Before Sunset PV | Katherine H.T.

Kitty was excited.

First day of a new job — first day of a teaching job, too. Entirely new territory in a somewhat familiar place. She had been to Hogwarts before during interschool visits and mostly spent her time there sneaking around with international friends. Now, she was to be a teacher: no, a professor. It felt new. It would have felt a little stress-inducing, too, maybe scary, but Kitty had already had a hold on cursebreaking. If she lived after facing off against a hag while disarmed, she was sure she’d be able to handle a few teenagers. Hopefully.

Her day started early: before actual, well, daytime. Kitty was told someone would be there to greet her around one, before lunch, but the train journey itself was going to be a good few hours long, so she got up a half hour before four in the morning. Not that she could have slept very well, either way. All that really mattered was she got to watch the sun rise after getting to the train station.

Still, it meant she didn’t particularly feel like doing her make-up with the small lamp her desk held, and the rest of her clothes were equally simple, at least by her own standards. A plain black skirt and a white button down with flared sleeves made up the base. Black tights, slightly sheer, to brave the cold that Scotland would surely bring plenty of, and a hot pink tartan coat to that same effect. Hot pink boots, knee high, to match. Her usual accessories: small gold hoops, and a gold necklace.

Kitty said goodbye to her London flat, looking out at the rooms one last time. She could have chosen to stay here for the rest of winter break — the students were leaving tomorrow, after all, and she could have arrived in January with them — but she opted not to. She needed to get settled in at Hogwarts properly, after all. Unfortunately, this meant that she wouldn’t be seeing her apartment for a while; and such a shame, too. She had just finished redecorating. Still, with the prospect of a classroom to decorate once at Hogwarts, she stepped into the fireplace with Diagon Alley on her lips. She had a quick breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron before rushing over to the station for a train that arrived just before the clock hit five in the morning.

The train ride was nice. Ilvermorny had its own ways of getting students to Hogwarts, so it felt very proper to now be getting there the way the Brits themselves did. The gentle groan of the engine and the empty compartment she was in allowed her to catch up on a few hours of sleep. She spent the time she was awake looking out at the views beyond her window with awe and excitement bubbling in her stomach. Hogsmeade was lovely, too — quaint, quiet. She spent an inordinate amount of time chatting with some shop attendant dressed in pink at Madam Pudifoot’s; picking up a small coffee before finally making her way over to the viaduct.

And oh, the viaduct! It was a sight to see. Again, it felt proper. Like the right way to experience Hogwarts, long after her own education had ended. Kitty wasn’t skipping, per se, but there was a lightness to every step — boots clicking gently against the stones of the bridge. The sound was quiet; drowned out by her own dulcet humming of some unsteady tune. Her pace was measured, slow. She was in no rush. Besides, whoever would be waiting would surely forgive the few minutes of lateness. The day was special, after all. Her first day in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts would be something to remember, Kitty was sure, and she wanted to take it in as best she could. Her eyes kept moving, never glazing over the view of the Scottish hills surrounding the castle; taking it in intently.

Kitty paused for a brief moment, allowing her stride to lead her to the edge. She tilted her head, looking out at the Great Lake and gorge below. The day was sunny: cold nipped at her nose, typical of December, making her scrunch it slightly, but the weather was otherwise pleasant. The frozen-over surface of the water almost glittered with every shifting ray that hit it, a mirror to the cloudless sky above. She had to force herself away — there would be plenty more entrances like this, after all. She'd get to look all she wanted after she settled in properly. Her luggage was supposed to already be at the castle — she only had her carry on with her, levitating gently somewhere at thigh level.

Tearing her eyes from the beautiful view with considerable effort, Kitty was back on her way forward. In the distance, she could see a silhouette, tall and unwavering, already — though as she got closer and more details began to jump out, the clearer it was who stood mid-way to the castle. Blond hair, plain glasses that hid something sharp… but really, it was the posture that gave it away. Tall. Back ruler-straight and hands clasped behind his back. It was the posture of a man used to rigor and discipline that would make anyone else bend, if not break.

It was the unmistakable posture of Samuel Sauber.

The name rang bitter in her head. Her concentration was disrupted as a result and her bag dropped to the ground. Kitty’s mix of confusion and displeasure was immediate and evident. The windchill that hadn’t been any trouble for her coat before suddenly seemed to pick up. She was hit with sensory overload. Biting cold at her nose and cheeks; warmth from the memories of clumsily held hands and the phantom sensation of someone’s shoulder against her temple. All of it, unpleasant.

Perfectly capable of covering her emotions with the precision any occlumens worth their salt would pride themselves on, she did not feel the need or want to now. Samuel Sauber was the last person to be entitled to any restraint from her. “Miss Townsend,” he said, and Kitty did not expect to feel a mild hurt at the words. A curt nod, too, to add to the surname she disliked. Impersonal. Entirely devoid of history. She did not feel inclined to entertain his formality — she was, however, too dumbfounded to argue, at least for a moment.

“Samuel,” she greeted back. Barely.

Kitty shook the outstretched hand, a laugh falling out her lips — the usually bright sound turning into something of a choked back chuckle, oddly bitter. She wasn’t sure what she was laughing about: the bizarre feeling this interaction was leaving her with or the sight of Samuel’s hand contrasted with hers. Slender long fingers, unblemished to an unnatural degree, with only a wrist watch and a bracelet to speak of for personality. The scars that ran past her wrist, peeking out from beneath her coat sleeve, and reached the chipped glitter polish on her nails. The hot pink seemed almost magenta in the cool light of the winter sun, and Kitty looked up then, meeting Samuel’s eyes. Red. She would have thought he’d have grown out of that by now.

Absurd, she thought, staring for a second even as his hand pulled away. This is absurd.

Samuel moved aside and began to walk towards the castle. Quickly picking up and now holding her bag, Kitty walked as well, unsure of what else there was to do. She fell into a new rhythm. Every step connected with the ground under her feet slower, with a bit more force. No longer walking on air. He was saying something, she was sure. Some spiel about inefficiency and competence and whatever the fuck— at least that didn’t feel absurd. It felt very predictable in that regard. Very Samuel. She wasn’t listening, just… looking. Staring. Trying to reorganise her thoughts into something coherent.

All that echoed for a long while was just the word why? Kitty had no doubt that Samuel remembered her, vain as that may sound. Unfortunately, she remembered enough of him, too, to know that nothing he did was unintentional; so this, too, must have had some purpose. Why come out to greet her; especially if he was going to ignore her existence beyond the necessary pleasantries? Was it even pleasantries, really? He wasn’t even looking her in the eye. Why bother, at this point? Why was he a teacher, even, if we wanted to be more general? It was all absurd—

She stopped in place. Her heel clicked on the stone.

“Are you going to refuse to look at me for my entire time here?” Kitty finally said, disliking the tone her voice had. She tried to laugh again. It sounded like an accusation: more passive aggressive than she would have liked. Then, after a heartbeat, petty: “Seems counterproductive.”

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Viaduct

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Arriving at the Viaduct precisely as he'd been instructed to, as he'd intended to. Samuel had not been expecting the gut punch he was soon to suffer.

The timing couldn't have been accidental. Things rarely were.

The Winter air was sharp enough to be clarifying to him. It bit through wool and leather alike as he'd witness, this chill however, was different. One that bit straight through his spine and made its home in the ruins of his bone. The Castle stood behind him, unmoving and rigid, much like the blonde man himself. Its stone walls bore witness to decades of arrival that were far more meaningful to the world than this one ought to be.

He stood there motionless against the lights of the pale winter, his stance and posture immaculate to the point of severity one could only associate with him.

The cold air rolled off the stones in waves, piercing sharp and glass clean, one that would strip you down to your sensations and soon make you numb. Samuel welcomed the numbness, he embraced it. Cold was honest, brutal and Predictable. It did not intrude where it was not permitted, but was all encompassing in it's own right.

During his short tenure at the school, Hogwarts had long since become a controlled environment for Samuel–contained, structured and manageable. A farcy from the places he had once successfully operated in, yet, this monster of a castle did not exist without its own complexities.

New staff orientation, despite their accolades and their endeavors, was often riddled with confusion, inefficiency, unnecessary questions. He intended to expedite the process, not be a part of this entire fiasco that had brought up memories of the past.

That was the rationale Samuel had provided himself, that was far from the truth.

When her figure appeared at the far end, it was instant recognition, despite the years and the absurd splash of colors she wore against this winter-dulled world they were now about to co-habit together. Hot pink tartan, boots to match. Gold catching light as she moved. A silhouette that did not belong to this place and yet; he knew it far too well, disturbingly too well.

Kitty

The disruption brought by her presence was immediate, visceral and entirely unwelcome.

Samuel; did not move. Neither did he adjust his stance nor did he avert his gaze over the figure walking towards him. There was a cataloguing of the sensation that her arrival brought him, Samuel could not contextualize whether this was nostalgia, affection, guilt or a toxic mix of either.

All he could explain was a tightening beneath the sternum, a fraction hitch in his breath, and the mind's reflexive reach for context he had long since buried. Bodies remembered things the intellect had deemed irrelevant years past.

Absurd.

Her approach, that light and unburdened gait was a variable Samuel had not expected to come into his now controlled environment. There was ease to her movement, same ease as before, now aged like for an to a different intensity. Same as before, but somehow different in its being.

Samuel resisted the urge to look away, not out of politeness but out of discipline. Observation did not equate to engagement.

Samuel noted the momentary disruption in his colleagues rhythm.

"Miss Townsend."

The surname was intentional. Necessary even. A boundary drawn with precision, outlining Samuel's entire approach to their past.

She returned it as poorly as he could have expected.

"Samuel."

Words barely spoken, Barely given.

Their handshake was brief, restrained and far more destabilizing than logic could ever dictate. Skin met skin and with it came a cascade of memory he had not authorized his mind to revisit. Whispers exchanged in quiet corridors. Fingers brushing, lingering, intertwining. Stolen intimacy of shared moments never meant to endure. They had been reckless, perhaps even ill-advised.

It had also mattered.

Releasing her hand with an unchanged expression, Samuel's jaw tightened imperceptibly. Noticing the scars on her hand, not because he sought them, but because they were visible. Lines running past her wrist, half-hidden beneath fabric.

Old injuries, by the look of them.

Questions rose unbidden within him.

He suppressed the questions immediately, this was no longer his place; this concern no longer belonged to him.

Bizarre as it was as she looked up at him and met his gaze without flinching, the same light he had been witness to before. He turned away before it could seep deeper into his eyes, gesturing towards the castle and walking without waiting to see if she followed behind him.

He trusted that she would, the alternative would require a level of engagement from both; one he was unwilling to provide.

He spoke as they walked, silence, between them; in a formal setting as this was inefficient. Putting aside their past, there was work to be done.

Order over preference.

"Your quarters have already been prepared, your belongings should be awaiting you upon arrival."

He moved forward, without looking back, he did not need to. The sounds of her footsteps followed– now measured, heavier than before. No longer buoyant as before.

Passing beneath the archway and into the castle proper, sound changed character as it echoed softly against stone.

Samuel continued, his voice steady and precise.

"This leads to Great Hall. Meals are served at scheduled intervals. Staff attendance is optional despite mentions otherwise. Should you prefer privacy, arrangement can be made."

He gestured without flourish, indicating landmarks with the efficiency of a man who had memorized the castle not as a home, but as a system to be be understood. The lake. The Courtyard. The distant outline of the sports grounds.

"The Forbidden Forest lied beyond the western boundary," he added, tone sharpening slightly. "Students aren't permitted entry under any circumstances. If you observe otherwise, your intervention is expected."

"This is for their own safety."

Samuel was aware, painfully; that he had given this same tour once before. Years ago, under circumstances that bore no resemblance to the present. Back then, the words had been simpler, less rigid. Spoken to someone who had leaned closer to him, into him, rather than walking beside him.

Now, however, his gaze remained fixed ahead, purposefully away from her.

The castle revealed itself around them, staircases shifting subtly as corridors branched with familiar inevitability. He spoke of the various House locations, of staff access routes, of Hogsmeade routes and permissions.

He heard his own voice and recognized the pattern in them: Controlled, impersonal, deliberately devoid of subtext.

It was working.

Until Kitty decided it did not.

She stopped, the sound of her heel striking stone was sharp, final.

"Are you going to refuse to look at me for my entire time here?"

Samuel halted, jaw tightening before he turned away. Facing her, partially, but enough to acknowledge the challenge implicit in her words.

"This is not refusal to look at you," he replied, tone level. "I found no plausible reason for further contact beyond our initial greeting, nor do I deem it counterproductive."

Samuel's words were accurate, they were also insufficient and he knew it.

Without waiting for a response, Samuel resumed walking. Not because matter was resolved, but because lingering further would invite complexities he had no intention of entertaining, not from Kitty right now.

He continued the tour, pointing out various paths towards Hogsmeade, the staircase leading to staff offices, subtle markers that distinguished one House's territory from the other.

"Slytherin House, resides in the dungeons," he said as they descended briefly. "Gryffindor and Ravenclaw occupy their own respective towers while Hufflepuff is housed near the kitchens."

He didn't need to tell her all this, he was aware of that. She was somewhat aware of the layout as well, from a time before, now it was simply procedure.

By the time they reached the third floor, the castle had grown quieter. Classrooms lay dormant, awaiting the return of students. Samuel stopped before a familiar door, reaching for the handle before ushering her in.

"This will be your classroom," he said, "Your office and work station are on the same floor."

For a moment, dangerous and unguarded, he considered leaving her there. His obligation had been fulfilled. The interaction could end clearly here, contained within their professional bounds.

But something in him resisted. Sentiment, Nostalgia, Curiosity–perhaps the faint and unwelcome resurgence of responsibility towards her, an unexplained feeling.

"Miss Townse–," he said, then corrected himself almost immediately. "Kitty–"

He stopped, drew a breath and adjusted his cadence.

"Congratulation on the position," he continued, measured voice. "I did not anticipate it would be you, but I had an inkling when it said Townsend, I did not want it to be true."

The truth sat heavy between the two. He had not expected to see her again in any capacity, much less one with such forced proximity. Hogwarts had a way of resurrecting ghosts best left behind undisturbed.

"You are beyond qualified, do not misunderstand my words," he added, because accuracy mattered. "Neither is your appointment a courtesy."

Another pause. This one longer.

His gaze flicked, once more, against his will, to her face, then to her wrist.

"May I ask," he said carefully, "how you came by those scars?"

He folded his arms, a rare concession. "I do not mean to pry, nor do you have to answer. They are simply...observable."

He waited there, neither for absolution nor reassurance.

For an answer, or a refusal of one.

Despite the history that lay between them, whatever echoes still stirred beneath the surface, Samuel was not willing to allow their resurrection, they had been laid to rest after all.

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Samuel's speech, impersonal and formal, should not have stirred absolutely anything in Kitty. Unfortunately, words have very little regard for what they should and should not do, so all her mind brought forth as Samuel spoke of the forbidden forest, and the Great Hall, and the castle, was memories. Memories of a time long past — memories she first cherished, then resented, then forgot — until now.

Of course, the most annoying of memories, the earliest, and the most prominent now: arriving at Hogwarts for the first time with Anton and the other international students, and getting the run-down of the grounds by Samuel. When the Forbidden Forest was mentioned, Kitty's mind brought forth (unhelpfully) more memories, this time of her sneaking into the Forbidden Forest with Samuel and Anthonie. The adventures of three teenagers with more boredom than they knew what to do with, combined with not nearly enough fear or common sense. The scolding they got after, obviously, being caught — and of course, the fact all she remembered was sitting there, in an office, trying not to burst into a giggling fit while sneaking glances at her friends. Next came the recollection of a Quidditch match won by Gryffindor; cheering Sam on with a scarf she stole from him just for this purpose, and the party that followed, getting to stare at how the golden and ruby reflected in his own eyes that gleamed the very same color.

Now, he refused to make eye contact with her at all. He was refusing to admit it, too, it seemed. “It's not a refusal?” Kitty repeated after him, dryly, unable to stop her expression from twisting further in irritation. “So I’m supposed to assume you treat all your colleagues like this?”

The pettiness in her tone was not dignified with a response; or rather, not a verbal one. Samuel just turned around and resumed walking, continued giving the tour, as if Kitty hadn't said anything at all. Like her genuine issue with his conduct — childish, unprofessional, and surprisingly immature for how collected Samuel liked to present himself as — was just her being petty. Which, perhaps she was a little — still, not nearly to Samuel's levels. His turned back meant he did not get to see the way her eyes rolled, internally huffing to herself. Still, wanting to get into the castle before the sun set, she decided that continuing her protest would get her nowhere.

Next, as Kitty reluctantly followed, came an explanation of where each of the houses was located. This time, though a petty remark about how she knew exactly where Gryffindor tower was located wanted to escape her, she pushed it down. It didn’t seem Samuel was going to entertain any discussion he had not started himself, and, however begrudgingly, Kitty had to admit to herself that bringing up old memories just for the sake of making him feel awkward was just as childish as his own behavior.

She was better than this.

The halls they walked through were quiet. Class was still in session, it seemed, or perhaps everyone was already out for the winter holidays; either way, it was a stark contrast to how Kitty remembered Hogwarts. Always loud, always so full of life — she was once one of those kids with loud laughter on her lips and somewhere to be, rushing through the halls. She wasn’t sure if the silence, interrupted only by Samuel remarking on her work station, was exactly pleasant. On one hand, it was calm — a sign of how her tenure at the castle would turn out, hopefully. On the other hand, it left far too much space. She wasn’t used to silence. She had detested it for years, and all the emptiness it left behind was not welcome, especially when her mood was already fraying at the seams.

Her boots echoed quietly on the floor as Kitty entered the Charms classroom for the first time. She inhaled a deep breath, looking around, trying to pay attention to every light beaming through the windows and every mote of dust in the air. Annoyances aside, this was still her first day as a professor; and that’s what was supposed to take precedence. Not Samuel, not her own pettiness that she still couldn't quite place. Her new job.

The desks were ordered in a crescent shape, facing a lecture podium that stood at the center of the far wall; against it also stood a desk that she was now supposed to sit at. The walls were lined with bookcases, volumes lined up in neat rows. A little wooden skeleton sat on one of the shelves. Kitty smiled to herself. It was a room surely full of memories for many students and professors before her: a legacy she was now inheriting, in charge of continuing and maintaining the magic of Charms for the students here.

The spark of wonder that she felt was unfortunately quickly extinguished by Samuel speaking again. She hadn't expected it, thinking he would leave the moment she was in the classroom. It would have been in line with his previous behavior, after all. Even less expected was the fact that he was actually, well, calling her Kitty. Correcting himself instead of insisting on Miss Townsend.

Unfortunately, the words past her name left Kitty with a rather bitter taste on her tongue. I did not want it to be true? Neither is your appointment a courtesy? Her face scrunched up, nose wrinkling at the words before she forced her expression to something more neutral. Call her prideful, but she was well aware of her own competence. Even if Samuel was trying to dismiss the idea that she somehow got the job for reasons other than her extensive list of qualifications, she found herself oddly upset at the implication. Before she could stop it, the emotion of the day — the intensity of her excitement from the early morning and the negativity of the last fifteen minutes — had boiled over.

“Oh, I don't have to answer an incredibly personal question? How gracious of you to allow, professor Sauber,” Kitty replied, the words bubbling up pushing themselves forward before she could stop them. Her tone was that of a joke. Perhaps some years back, it would have been banter: something sharp, yes, but also fond, the aggression softened by affection that was now missing. The moment her eyes stopped rolling, though… Kitty found herself slightly embarrassed.

She was a nice person — not the passive aggressive kind. Not a fan of the whole push and pull thing, as she was sure Samuel would be able to attest from first hand experience, though that thought was stopped before it could once again be verbalized in a tone far too bitter to come off funny. This was unmistakably petty.

She was supposed to be better than this.

The silence lingered, unpleasant. Kitty didn't apologize. Annoyingly, the bout of embarrassment helped her name the underlying feeling. There was a lump of anger now stuck in her throat, making it harder than she would have liked to swallow her pride and just respond. Be the bigger person. Her hand just tightened on the handle of her bag as she exhaled, trying to figure out how to answer without turning it into either a scene or a tangent. She needed something that would not invite more prying, but would still be enough to satisfy whatever curiosity Samuel might be experiencing bouts of. Kitty hesitated to call it feeling — knowing him, how he treated those around him, it read more like investigation. Observation, at best. He wasn't asking her, as a person, and former… whatever he would have called her, what happened. He was interviewing a primary source.

Either way, Kitty doubted there was much he couldn't find out if he really set his mind to it. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before everything could linger longer than necessary. “An accident. Client failed to report some hags on a job. We went in unprepared, got disarmed… it was messy.” She stopped there. Messy was a good word, she decided — she wasn't even lying. Holding someone as they die is, indeed, a messy situation to be in. It simply was not a mess she wanted Samuel to be privy to the details of. Not one anyone would be privy to, really. “I’m surprised you’ve not heard. Gringotts tried to keep it down, but... it got pretty public.”

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Courtyard

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Samuel did not entertain the past; not to say he lacked memory or recollection of the events. On the contrary, his recollection of events tend to be precise to an almost clinical degree. All events, conversations, expression, and even the tonal inflections that were implied, Samuel could easily recall them. And recalled they were, recalled, dissected and placed within a border structure of understanding.

Samuel hardly treated memories as sentiments, rather he saw them as Data. And data, once processed, was meant to be filed and placed away, stored. Not to be revisited or indulged, and certainly not to be felt. This system, this code had served Samuel well. It was a necessary system, as the alternative, was to allow memory to retain emotional weight; that would introduce variables he did not tolerate. Variables such as Instability, bias and hesitation. All of them inefficiencies that had to be purged.

And yet—

Standing within the Charms classroom, with Kitty Townsend positioned several paces away, Samuel found his system tested. Not broken, it was never broken, but it was strained, very strained. Her voice, edged with something sharp enough to cut through the otherwise measured cadence of their exchange reached him with unmistakable clarity and left no doubts in Samuel's mind.

"Oh, I don't have to answer an incredibly personal question? How gracious of you to allow, Professor Sauber."

This was no subtle at all, nor did Samuel think it was intended to be. Her irritation was evident in her words. The pettiness, however uncharacteristic of her, was present all the same, sitting beneath the surface of her words like a deliberate provocation. Samuel registered the expression, it did not take an expert to identify, only mere observation would do you well.

For a fraction of a second, something dangerously close to past habits surfaced. A response formed in Samuel's mind, sharp, measured and carried the faintest echo of something that once could've been mistaken for banter, something he might have intentionally indulged in, it rose to the forefront of his mind. A calculated and controlled retort, but with enough distinct edge of its own. Something that would've met hers tone halfway and diffused the tension between the two catalyst being familiarity and not distance.

It would have been effective years ago, Samuel stopped himself before it formed further. Cleanly and deliberately as he reminded himself how that version of interaction was no longer applicable to them and nor was it appropriate.

Kitty was no longer h—

He didn't finish that thought, instead he allowed a brief pause to settle between them, with his gaze shifting. It didn't avoid her, but it also didn't fully engage with her either. Call it controlled distance, a measured restraint.

The response was precise, accurate and much like Samuel, devoid of warmth, because warmth would imply familiarity. And familiarity was no longer a structure Samuel permitted himself to operate within.

Still, even as his words left him, Samuel was acutely aware of something entirely different. An undercurrent that was subtle but present all the same. Annoyance in his mind, not at her question, or even the tone, but the situation itself. At the way her presence simply existing within his proximity seemed to disrupt the carefully maintained separation between his past and present.

With each passing second that she remained beside him, following his movement through the corridors and into classrooms, Samuel found something resurfacing. Memories? he didn't allow memories, but impressions. Echoes of behavioral patterns the man had long since abandoned. Tone he no longer used. A manner of engagement he had deliberately excised from his repertoire. And all this effort, it was inefficient.

That version of Samuel. It was a construct, a deviation from his true self. A temporary adaptation to an environment that Samuel was never built for nor did he ever intended to remain within those confines or those boundaries.

And yet—

It had happened and he understood how during that time, he had operated outside of his natural disposition. Engaged in behaviors that, in retrospect, lacked the structural integrity he now demanded of himself.

He had worn something then, this version of himself that fit poorly and like all ill-fitting constructs, it had to be shed, to be discarded. Or so he believed, because now standing in a classroom and her presence acting as an unintentional catalyst—Samuel felt like the skin was no longer as discarded as he'd believed it to be. His body remembered it, so did his mind. Not by choice, but by proximity.

He didn't appreciate that.

Samuel folded his arms, with his composed posture and gaze lowering briefly as she spoke again, this time, with the sharpness missing but more measure in it. "An accident. Client failed to report some hags on a job. We went in unprepared, got disarmed...it was messy."

Samuel listened to her, completely letting her speak her mind. He noticed the deliberation in her phrasing, condensed words that lacked detailing where details would have been the most telling.

"Messy."

An insufficient word for what he already knew, Samuel had already heard about it. Reports, even those suppressed and altered had a tendency to circulate within certain channels with enough truth to them. Perhaps not publicly, even not in full, but enough to cover some ground and have his mind construct an outline. A failed gringotts operation, incomplete information, leading to severe casualties and public exposure.

The specifics of the reports had been inconsistent across the sources, which was Samuel's reason to ask. Reports were flawed, and as previously explored, people under stress omitted, intentionally or otherwise.

Samuel's gaze remained lowered for a moment longer than the formality he had been carrying out so far would necessitate. Not out of avoidance for kitty, but out of processing this thing with Kitty. He noted her tension, the way her voice had slight compression at the end of certain words. The restraint she had, the one she was withholding. Understandably, Samuel did not feel inclined to press her further. Instead, Samuel's thoughts shifted entirely to something else.

Responsibility, not directly, but somewhat present. He didn't believe his actions in the past to be incorrect or correct. His actions, whatever they were, were logical according to him. Appropriate given the information, framework and the mechanisms he had at the time.

But logic never negated consequences and consequences rarely remained isolated events. Kitty hadn't been part of the equation he'd originally calculated for his life, for himself. And yet she had been affected and she had affected him all the same.

Directly, indirectly, circumstantially, but affected nonetheless. The realization of his effect in her life did not produce guilt, it was something adjacent, something he couldn't quite put to words. An awareness of sorts, cause and effect that extended beyond immediate variables. For a moment he considered remaining silent as his gaze lifted back up to her. It would have been consistent with his current conduct. Even the expected and appropriate approach. But he didn't.

"I am aware of the incident," he said with a quieter voice, "Not in full, you know how reports tend to omit." He let a brief calculated pause fill the void before he began again. "What you describe aligns with what little consistency those reports contained."

There was something else, something he hadn't intended to say, nor did it align with his usual optional parameters. Samuel hesitated internally, and then came a single, soft "I'm sorry" he said, precise in his words, unembellished tone, "That you were subjected to that, and for the loss of your partner."

There was hardly any performance in it, no attempts at comfort in conventional sense, Anthonie would have been a suitable presence here. He could've offered her something better, consolation. All Samuel could offer was acknowledgement. A statement of fact framed as sentiment, Samuel didn't offer comfort, he did not recognize how to.

The irritation he had felt earlier at Kitty, subtle as it was, had been entirely dissipated. Replaced by something worse, something unfamiliar. Concern, not broad or over whelming but one directed right at Kitty. He wasn't observing her again as a subject or a variable, but as her. And that was the most inefficient part of this all.

Samuel remembered, the impression of her. The girl she used to be, unburdened by whatever this had become. And now, she was not that. Life, as it did for most, had altered her trajectory. Samuel didn't know how to respond to that, not in ways others might. There were no rehearsed phrases for her experienced, no protocols for such interactions. This all made Samuel default to what he knew.

Control. Distance ,and Resolution.

"If there is nothing requiring further clarification, you should familiarize yourself with the classroom. It will be.....yours to manage."

He slightly turned towards the door, hesitated right before leaving—then, after a moment stretched, long enough for consideration. "Settle in," he added. "Make the space functional to your needs." It was practical, appropriate and work safe. Each step so far had reaffirmed the boundaries he had re-established. Not for long, There was one final deviation. One he hadn't planned, nor did he ever intend to repeat it. With his back turned halfway toward her, he spoke again.

"Take care, Kitty."

Her name, used without titles or distances. And then, he left.

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The silence was deafening.

Suffocating, even; and as anyone who knew her during her teenage years could and most likely would attest to — Samuel included, though to say he “knew” her in any way was a word that made Kitty’s skin crawl — Kitty didn’t particularly care for those. She didn’t know what more she expected out of Samuel, really, but it certainly wasn’t this. This… stupid balancing act combined with petty tug of war, on the razor thin line between acknowledging the past they shared and complete and utter shutdown. Perhaps that was her mistake.

Frustrated with the beat of stillness, Kitty moved. She moved to the lone desk against the far wall with her bag in tow. She was quick to place it on the lacquered, wooden surface, rummaging through the contents of her own carry on with quick, jerky movements. She wasn’t looking for anything specific; her brain just seemed to beckon her to move, fingers beginning to tremble slightly the moment she even tried to still them. Pure impulse. It wasn’t born of nerves, not quite; she was nervous for her interview to get the job, sure. Now, though, there wasn’t anything to be stressed about, as far as she was concerned. Samuel was Samuel, after all; and he had been acting rather predictably so far. Still, something lingered, a chip on her shoulder, an itch under her skin.

It wasn’t quite anger, either. She wasn’t a child, after all, no matter her little outburst.

Rather, Kitty was… irked. Annoyed, maybe, and a little disgusted. Her carry-on had plenty room, and she resorted to lifting items at random, trying to make sense of what was happening in her head. Wand case. Just what was Samuel doing here? Wallet. Why did he step out to meet here? Keys; had she been any less tense, the way she was basically throwing things out of her bag maybe could have passed for organised chaos. She could already tell she would have to tidy up. Her surname, sure, that could have been a coincidence; but did the headmaster not tell him anything prior to their meeting? And if he had an inkling — one he did not want to be true, as he so readily proclaimed himself, Kitty remembered as her journal hit the top of the desk with more of a slam than she had wanted it to — why would he still agree to go through with it? Hogwarts had four houses. He could have asked someone else. How busy were these people during holiday break?

By the time her hands stopped trembling like that of a nervous schoolchild, Kitty had run out of items to ostentatiously pull out of her bag. There were a few more in there, sure — the photos and mementos she had taken from her desk back at Gringotts, notably, but those were… well, mementos. Her Ilvermorny friends, people from uni, and even some old muggle friends she still kept selfies with around. Unfortunately, none of them came into the classroom’s light. Something about Samuel’s presence made her disinclined from further trips down memory lane, thank you very much; she had had enough for one day. For the next week, honestly.

When Samuel finally spoke, it did not allow any reprieve from the quiet that blanketed the space. Kitty felt herself inhale sharply, as if startled by the break in the quiet. His voice was more hushed than before; held less of that cold, clinical authority. Kitty still did not trust it, but she allowed herself to turn and make eye contact with. “What you describe aligns with what little consistency the reports contained,” he said, and she snorted a laugh before she could stop herself. Ever so analytical, comparing her personal tragedy with the data he had already gathered.

That dead air remained, lingering between them and seeping into Kitty’s bones. It felt like a showdown more than anything. Who loses ground first— immovable object, meet unstoppable force. Red eyes, unnatural, vibrant, and unmoving, met desaturated seafoam of groundswells and tempests. It felt like the world itself demanded a ceasefire; the classroom stilled. For a moment, Kitty could swear even the dust particles in the air stopped all movement, and her chest stopped expanding to inhale new air.

And yet—

Kitty was not the one to break the silence; a fact that surprised even herself. She was not the one to give up ground. Instead, there came a single “I’m sorry.” An expression of sorrow she would have never in a million years seen coming, sounding sincere in just how painfully soft it was. Kitty turned around, making eye contact with Samuel once again, allowing the condolences to sink in. They held no comfort and were barely an attempt at consolation, really — but it was what made them honest. There was no posturing of any kind, there. No attempt at seeming warmer or colder, more emotional or more detached, than she could trust Samuel to be.

Not that she was keen to trust him much at all. Still, in that singular moment, it meant something. She could breathe again.

“Thank you,” she replied, little more than a mutter under her breath, as if being any louder would break the illusion. The moment was coming to an end, she knew it — but as Kitty stood there, looking back at Samuel, noticing the eye color she would have thought he’d stop insisting on by now once again, she wanted to prolong it. Just a little. To not feel like she has to continue whatever game he was playing at with this faux professionalism and the most carefully maintained distance since the last time they saw each other. At least back then, he had the excuse of thousands of miles separating them.

Before Kitty could come up with something to say that was, this time around, kind or even gentle, Samuel continued on. The bubble popped. The beat passed, the air turned thick and suffocating, and Samuel turned slightly to the door. That was it. The absurdity of it all reigned once again, no amount of gentle condolences capable of fully dissolving it before it came back around. Kitty didn’t really listen to what he was saying: surely some spiel about management and function, surely something logical and sensible and surely very like him. Distant and analytical, and perhaps efficient, but so frustratingly controlled it made her want to scream with every footstep that he took towards the door. As if it was his right to greet her, here, at her new job, after everything that happened — and then just leave. Go back to business as usual. Absurd.

By the time Samuel had turned his back halfway toward her, and Kitty’s name fell from his lips, unguarded this time, she felt she knew what this was. He did not do things unintentionally, after all, regardless of her thoughts on the matter. Whatever purpose this particular scheme of his had, Kitty decided she was uninterested at playing along.

She was going to be better than this.