Professor had waited patiently over an hour before I broke and...
"And for me – nothing! The most stupid tasks! And this skivvy, here, she has a title! She probably earned it tapping the keyboard for us! And for me nothing; no holidays, no pay-rise, no title, not even certainty I am staying here!"
"And do you want to? Do you want to stay?"
"With such tasks!? I am not convinced! I am going back! Cannot you see.
He debated with himself.
"What exactly do you mean?"
I had the impression that two streams of steam are whistling through my ears without
the use of any Pepper-Up Potion.
"Now, try to concentrate. Despite of lack of sleep, despite of lack of oxygen, irritation and haze by the muggle methods. You told me several times about some past events, which summa summarum turned out utterly advantageous. Oh, please, correct me if I am mistaken!"
"There are certain aspects..."
"One. Cannot. Have. Everything," he cut me shortly.
His lips were like a drawn thin line, his chicks went white and eyes glinted with an unhealthy fever-like flash.
"Perhaps, instead of complaining, you handle things yourself?"
"A perfect idea!" I jumped from the chair.
Well, I would, didn't a slim palm of an astonishing power sat me back somewhat rapidly.
"Don't you treat me as... as..."
"As?"
"As they do! They put me off with any answer, inform me in general statements; I conclude more from the post and from press than from them! And what they say has nothing to do with the reality, anyway! And the rest..."
He watched me cautiously. The thin line thickened to the size of normal lips and eyes went back to the state of two black cosmic wholes absorbing all information I would send aware or unaware.
"Yes? And you hoped for a change of the place would change everything radically. Meanwhile, it is different," I nodded silently, "Nothing has changed, Catty. The fact if you look at the mountain from the north or from the west will not change its height. It can change your impression. From here it is closer to the snacks on the locker but they do not tempt you continuously, and on this side there are no such drafts, since your neighbour colleague does not fancy an open window. Regarding the knowledge, apparently, you learn in the rather painful way one of the basic life wisdoms, which somehow, miraculously, you omitted in your career."
"?"
"Trust nobody."
"Constant vigilance? Even you, Professor?" I asked with an unintentional smile.
Instead of answering he glanced meaningfully at the book sticking out from my vast bag.
"We should know all the facts to judge," I felt indignant, "and this book does not show the end of story."
"Yes, only the next one does," he smiled spitefully.
"The next one does not either."
"So what would it show?"
"The beginning."
"Depends from whose point of view, doesn't it?"
I hesitated; Professor used the second of the silence.
"And even then, since we do not know all the circumstances, how can we judge anything?"
"Subjectively?" I risked, "And carefully."
On potion master’s face the triumph appeared.
"And definitely not through the prism of the feelings," he admonished.
I went scarlet.
"Sure. Let us get read of emotions and everything what makes us human! Full Occlumancy, the highest level of perfection! A perfect concept of the wizarding world or perhaps even whole humanity! Yes? Is this what you mean?"
Professor watched my fever peacefully.
"No. The reason and the empathy. This is what I meant. But I see that they are rather strange to you so perhaps I shall not disturb you in exercising Occlumancy, which you need so much."
I breathed heavily looking as Professor touches the doorknob.
"But I still need the tutoring!" I shot out surprising myself.
"You need what?"
"Ah... the tuto... extra classes... meetings. Support."
Professor fought his hurt pride. Or got intoxicated with the success.
"Whenever you wish."
"Right at the moment, here, now and always."
Again, he was contemplating something for a long while; finally he whispered something as if to himself:
"That would be to big loss..."
I could only guess I had just avoided an Avada. Probably.

I was moving along hangers full of black, soft and cosy coats and autumn jackets. After black ones, mustard followed, and red, and grey, white, purple.
"No yellow coats? Or grey ones?" I sulked, "And they are not too smart; rather sportive and rough... And why is there no bigger size? They will be to narrow in shoulders...
"You always whimper that all clothes are too big for you," master of potions noticed cuttingly, seizing from me the size 8 jacket and promptly removing the remaining items from my reach.
"But this is something different. The coat has to be a little too big to curl in it, hide away and cuddle to it and to yourself..."
"To yourself! The top luxury and comfort!"
"You could keep this remark to yourself!" I spat barely managing the level of moisturising of my conjunctiva.
"I see no reason why I should restrain from the creative criticism."
"CREATIVE CRITICISM?! And in which moment is it to be creative?"
"Let me think; perhaps in the moment when you decide to look into the corner of this raghouse?"
Regardless, I took a peak at the mentioned corner. The white corner of jackets. They reminded fur of kittens in touch, they were longer, with a great prominent collar and comfortable pockets; the belt stressing the waist spiced them up.
"This is not quite... This is more of jacket... Mmm... They probably do not have..."
Professor stood with one of the jackets waiting until I decide to dive into the softness of the worm snow. Together with my body, the textile embraced my heart. Despite of the jazz of the street, despair and the feeling of eternal never-ending struggle surrendered to the nostalgic silence of a winter morning – I had the impression that I can smell its fresh tangy scent.
"What say you?"
I sighed quietly.
"Some day it will snow again. Big flakes will spin in the honey light of street lanterns and the glow will wake the night diamonds hidden in the ice sparkles. The memory will become the present moment, your life," his low slightly monotonous voice seemed to read as one reads long books by the fireplace on long evenings, "Some day. But now... patience."
My tears decorated the whiteness of the wool as crystals of ice.
"And in the opposite corner they have long angora gloves," Professor pointed his story and moved forward making a passage for me between far too fluffy women with bags hanging of them as of Christmas trees.

With the impression of deep reverie on his face, Professor span on the office chair.
"You really want it all and want it now," he stated.
I analysed possible answers: "Yes", "No", "I do not know" and "I beg your pardon?".
"And where does this sudden notion come from?" I decided on a inch of creativity missing its place in my career.
"This is a result of a complex analysis and deduction. The more complex as it is polluted with a strong information noise from your side."
I forced myself to call the dull look with a hint of arrogance. Imitating Professor is amusing but not easy. When it comes to the range of non-verbal communication, it is an absolute challenge for every mime. No, the mime would have spoilt it with the noise and exaltation. We deal with the master of potions and the subtlety. Mostly.
"A very subtle remark," I made a use of my analysis of Professor's skills.
"I tried to make it simple and direct. There are no hints, exceptionally," he advised with his silky and sweet voice smiling kindly.
"Without counting the details, what is its purpose?"
"The same as usual."
"Which is?"
"Against all judgements of obvious boneheads, by nature I am a pedagogue and I feel self-accomplishment supporting others in their development."
"Oh."
"You included."
"Oh."
"You do not make much progress in implementation of your plans. Actually, any plans," he waved carelessly towards yellow post-it notes scribbled in pencil with letters and figures, "You run circles... What is the phrase: spinning your wheel? The stress is cumulating, you probably fight the undersupply of magnesium..."
Next to the keyboard, a dark chocolate with almond stuffing floated down gently, tied with a green and silver bow. A pack of tissues slid on it gently.
"With a huge stress and a huge undersupply of magnesium..." he corrected himself with a slightly absent voice, "They say, the chocolate and shopping give woman a satisfaction similar to..." he broke.
"With what?"
"With a cup of good coffee, I suppose... On the desert, they say that the first one is bitter as life, the second one is sweet as love and the third one mysterious as..."
"Death..." I finished.
"Muggles would say so. As MAGIC, miss Elliott. As MAGIC."

"Look, it seems as it was about to snow..."
"You want to restrain your exaltation. This is a fog. Or, should I say, smog."
Damn precision of a scientist.

Professor poured generously and carelessly the variety of herbs from my humble kitchen shelf to the Hagrid-size mug, poured some boiling water, stirred, measured 100ml in a shot-glass and, stirred with a swift movement of an experienced barman (not shaken) he offered me an aromatic beverage.
"Somewhat late for a Pepperup Potion..."
"...but his will put me back on my feet," I finished for him.
He pouted and admitted:
"...but at least will perk your mood up."
"Whose?"
From his look I read it was unlikely the potion master he had in mind.

The advantage of the owl over the e-mail is that any owl is intelligent enough to recognise if the receiver READ the letter.
E-mail does not verify the receiver's actions, would not peck his empty head to read, least to answer.

"My head turns into a ball of wool with a strong desire to be knitted."
Professor threw me a blank glance.
"Yours too?" I cheered up.
The alleged black cashmere wool ball shot me a vision of pity and disdain. Clearly, the cat wool has not gained its well deserved popularity, yet.

The dampness penetrated the scarf and climbed up the sleeves. My head automatically squeezed into my arms and huge furry collar.
"No spells: I do not want any trouble!" I warned him seeing the wand being pulled from the sleeve of Professor's nearly-muggle cashmere coat. Nearly makes a huge difference.
"Was it worth this saving? A couple of miserable galleons more and..."
"Do I look that bad?"
"As cold as..." it was to obvious he bit his tongue.
"...as penguin's feet?" I finished for him kindly.
"A titmouse" he riposted with an offended voice and having my hat looked through he specified: "Or, should I say, the Palawan tit. Threatened by habitat loss."

"Long face, again? What else do you miss"
"Nothing. Oh, don't look at me like this. All this tiny, little things."
"Like this strawberry shower gel of yours?"
A bottle of candy-pink gel lands on the table.
I suffocate only for a moment.
"Well... yes but one get bored with it. It is about..."
"About the choice, right?"
Next to the strawberry, the grapefruit and pomegranate appear. I cannot restrain from laughing although I try very hard.
"It is not that difficult, is it?"
"What?"
"The joy."
"I lost the habit."
He turns to me with his back watching the view from the window.
"Perhaps your tutor is not good enough?"
"The best. Perhaps I am overtrained."
"Intriguing. I did not noticed when. Was it when I was not looking?"
I hesitate. Whatever I answer he will turn it against me.
"I do try."
"Perhaps too many things distract you?"
I glance at his back suspiciously.
"It certainly not you, Professor."
"Oh, how nice. Time to go for me."
My face gets long again. I sigh resigned.
"Smell you soon," I mumble with hope.
He drills me with his sight before nodding and vanishing leaving behind a scent of forest, herbs with a hint of a smoke.

Professor was playing with his quill; after a while, with an ostentatious boredom on his face he switched to a piece of parchment folding it in a small square. The square was gradually turning into a Testral.
"Great are these muggle inventions," he concluded finally reaching for another parchment while I tried to connect unsuccessfully with a foreign city for a videoconference and instead of the picture of their office on the screen there appeared a news reader from their local tv.
"Perhaps in the meanwhile I get in touch with Ministry of Magic to get connected to the Floo and you will build a fireplace?"

Disappointed, I looked through the emptied shelves of bakery section.
Not being able to constrain bitterness, I groaned with remorse.
"Not even one cinnamon swirl?!... Professor?"
Professor froze, his lips whitened slightly.
"Haven’t you intended to control the calories, miss Elliott?" he reposted with cunning silky voice.
Oi, whose business it is, anyway?!
"As if it was required," he muttered to himself. Probably.

I wonder what he does being alone. How he moves, what he touches, how he wears his clothes. Does he abandon the pose of the master of Occlumancy in the full control of his body; does he really control it?
Sometimes, just for amusement, I imagine I am him; that this is his body, not mine, raping his intimacy and freedom.
When he is around, I can spot with the corner of my eye that he observes me every so often glancing towards me. Restlessly, although barely noticeably he twitches his head when he assumes I cannot see. Or does he know?
Where does the game finish and where does his own mind start?
And where does mine?

Too many moments to be guessed.

Happy Birthday, Miss Stone!

"Do you always have to play the devil’s advocate?" I got irritated after another discussion, in which Professor showed more empathy for the opposite side.
The phrase "opposite" does not match anyway as the talk was about people close to my heart, from which I landed so far now. Even farther as one-hour time difference separates us, too, plus the difference of working hours, plus hours of availability of my windows for owls.
For the last time I glanced on the black and blue horizon if there is no silhouette of an owl and I smashed the window shut so the glass rang.
"Judging of the symptoms, the shrew's prosecutor might appear more adequate," he dipped his quill in the ink with a stoic calm not raising his head from above the parchment.
"When you cool down and analyse the situation with a sober mind perhaps you would notice that this a mere attempt to amortise the," his voice went a little bit flat, "angel’s fall."

"I allow all of these moments, which I try to memorize, to escape. The time leaks through my fingers and I see absolutely no chance to save it anyhow. I will be remembered for a couple of months, perhaps even years as an author of quite good characterless cakes and several extravagant pullovers, not necessarily up-to-date."
"Your cakes are exceptionally tasty," Professor murmured moistening his thin, long finger with saliva and flipping the pages of "The Prophet", "and in the area of fashion you act..." he stammered leaning over an illustration waving lazily, "...in a precursory way."
"?!"
Intrigued and anxious what could absorb Professor’s attention so much, as discretely as I only could, I took a pick over his shoulder.
The picture presented a young man wearing a cape thrown over his shoulders very nonchalantly and a scarf even more nonchalantly knotted around his neck. Under the picture there was a generously sized headline: “Mme Malkin’s Muggle Catwalks Conquest”.
"Miss Elliott?" Professor’s anticipating voice woke me up from stupor.
"Ehmm... This is... fashion."
"How accurate remark."
The other face of Severus S.???

Przyglądałam się okrągłemu torcikowi z apetyczną kroplą zastygłej czekolady na boku.
- Ja nie obchodzę urodzin.
- Są obchodzone za ciebie. Przypominam sobie bardzo zabawne spotkanie, nie tak dawno, z tańcami, śpiewami i dużą ilością niezdrowego jedzenia...
- Ale ja w ogóle nie zamierzałam... Było przyjemnie zresztą, sam powiedziałeś.
- Niektórym może nie być przyjemnie. Ale decyzja im nie przysługuje. Więc starają się uniknąć niemiłej, przynajmniej z ich punktu widzenia, konfrontacji.
- Wiesz, zawsze można to zakomunikować. Są jeszcze sowy, prawda?
Niechętnie skinął głową.
- A skoro ja żadnej wiadomości nie dostałam, to rozumiem, że wręcz POWINNAM podjąć jakieś akcje, prawda?
W odpowiedzi przybrał tylko sceptyczny wyraz twarzy.
- I chyba równie jasno ja zakomunikowałam, że jestem niedomyślna i że aluzje do mnie nie docierają, na pewno nie na czas i że należy mi komunikować wiadomości WPROST i bez owijania w bawełnę czy jakiekolwiek inne tekstylia. No, może jeszcze sarkazm czasem...
- Już podjęłaś decyzję, prawda? I znając cię, nie zamierzasz zmienić. Naprawdę tak potrzebne ci uzasadnienie? – przerwał zirytowany.
- Tak. I tak. To ważny dzień i nie pozwolę jej się zakopać żywcem pod ziemią! Zwłaszcza samej, beze mnie!
- Ach, więc myślisz, że będzie sama.
- Mam nadzieję, że nie, bo inaczej nie obroni go żaden immunitet, czarna magia ani żadne różdżki z główką żmijki. Zemsta będzie ręczna i w stylu mugolskim. Oraz permanentna – oświadczyłam lodowatym tonem.
Profesor rzucił mi niespokojnie spojrzenie i szybko, z niewinną miną, powrócił do jakiegoś urzędowego pergaminu, który przeglądał.
- A ten tort dostarczę, choćby nie wiem co. Jeśli nie uda mi się dzisiaj, będę próbować jutro, pojutrze, za tydzień – aż do skutku, choćby miał czekać do przyszłego roku czy dłużej.
Profesor zwinął pergamin i westchnął ciężko.
- Dla dobra tego smakołyku, mam nadzieję, że JEDNA z was będzie rozsądna...

I was looking at the round cake with a scrumptious drop of a solid chocolate on its side.
"I do not celebrate birthdays."
"They are celebrated for you. I can recall a very amusing meeting, not so long ago, with dancing, singing and plenty of quite unhealthy food..."
"But I never intended... Moreover, it was pleasant, you have just said that yourself."
"Some may not find it pleasant. But the decision is not up to them. So they try to avoid an unpleasant - at least from their point of view - confrontation."
"You know, one can always communicate it. We still have owls, haven't we?"
He nodded reluctantly.
"And since I have got no message whatsoever, I understand I should feel OBLIGED to undertake some actions, right?"
All his answer was a sceptic squint.
"I think I had communicated clearly that I am not very quick-witted and that hints do not reach me easily and that news need to be communicated to me STRAIGHT AND PLAIN and without beating about the bush or any other plants. Well, all right, perhaps sometimes sarcasm..."
"You have made up your mind, haven't you? And as know you, you do not intend to change it. Do you need the justification so much, indeed?" he interrupted irritated.
"Yes. And yes. This is an important day and I will not allow her to dig herself 6 feet under alive! Especially alone, without me!"
"Ah, you believe she is going to be by herself, alone."
"Oh, I hope not; otherwise, there is no immunity, no black magic either no viper-headed wand that will protect him from me. The vengeance will be manual and muggle style. And permanent," I stated with an icy voice.
Professor glanced at me uneasy and swiftly, with an innocent face, he came back to an official parchment, which he had been looking through.
"And the cake will be delivered, whatever it takes! If I fail today, so I will try tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, in a week, until I succeed, even if it takes for the cake to wait till the next year!"
Professor rolled the parchment and sighed deeply.
"For the sake of the cake, I do hope that ONE of you will be reasonable..."

- Profesorze, jeden mały Cruciatus. Proszę.
- Proszę bardzo. Oczywiście, jeśli nie obawiasz się konsekwencji.
- Tylko z twojej strony.
- Tylko te mam na myśli.
Cisza. Przez chwilę.
- Znowu! Słyszałeś to! Proszę. To chociaż go Rictusemprą potraktuję!
- Natychmiast schowaj różdżkę! Jesteś w mugolskim miejscu publicznym!
Po drugiej stronie rzędu biurek mugol pieklił się nad jakimś biurowym przyrządem, okraszając wypowiedzi niewybrednymi sformułowaniami.
- Profesorze...!
- Sza, króliku. To karygodne jak brak subtelności potrafi być zaraźliwy.
- Do jasnej chole...! – za późno ugryzłam się w język.
Profesor gapił się na mnie lub raczej przeze mnie zamyślony, ssąc koniszek swojego zielonego pióra.
Mugol umilkł.
- Jeszcze jakieś życzenia? – rzucił półgłosem znad pergaminu, który zapełniał zielonymi znaczkami i linijkami starannego pisma.

"Professor, please, one teeny-tiny Cruciatus. Please."
"Oh, why, please, go on. Obviously, if you do not mind the consequences."
"Only from your side."
Silence. For a while.
„Again! You heard it! Please. At least, let me treat him with Rictusempra!"
"Hid your wand at once!" You are in a muggle, public place!"
On the other side of a row of desks the muggle ranted and raved over a piece of stationary, lacing his statements with not exactly sophisticated phrases.
"Professor...!"
"Hash, rabbit! This is reprehensible, how contagious the lack of a subtlety can be!"
"Bloody h...!" I bit my tongue too late.
Professor gazed at me - or through me rather – lost in his thoughts sucking the tip of his green quill.
The muggle got quiet.
"Any more wishes?" he asked with a low voice from over the parchment, which he filled with green marks and lines of his tidy, neat handwriting.

I glanced at old parchments with poured on them with an ink my private notes, thoughts and sorrows, with moments caught in the net of letters and symbols.
I glanced for the second time.
Professor's voice tears me away from the reading and reverie.
"Pardon?"
"I have been asking whether everything is all right."
"Yes. Why?"
"You seem absent."
"You do not need to use Legilimancy on me, Professor."
"My apologies, old habits. So?"
"Everything is all right. Apart from me being an apparent ungrateful, grumpy... hag."
"I have no idea what you are talking about," he raises his head intrigued.
"I complained about work, about buses, about cosmetics... And it appears I have less and less to complain about."
"And this is a reason of your worries," he speculates.
"No, obviously not. But the fact I never thanked you, yes, it does."
"I still do not understand what you are talking about," unexpectedly, he looses his interest and leans over his parchments.
He himself taught me to observe: the breath sped up; his site running - or at least he is not concentrating on the document; his Adam's apple travelling up and down, up and down. Have I touched a neuralgic spot? But he seems so glad about himself.
"Thank you, Professor; and I am sorry."
"What for?"
"That I am still not fully happy."
He plays with his quill, turning it in his thin fingers, stroking the rachis.
"I know. But there are things beyond one's reach," he admits at last, "And if you manage to accept it..."
"Accepting the yearnings, departures, splitting, losses - this is far beyond my reach."
"Impossible is nothing," he cuts shortly, with irritation.
"If you say so, Professor..."
I am waiting for his reaction, watching his breath even quicker and deeper; barely visible work of his chick muscles; his clamped mouth. I feel ashamed by my ability to drive my neighbour mad. Often, against my intention.
"You are raising the bar very high. Have you also considered taken the world over?"
"No. What for? I have got you," I grin.
Professor contemplates something and comes back to his parchments again. Suddenly he spits:
"Some have already found it insufficient for the win."
"But you did everything not to fail. I do not expect that much."
"No. You expect so much more."
"No, Professor. I do not expect anything, I do not even ask."
">>Professor, could this bus be delayed a bit?<<; >>Professor, this red light is on so long...<<; >>Professor, it is so cold, could the bus arrive at last?<<"
"But these are only tiny wishes. This does not demand that much..."
"Re-organising all traffic within the radius of twenty kilometres with about one hundred of passengers participating?!"
Oups.
"But..."
"Yes?" the silky voice as a rattling tip of the snake's tail.
"This time I am asking so kindly. Just let us try."
I can see I hurt him this request.
"I know how small the chance for the success is."
"If you knew, you have not had asked," he answers bitterly and comes back to his parchments for the third time. Not writing, not looking, not talking.
"You took this challenge before I asked. I just would like you to know that I understand... that I know..."
He digs in my soul again. He does not need to use Legilimancy; he knows me only too well. One glance is more than enough. The stare down starts being awkward. When he opens his mouth, he does with consideration, carefully as if he was about to taste a new potion - there is this strange low tune in his voice. As if it made all air trembling, the whole me and the whole world:
"I do not think you do, miss Elliott. But this is not the most important."

Zapomniane, odkurzone: Wielkanocny Królik

Hoppy Easter...

"As usual," he remarks coldly.
"Pardon???"
"Have you forgotten?"
"No! I am only a bit behind the schedule..."
"That’s what I say. As usual."
"Not everybody likes celebrating birthdays," I get upset, "And it was to be all different."
"We talked about it not long time ago."
"This does not change the thing it was to be different."
"One would think that a stubborn repetition of one statement would cause the changes in the reality."
"This is how the spells work, don’t they? IT WAS TO BE DIFFERENT!"
"Merlin the Great!"

How the Patronus dies.
He sits and waits for any brighter undisciplined thought.
If only one appears, if only any sparkle blinks in my brain the Dementor rises his head.
My personal guardian has already been taught well - before the sparkle will have shined, he snuffs it out immediately under his boot pretending that the firebrand never existed.
Dementor drops his head.
The thoughts come back to their compartments as submissive prisoners condemned to hard labour turning oiled cog-wheels with a discreet rattle.
The smallest divergence in the rhythm causes that the Dementor raises his head.
The guardian waves his finger and the thoughts come back to the drowsy pattern.
The guardian does not want the Dementor to raise his head so he tightens the discipline more and more.
The guardian is severe and strict, he is not afraid of anything.
Except the Dementor.