchemy and Potions classes, my days are so packed that I don't even have a spare moment during school hours.

I run a hand over my eyes, the fingers exerting a slight pressure on the eyelids, and I force myself to get up to go to the Great Hall. With a wand movement, I tidy up the cauldrons on the tables in front of me and set about sorting out the chaos of scrolls, vials, and ingredients scattered on the lectern. Only then does a small scrap of paper emerge, of which I immediately recognize the handwriting: it's Black's.

Thinking it might be an urgent message I forgot among the various papers, I quickly move closer to the light of a candle to illuminate it and see what's written, and immediately remember why I let it disappear under piles of parchment without much ceremony.

"Dear Professor Sharp,

I, Phineas Nigellus Black, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, relieve Mr. Alisteir Rookwood from the duties of Alchemy, deeming it unnecessary for him to perform those you assigned to him in addition to those of Miss Doyle.

Yours sincerely,

Phineas Nigellus Black"

That pathetic attempt at justification with which Rookwood, a few days ago, dared to challenge my authority, and Cassandra's, once again doing as he pleases as if he were the master of this school.

I read the lines written in that small, angular handwriting a second time, as if to assure myself that Black actually signed those bullshit, the anger mounting with every word to explode silently within me when my attention falls on "Miss Doyle." Not "Professor," the role she rightfully holds, but just a Miss, as if she were not worthy of the slightest consideration.

I clench the note in my fist, crumpling it and digging my nails into the skin of my palm to avoid losing my temper. The school shouldn't allow such situations to occur, but as long as we have this mockery of a Headmaster, unfortunately, they will be commonplace. Surrendering to oppression has never been part of my nature, and despite what happened not being directly my affair, I know I cannot let it happen again. I may no longer be an Auror, but I still have morals and a sense of justice.

I stuff the note into my pocket and stride out of the Potions classroom with determination, slamming the door behind me. My nerves are on edge, and near the Great Hall, I take it out on a group of second-year Hufflepuffs who, instead of being at their table already, linger to giggle at goodness knows what joke, making them hurry inside before me. The buzz of the crowded hall greets me, as does Black's constantly bored and annoyed expression sitting at the center of the teachers' table.

I really wish my muscles and clenched jaw wouldn't relax, but the warmth of Cassandra's smile when she sees me makes it really difficult, and that, if possible, makes me even more annoyed. With a great effort, I sit down next to her without much ceremony, maintaining a stoic attitude and not letting myself be swayed by those perfect pink lips and her doe-like eyes. Merlin, I have no intention of letting myself be overcome by thoughts of this nature. It's going to be a painfully long evening.

On the other hand, Cassandra tries to start a conversation beside me, but I can't pay her any attention at all. I stare at Black's sharp profile: his total indifference and disinterest as he looks at things and people, without really seeing them, only increase my contempt for him. I hardly touch my food, but I gulp down glasses of wine as if they were soothing candies.