warnings: none
word count: 1122

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"My dear girl! Welcome back to Hogwarts, how have you been Cesira?'

The Headmaster strood towards her, squeezing gently her elbows whilst inspecting her visage.
Albus frowned behind his halfmoon glasses, inspecting the eyepatch shielding her left eye, albeit not enough to cover the pinkish scar that trailed obliquely from her forehead to the pointy end of her jaw.

"Albus," she bowed her head pressing her wand against her heart as a form of respectful greeting, reminiscing the times she used to welcome him like that when he showed up to the meetings of the Order.

A glimpse of sadness crossed her scarred face.

"No need of formal rituals my girl, the war is over." Dumbledore gently took her hands and focused on the lonely sapphire eye glaring at him.

Cesira's thin lips twitched in disapproval, sans disagreeing with the wiser wizard.

"I have two chambers for you, one is near Minerva's office and the other is situated in the dungeons, I suspect you would prefer to stay close to your favourite teacher." he chuckled at the sight of McGonagall's face when he told her the merry news of Cesira coming back.

The witch knew what would expect her in the dungeons.

Slytherins. And where there were snakes' tails, their head would not be far to find.

"I wouldn't discard the second option."

"Are you sure? Mind, they can be very cold in winter."

"I faced worse things Albus." she wished her tone would come across as kind, yet a shade of anger slipped out.

The Headmaster nodded. "Of course Cesira, I shall never forget that you are a veteran after all," he apologised and proceeded the small talk, instructing her on her duties as a teacher.

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The Great Hall was empty exception made for the staff table spread at the end of it, wizards and witches already chatting amongst themselves in a friendly haze that wrapped around them.

Cesira felt a grasp drag her heart down knowing she would never fit in their strong bond, not like she used to years ago.

Most of the staff used to teach her during her school years and fight by her side when war broke out.

For their first dinner together, she chose her usual silver militarist cloakless robes hugging her body neatly, a deep blue leather wand holster around her torso with knightish ends on the shoulders ending in a high waistband with her wand tugged in, modelling her hips.

(something like this)

She had combed her fresh flowing locks half up in a ponytail, half down look, leaving some loose tendrils at her temples to keep her sight pristine and vigilant of every move around her.

"Ah yes, there she is!" Dumbledore gestured her to come forward and greet the staff, though already filled with familiar faces.

She propped up a rehearsed smile and shook every hand that reached to her, pausing her steps when she met a short wizard who was looking at her with a sprinkle of pride in his eyes.

"My dear, dear Cesira!" Flitwick squeaked and stood up on his chair whilst she bowed to her old Head of house.

"Professor Flitwick it's a true pleasure to see you again," she had endeavoured to maintain her neutral appeal standing in front of a teacher who saw greatness in her soul even before Minerva.

"Oh enough with the formalities my darling, give your old teacher a hug!"

Cesira bent down and shared a hearty hug with Flitwick, mirthful faded memories felt like weapons shooting spells inside her covered wounds.

Everyone seemed to inspect her eyepatch and scar, avoiding to address it on order of Dumbledore himself.

"Am I that old to be forgotten?" an imposing and proud voice came from the other side of the table.

Cesira straightened her back and lunged to the senior witch with arms ajar for her to nestle between them.

"Oh Minerva, I haven't spent a day without thinking about you" the younger witch whispered to contain her genuine excitement in seeing one of her best companions during dark days.

How many times she had found herself helplessly surrounded by foes in the painful acceptance of torture or death, only to be saved by the powerful woman. A favour she returned when her skills grew greater as threats got deathlier.

"What happened to you?" Minerva cupped her face, ignoring the warning glares earned from the staff.

The last time she saw her her face wasn't as ruined as the one she was holding in her hands.

"Time hasn’t been kind to me Minerva." she cooed, gently prying away her fingers.

If only she knew.

The dinner went overall well, teachers never intruded harshly into her private life nor ever touched her years as a member of the Order.

However, Cesira could not help but notice the only free spot beside her.

"Oh, usually Professor Snape owns those seat dear," Minerva pointed out when Cesira seemed distracted by that vacancy.

The younger witch felt her fingers throb at the name mentioned, a large group of her cloth hidden scars silently wiggled.

"Where is he now?"

Her still, icy stare fixed on the Head of Gryffindor who was taken aback by her sudden change of mood. Cesira took note of her exposure to instant suspicion and moderately relaxed her frame.

"Albus had some work for him. I believe you never crossed him during your school days, he is our Potion Master and Head of Slytherin."

Oh yes, I met him.

"I sincerely hope you get along with him, poor boy is always surrounded by us seasoned fools he needs someone near his age."

Cesira pursed her lips, hiding a brooding smirk.

"I will do my best Minerva."

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The two weeks were mainly spent on planning her lessons and establishing with Albus and Flitwick a renewed Duelling Club so as to keep students focused on practice rather than boring theory.

Cesira often paced the dungeons and corridors to bump into a black shadow, though in vain: Severus Snape was nowhere to be seen until the first day of September approached.

While she was revising the spells book she would have used to instruct peers inside her freezing characterless office adorned only by moving pictures of late members of the Order, a swift noise of steps outside the door caught her attention.

A loud thud echoed through the corridor as a door had been violently shut.

It's him.

Cesira sneered and stood up, caressing the cold wall whilst murmuring latin incomprehensible words to cast wards of ancient protection to her chambers and unruly hex the nearest one, Snape's one.

He was to spend a rather glacious night.

How ardently she longed for tomorrow.