Lustful Alchemy

42. SHARP

I wake up early, as usual, even though my sleep was far from restful. Nightmares crept in during the night, blending with memories I'd rather forget. But when I open my eyes and turn toward Cassandra, every shadow disappears for a moment. I can't believe I waited so long to have her move into my bedroom, to have her sleep in my arms, her breath against my skin, just because I was afraid she'd see the most vulnerable, secret parts of me. Looking at her closed eyelids, her slightly parted lips, and the pale glow of her skin, I feel like a fool for having hesitated.

She's still asleep, her face relaxed in an expression I haven't seen often lately—a fleeting peace that doesn't deserve to be disturbed, especially after the difficult days we've just been through and the challenging day ahead of us. Her physical wounds may have healed, but I know all too well, having learned it myself, that the invisible ones will take much longer to mend.

I get up without making a sound, using my cane to support the weight on my still-aching leg. Despite Madam Blainey's care, the enforced rest, and the gradually warming weather, I've pushed it beyond its limits—something impossible to ignore or pretend never happened. Much as it pains me to admit, the confrontation with Rookwood, while it didn't break me, has taken a heavy toll.

And speaking of the devil, today isn't just any day: today, we professors will meet with Headmaster Black to discuss what happened. I can't suppress a surge of anger at the thought. Black has never been a man capable of handling delicate situations, let alone delivering justice, especially when the parties involved are a Muggle-born and a Pureblood, regardless of their House or position. His indifference is toxic, but as Headmaster, we have to deal with him—whether we like it or not.

I move slowly toward the basin of water, summoning one of the house-elves to have breakfast brought to the room for Cassandra and me. I don't have time to go to the Great Hall; I need to clear my thoughts, even though a storm brews inside me, ready to explode. Acting rashly today would be a mistake. The anger pounds like a relentless drum, but control is more crucial than ever. I can't stop thinking about Rookwood, about the harm he inflicted on Cassandra and the even greater harm he could have done had I not arrived in time. Yet he's still here, shielded by the walls of this castle, almost untouchable.

The desire for revenge burns fiercely within me, but it's a feeling I force myself to suppress. Revenge isn't what she needs right now—she needs protection. I must be her shield, her strength, even though the weight of that responsibility feels suffocating.

A tray laden with fragrant delicacies materializes on the table between the chairs by the fireplace. As I sit down to sip my coffee, my mind drifts. I replay every moment of that night, every mistake, every choice. I can't escape the guilt. No matter how much I know, or how much Cassandra reassures me that I'm not to blame, a part of me will never stop believing otherwise. I should have protected her better, been more aware of the dangers surrounding her. I can't change the past, but I can make sure nothing like this ever happens to her again.

A soft noise behind me pulls me from my thoughts, grounding me in the present. I turn to find Cassandra standing in the doorway of the bedroom, wrapped in her robe. Her eyes are still clouded with sleep, but her gaze is sharp.

«Good morning. How are you feeling?» she asks, her voice soft.

«I'm fine,» I lie, unwilling to burden her with what weighs on me. «And you? Did you sleep well?»

She nods, though there's a concern in her eyes that cuts through me like a blade. I rise and walk toward her, pulling her into an embrace—though I'm unsure which of us needs it more.

«I know the thought of what's coming today troubles you. It's the same for me. But as long as I'm here, I won't let anyone downplay or dismiss what you've been through.»