warnings: none
word count: 1214

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"Before we feast on delicious food and drinks, I wish you to welcome a fierce war hero, and a kind soul: Professor Cesira Blyde who will be our new teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

A round of applause exploded from the student's tables, some whistling and loud cheers spreaded between the Ravenclaws.

I'm no hero you seasoned fool.

Cesira nodded at them with a slight curl of her lips.

"She and Professor Flitwick will be the Masters of our recently renewed Duelling Club. If you seek to take practice into this challenging sport, I suggest you to submit your enrollment to either of them."

Cesira shared a glare with Filius and Minerva, feeling a somber presence to her left all of a sudden. Not being able to sideye in that direction she lightly turned her head, ricocheting her stare on an imposing man hidden under layers of black robes. His prominent nose the only feature she could see for he was staring dead in front of him.

Snape.

As the dinner ensued rather smoothly she could not help but perceive the glacial aura he exuded.

It's the same one I felt that night, though now it is somehow more sharp, perhaps even more boisterous.

Her thoughts vanished as soon as her good eye caught a bunch of Slytherins staring at her while covering their eye, grimacing brazenly.

Cesira returned the grimace and once she looked away from them a noisy mocking laughter roared through the greens for some of them unexplicably had their food splashed all over their uniforms.

The witch sipped her still water, looking ahead.

"My, what happened?" asked Professor Sprout not without beaming at the sight.

"Clumsiness." Cesira answered while curling her lips once more toward Minerva's direction so as not to be seen by Snape.

The Head of Gryffindor gave her a motherly look.

Thanks Merlin she lowered her goblet before a piercing, excruciating stare carved a deep hole inside her head.
Snape was now staring at her, undoubtedly sure she was the one to hex his students.

He tried to penetrate her mind thinking it would have been easy and clean, although all he met was a high wall defending her every thought.

Cesira felt the unfriendly presence inside her brain and sneakily frowned to resist it, wisely hiding her discomfort in gripping her fork tighter.

Not today, bat.

She hated how his presence still affected her after all those years in the most tremendous and unforgettable way: she wouldn't be able to totally focus on the topics broached by her colleagues without obsessively feeling he was a feather away from her.

Though her words never cheated her mind, her soul was in great endeavour.

I won't be able to do anything at all if I act like one of his terrified students.

In the midst of a dead conversation about broomsticks, she willfully chose to step head first into the upcoming storm: fearless.

"I don't believe we ever met, I am-"

"The Headmaster informed me. No need to repeat your name nor what you do."

Cesira would have him hexed right there and then, the arrogance of his soft, baritone and collected voice had her fingers die to curl around her aspenwood wand.

"Apologies for wasting your precious time, neighbor."

The man elegantly turned his head toward her direction, his greasy jet black hair swishing away from his eyes.

Cesira held her breath for a matter of seconds when she met his soulless onyx holes anchoring hers in a deadly grip.

I remember them looking at me behind the mask, and how bright they shimmered in that dreadful night.

"Excuse me?" he hissed in a lower tone.

Oh he has the same fierce fury in them.

The witch pouted in a patronising manner, standing his unbearable stare most students couldn't hold for two seconds.

"I believe the Headmaster informed you. No need to repeat myself."

The Potion Master narrowed his eyes, grunting in disapproval then adverting his stare to Minerva behind her.

"Severus my dear, are you well? You look rather cold," she noticed his large hands shivering.

He sneered. "My chambers were colder than usual."

Cesira had thought better than letting a smirk appear on her face, she opted for a virtual scoff.

He doesn't even know how to end a childish hex, maybe this will be easier than expected.

"Well, aren't you glad you have someone to share the dungeons with now? Perhaps you should invite our new teacher to have one of your delicious firewhiskeys or wines."
Minerva suggested him or better, she basically told him 'I will know if you don't'.

Cesira immediately stepped in before he could cast another salty comment that would have strengthned their tension.

"I think it's best if we let time get us acquainted before touching glasses, don't you agree Professor...?"

The bat rolled his eyes and painfully let his last name slide. "Snape."

She nodded and didn't wait for him to actually answer to her question, conscious that he wouldn't have regardless, taking leave to talk with the blues before they entered their common room.

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Once she returned to her chambers a part of her hoped to cross Snape's path, part of her wished never to set eyes on him and desist her hunt.

It had been a lot of years since that night of December 1980, when she fought her last battle.
However, the nightmares were still present if not ever awake to haunt her even in the light of day.
She wasn't sure if her confidence would have won against her slowly growing fear of failure, but she hid her wavering.

Nine years of dreaming of the day she could see him again and for all.

There was no bravery, no ambition, no cleverness nor patience: only revenge.

The natural repulsion she felt coming from him as soon as their bodies were inches apart fueled something dying of hunger inside of her.

I would kill him right here if only he'd put a drop of salt in my wounds.

She unconsciously found herself staring at his oak door with her wand out, breathing heavily. The more she bore her eyes into the hard wood the more her patched eye showed signs of life.

Without a moan of pain she raised her ivory wand, a flash of foolishness fired in her eye.

Bombarda maxima. Say it. Tear it down and may the last thing he sees be a green light and your ghosts at your side.

Cesira put her wand back in its holster, strutting inside her rooms.

She was no fool, she knew nothing could be done to him before end of academic year.

The time separating her from her goal asked to be filled with something, and she wanted to have the best time getting on each other's nerves.
To be constantly at war with each other.

She wondered how deep his steel surface was, how long it would take before she could truly get on his most dangerous side.

His soft tone, his collected body language... she didn't buy it. Not a drop.

He was far from soft that night.

Before any other intrusive thought could poison her rationality she chugged a Dreamless Draught and fell gracelessly on her bed.

The last thing she felt was the room being unusually cold.