warnings: extreme sassiness
word count: 3660

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"Would you look at that?" Hooch had been smiling for quite some time at an enchanted Clubs board hung above the four hourglasses, she was over the moon.

"Now that's what puts a smile on my face Rolanda," Cesira shook her hand vigorously, letting the witch hit her shoulder as usual. She could endure it this time, for the Dragon Club was first in the ranking.

Breakfast had come to an end, everyone at the staff table had been talking about Dumbledore's worrying absence for it was unlikely of him to stay away from Hogwarts more than two months. December had just begun, no one had heard from him since september.

Somehow Cesira felt it must have involved the voice, the misty shadow Minnie had described to leave her body after their ambush. It would come back.
Furthermore, the frequent Death Eaters sightings in Scotland her night owl Glaukopis had recently been reporting to her – it was taught to blink twice if it saw them snakes – told her a lot of things she wished to sweep under a rug when not alone.

Yes, the harsh and bitter truth ensued her having a hell of a blast competing mercilessly with Snape; she struggled to admit how deeply welcomed she felt by Hooch and Minnie when plotting against his club, how elated she felt when she ran away giggling from his class after yelling 'boring!' or conjuring innocent fireworks to startle him.

He did bite back, hard.
Cesira couldn't recall a single lesson he hadn't interrupted with disgusting lies, often spoiling the tranquil yet thrilling ambience she was able to maintain by simply strutting inside her classroom and sit at her side, judging her and glaring at his dunderheads.
Yes, once he completely dismissed her own class by summoning everyone's potions essay under their own noses, eliciting sobs and huffs of discomfort. Few, faithful Ravenclaws kept listening to their teacher whilst everyone else despaired on their low grades.

Snape woke up with white hair the following day – Cesira had to sleep with Minnie for her chambers suspiciously disappeared.

They were poking each other like damn children yet they never stopped, favouring the high increase of gossiping.

Cesira missed Penny, albeit that bat told her he gave her as much time off as she needed to recover from the impossible mission she accomplished.

She knew the young witch would be enthralled once she would step in her brand new chambers designed by her and, well, yes, Snape. They got along whilst decorating, strangely enough.

"Are you quite sure she likes yellow this much?"

"I know the kid more than you do, Blyde."

"Aw, look at you calling her 'kid'. Such a softie."

"You're gross. And I thoroughly mean that."

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"You took that lassie under your wing my dear boy, how is Penny doing?"

Minerva questioned her boy, brooms flashing by in front of them as they were attending the infamous Slytherin Vs Gryffindor match, refereed by none other than Cesira herself.
She wasn't biased, but she got to train some lions her own hard way – some said she was stricter than Hooch when it came down to Quidditch – thus she was positive on a win on their behalf.
Besides, all she truly wanted was to let Minnie rub it on his Roman nose.

"She is recovering, Minerva. I ordered her to keep me updated." he drawled emotionlessly. Typical bat.

A loud cheer roared from the reds as Cesira had reproached a green for committing foul for blagging – seizing opponents broom to slow them down.

Everyone heard the enraged player toss his arms in the air and delivering rather unpleasant words concerning the referee's blood status, albeit she was one of the few purebloods not blinded by racists' beliefs.

"Come on, say it again! One more word and you're out Mr. Ludlow!" she bellowed, not affected by his comment rather by his foul – she never, never beared playing dirty.
Merlin knows how many times she almost got in a fight after her matches with some disrespectful peers. Minnie remembered them all.

Minerva beamed at her authority, how she would have loved to have had her in Gryffindor.

"I'll give that dunderhead a proper detention." growled Severus, enraged both by his house losing and his student acting against his own rigid behavior rules every green had to observe.

"Give him to Cesira, I've heard she is worse than you when crossed."

He huffed at the light jab on his ribs.

"Impossible."

She could not be better than him even regarding detentions, he had a years long reputation to defend; no student could stop fearing his punishments due to that insufferable witch.

He was startled from his usual plotting and scheming when the bane of his existence flashed a few inches from him, high fiving Minerva.

"Why so grim Snape?" she mocked smugly, enjoying his signature arched brow.

Cesira kept patrolling the match, when she distinctly spotted a bludger speeding towards the dungeon bat. No beater paid attention for Slytherin just scored, not even Snape nor the remaining audience saw it coming.

He truly deserves a square hit on his big nose.

She robbed a beater of his bat, soaring after the bludger. A loud scream erupted from the stands it was speeding to, his charcoals widened almost comically.

Whoosh! Her bat sent it back into the pitch an inch from his harsh face.

They exchanged an unreadable glare.
She winked.

Gryffindor won.

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"My, it appears that the snake caught the raven in its fangs."

Checkmate, she lost at chess with him. Again. In the staffroom, under everyone’s eyes.

She gave him a furious twitch of her left cheek. He licked his canine just like that dreadful night, a white spark in his obsidians ablaze.

"Not if the raven takes its eyes first." she faked a gasp and glimpsed at the board in the corner reminding each house rank in the Quidditch Cup, "looks like it did!"

He crossed his arms, leaning back into the armchair as he gallantly crossed his long legs.

I wonder if he has some muscles beneath all this black wool.

She heard him softly chuckle. Oh no.

"Eager to know, are we?" his baritone clawed directly at her throat as her breath hitched. He looked so... mischievous. His ugly face was cold as always, mind, but his eyes and his endless smirks gave away more than he wished.

"You wouldn't endure my detentions Snape, not one."

He arched his brow all the way to the top, until it disappeared behind his raven hair. "Neither would you mines."

"Oh, cleaning cauldrons and sorting your storage, I am quaking."

He grazed his canine again. She caught her stomach retreat to her spine.

Is he glitching? Or does he do that on purpose? Well, I already know the answer don't I.

"At least I don't play the piano for my students instead of actually teaching them something useful."

She sneered, kicking his shin with her heel as she mirrored his solemn sitting stance. She didn't mean to, obviously. He just happened to have really long legs.

"That's right: you don't even know how to play the piano."

He was more than ready to bite back in his traditional snark, but Minerva weighed in from the other side of the room where she was sipping floral tea with Poppy and Sybill.

"Enough, clann. You two are causing us a migraine with your flirting."

Cesira and Severus both shot a killing stare at the senior witch who giggled silently with her partners in crime.

"We are not-"

They started in unison, though a single glare from above her signature glasses shut their mouths closed.
They knew better than talking back to Minerva McGonagall.

"Not so brave anymore, crow." muttered Severus, partially ignoring Minnie's warning glare for no one could tell him what to do. Well, sometimes he gave her that power.

"Shut up, snake." she countered in a hiss.

Filius entered the staffroom – they were there because he asked them to for some reason – Cesira immediately stood up and bowed slowly in respect.

"Professor Flitwick, sir."

Severus struggled to hold back a scoff at her ridiculing herself in front of everyone, albeit he could tell she didn't care. He found it amusing how quickly she gave up her fierce persona once the little wizard walked in.

"Ah, my dear girl, you always treat me higher than you should, at ease."

With that she followed suit, sitting down with her whole body projected toward his direction, a part of herself told her she didn't deserve to snatch away his title of dueling champion. She could never be good enough to hold his honour high, she was a monster much like the brooding dark man behind her.

"As you all know, I must take leave for a few weeks due to personal issues," he started, Cesira clenched her jaw.

Minerva was so kind to inform me about this only ten minutes ago.
I can't give him a proper goodbye.

"I would like to let our brilliant dueling champion take over my Charms lessons," she curtly nodded, "and temporarily lend her the title of Head of Ravenclaw whilst I'll be gone."

Cesira felt sickness twist her guts, her stomach retired all the way to her spine. She would vomit on the carpet right there and then, then pass out.

"I am at a loss for words, Professor, but why not Madam Hooch?"

She didn't deserve it. None of it.
She wasn't good enough to hold his honour high, to look after the kids.
She clearly would never be the wisest in that room, nor the most skilled. She was the childish, grieving DADA teacher who didn't seem to stand her own breath.
She was stubborn, brave, puerile, ill tempered, wistful, irresponsible.
She always favoured playing Quidditch or dueling instead of drowning beneath piles of tomes like every other peer did in her school years. She favoured practice to theory,  and wasn't even top of her classes – except for Charms, Flying and Transfiguration whilst everyone in her dorm excelled in every single subject. Francis and Hazel were the only ones to appreciate her diverseness from every other raven, making her feel less lonely and that, to a child, is the greatest act of love one could give.
How was she to interact with the sons of those who marginalisied her for being different? Most of them blues looked up to her, but she didn't belong with them. She never did.

The Sorting Hat sorted too soon.

"Nonsense, room to the youth!" commented Hooch, earning a nod from Filius.

After all I've done? After barely escaping a dark menace I could have defeated if I weren't such a coward?

Cesira felt awfully big all of a sudden, she longed to take all their eyes off her and crawl back into her nook to fight dummies until her body gave out.

Hold you thestrals, witch.

Boomed his voice inside her head, though it had a softer touch to it – was Snape trying to calm her down? She darted a look behind her, the brooding man returning her gaze with his chest heaving, then decaying in a deep breath.
She mirrored him, breathing in, breathing through, breathing out.

Filius shook everyone's hand, allowing Cesira to a heartfelt hug.

"You'll be just fine my girl, I will always be proud of you." he whispered, wiping off a traitorous tear from her face without anyone to notice. "There there, save your tears for other days darling. You are a Ravenclaw, no matter what they think of you." Filius hinted at the Head of Slytherin, whom he often caught complaining about how she couldn't possibly belong to the clever blues when she clearly was an arrogant red.

Cesira nodded, smiling like a sad, grown child.

"Oh and Severus, I wish you to split Defense with Cesira, she is to be quite booked for the time being."

Snape curtly nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Filius."

And with that, the little wizard took leave.

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Obviously her quarters had been transfered to the West Towes, so as to be as closer to her 'poults' – how Severus oh so dearly liked to call them – as possible. Pity, that new arrengement required a five minutes walk to knock on his quarters and ask him if he wanted to go dunder-hunting together, as they liked to call regular patrolling.

The students thought that Cesira was way cooler than the dungeon bat, no doubts on that – albeit when they happened to be on shift together they were the kids' menace. Most of the student body called them 'wizarding cops' as a Gryffindor had neatly put into words once at dinner.

If one were lucky enough to escape Snape's cauldrons, they could be sure as hell to end up doing abs and push ups at six in the morning by the lake.

Anyway, her first Charms lessons went smoothly much to her luck, though that particular day she was to introduce herself to her house as any new Head must do in order to present their rules. Should she be on strict mode or cool mode? She knew she couldn't be too out going, nor a pain in the ass like someone else.
They were mostly introverts, individualistic teenagers who would listen and absorb every single word that was to escape her lips.
She wanted to have a bit of banter with them as much as taking notice on not to cross her, just like she acted when Francis wasn't in her dorm.
Of course, everyone ignored her back then.

She sighed in her office, waiting for Severus to come in and plan their split lessons, deciding who should teach what.

We will so end up fighting. And he knows that all too well.

She heard his baritone mumble the solution to the little quiz one had to solve in order to let her door open – she hoped copying the common room's entrance system would make her look more Ravenclaw-ish.

He stepped in, huffing.

"That was the silliest quiz I have ever had the misfortune to endure, Blyde. Think better, or even Minerva's cubs can get through."

She rolled her eye, sneering.

"Stop grumbling and let's get this over with you big bat."

Severus oh so wanted to make her chew on her own words, but for the first time in his miserable life he was left speechless, his mouth hung agape.

He felt like a time traveler stepping head first into his first quest, back to two thousand years ago – to be precise in the splendid Greek Hellenistic period. 

Snow-white columns supported an enchanted ceiling exactly like the one in the Great Hall – lost constellations and galaxies floating placidly above his head. 

The office, which doubled as a living room, had a beautiful ivory hearth adorned with various statues of Greek gods. The loveseats and armchairs were of a silky azure – there was a large presence of silver, bronze and blue in all its shades. 

What caught everyone's attention, students and professors alike, was the huge statue of Pallas Athena armed with shield and spear standing behind her desk, as if judging whoever sat on the guest's side.

With a rather challenging spell to widen spaces, a peculiar faint mist let him glimpse in the distance what looked like an ancient gymnasium, one almost expected to see Athenian athletes training for the Olympics. 

Candid-white statues served as a portico, in the middle stood a flourishing olive tree perpetually illuminated by an enchanted ray of sunshine.

In the gymnasium, Muggle training tools still staggered: wooden pillars with swinging arms, regular dummies and even swords.

Returning his astonished gaze to the area dedicated to the office and living room, the walls adorned with typical Greek motifs were supported by a long library filled with ancient tragedies and comedies, from Sophocles to Menander, bordering on Roman times with various tomes by Seneca.

In particular, however, he noticed an oddly small section dedicated to a contemporary author, Franz Kafka.
A change of themes and centuries not quite indifferent.

The ever permanent scent fluttering around was of gentle, foamy waves and nurtured meadows under summer skies. Now Snape understood why many seemed to be elated to cross that threshold back at lunch.

Cesira looked at his enchantment smugly, leaning back into her chair to look up at Athena, who lowered her marble head to return the glare.
Severus almost flinched, as if he never heard of the existence of magic all his life.

"What do you think of him, my Goddess?"

Athena slowly stepped down her pedestal, lurching toward his smaller frame. Snape looked up at her in his most stoic stance, feeling like a child all over again as the marble look down on him with pride – if statue even had expressions anyway.

She tapped her spear on the ground, his heart flipped.

She's not really Athena, you git.

"He is to be son of Hades," a clear, feminine and imposing voice boomed – though the marble's mouth didn't open a bit.

Severus felt he was made of water under her stony gaze, as if he were transparent and utterly readable, vulnerable. He had never felt this perceived and exposed since his promise to Albus.

"A brave, brave warrior."

Cesira pursed her lips, for once disagreeing with the statue's opinion on her guests. Then she licked her upper lip at the sight of such a powerful, frightening wizard looking like a scared puppy beneath her chilling stare.
She flicked her hand, commanding the statue to return to its post.
Alas, Athena, even if enchanted, had her own sense of will.

Snape expected her to lurch back to her pedestal, yet she tapped her spear again, more violently.
He shuddered, his wand hand flexing.

Athena's head came eye level to the wizard, much to Cesira's shock: she never lowered herself to anyone's level – she was embodying a Goddess!

Severus felt startled from the proximity, her carved eyes seemed so real... he felt drawned to her engulfing, divine aura, deciding it was best to bow much like he did when having to deal with hippogriffs during club meetings.

"Do you believe in redemption, son of Hades?"

Why was she asking him that?

"No, Goddess."

He swore he could see her perfectly still lips curl up in a knowing smile.

"Interesting."

Once Athena returned to her pedestal and froze into her solemn stance, Snape regained his dignity and lunged to sit in front of her, arms crossed.
She noticed he wasn't wearing his usual billowing cloak, thus his black frock helped her distinguish the shape of his body.

The cunning bastard.

He arched his brow, this time she was sure he didn't read her thoughts – she wasn't that bad at Occlumency.

"You are one conceited show-off, Blyde."

She scoffed.

"I see your attitude is back when big scary Athena isn't looking, uh?"

He rolled his eyes. "Stop grumbling and let's get this over with you little brat."

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Much to their own surprise, they didn't altercate on anything, a true step forward! He had his favourite topics, she had hers. Pretty straightforward.

Cesira felt particularly magnanimous and had suggested him to indulge a bit further, sitting on one of her loveseats. Knowing how much he hated proximity – she did too but not at monk-like levels – she propped her feet up and rested her back against the armrest, a feather away from his thigh.

He threatned to stand up and sit across her, but Cesira pointed at the statue and he resisted his urge, scoffing.

"Why ancient Greece?" he asked, his curiosity kicking in.

She shrugged. "I love war tales, been reading the Iliad since I was a child. And the plays are, ugh, timeless classics. I would marry Ulysses in a blink was he to be in this room."

Snape frowned, gaping once again at the ceiling – he found it to be even more fascinating than the bigger one.
He would never admit that to her

"I thought you loved the Iliad."

"Indeed, I live for bloody battles and the entangling of doomed fates, yet I think a man like Achilles would never do for me."

"Too boisterous?" he slowly allowed his back to wind down.

"Too me."

He chuckled, seeing the resemblance: an arrogant, restless soldier who could never live without a war.

"Ulysses has the twinkle of stars in his eyes and the curse of knowledge in his soul, he has much more to offer, much more to tell." she sighed, staring at the ceiling.

"Would you like tea?"

"Yes, I would like that."

They never had a single cup.

Silence settled in as both parties didn't know how to revive the dulling embers of their small talk, albeit the loss of words didn't feel suffocating at all. They were just there, absorbed in their own thoughts with each other's company.

Oh God what am I doing? I can't take my eye off his profile.

The wizard was in fact staring at the ceiling once again, his head nuzzled on the comfy backrest. He was hypnotized, he didn't quite know what to say, nor what to think.
He wasn't even thinking, for once.
Just pure, delicious silence.

The way the stars and galaxies shined, how small he felt under their shimmering... peace, at last.

As the fiery tongues were licking the last eaten barks inside the hearth, the two wizards were tempted to fall asleep exactly as they were placed; it felt so right, so easy to close their eyes and drift off.

Meanwhile, Ravenclaws were eagerly waiting for their new Head to step into the common room. But she never did.

The embers had died, the ashes had vanished.
Athena silently moved her hand, blowing off every candle in the room.

He would dream of sailing to the end of the world, she would dream of wielding sword and shield.