don’t talk but you speak so loudly
Leonora Lesso sits at the staff table in the Great Hall, her dark eyes scanning the sea of students before her. The enchanted ceiling above replicates a tranquil night sky, an exact copy of the one outside, a stark contrast to what brewed within her. As the feast unfolds, the laughter and excitement of both students and staff fills the air, amplifying the dread within her.
For Leonora, Potion Mistress at Hogwarts, September 1st is not a day of new beginnings but rather an annual descent into absolute and utter misery. The prospect of abandoning her precious summer research and delving into the world of teaching is a bitter pill to swallow, gets worse with every year that passes, and every time she wonders if she should have jumped from the Astronomy tower during her first year as a teacher. She watches as the students revel in the magical ambiance, unaware of the storm brewing in their professor's soul.
As the first course appears on the table, Leonora's mind lingers on the shelves and the long bench of her private laboratory, where vials and bubbling cauldrons filled with potions await her attention. The thought of spending hours in a classroom, having to share knowledge with what she considered to be a group of dunderheads, threatens to eat her alive. It's kinda messed up, with her stuck playing babysitter to keep the kids from blowing themselves up with not only magic but several ingredients as well, all while her own ambitions get put on the back burner. Total irony. She scoffs.
Sitting beside her, Clarissa Dovey, the new Transfiguration professor, oozes an over-the-top, contagiously annoying excitement Leonora considers absolutely vile. Her lips curl into a subtle sneer; she can’t fathom the woman's joy in this torturous ritual. Dressed like the sun itself — in yellows and oranges, creams, adorned with gold jewelry — and mixed with Clarissa's even brighter, beaming smile makes Leonora's nose twitch like she's about to sneeze. Happiness, it turns out, is downright nauseating. Especially when it comes from Dovey.
The feast tudges on, each bite of food feeling blander than the last for Leonora, to the point where she finishes half of her salad and abandons the rest. It’s not like she hates it — the elves at Hogwarts are superior in the food department — but she doesn’t value food as much as others and having to spend more time than needed at the large table is considered a waste. Her eyes roam the Great Hall, scrutinizing students with a critical eye. Their excitement, their animated chatter; a noise that grates on her last nerve.
“Leonora, right?” Clarissa's voice breaks through the chatter of the students as she reaches for her wine, turning to face her colleague. “It is truly an honor to be working alongside you.”
Leonora's expression remains impassive as she looks at Clarissa. "Yeah, that's me," she replies, a hint of annoyance in her tone. The honor of working together doesn't seem to resonate with her and she doesn’t see the need to acknowledge it.
Undeterred, Clarissa leans in, eyes gleaming with eagerness. "It’s my first time at Hogwarts. Of course I have been given a tour, but tonight the energy has kind of shifted again. Everything's so enchanting, don't you think?"
A noncommittal grunt is Leonora's response. She's not in the mood for small talk, especially about the wonders of her personal hellhole she is currently residing in. Her slim fingers adjust the black tie, smoothing out the white collar of her blouse that is peeking out from under the gray coat, a pantsuit hidden underneath. Not even the wine can make this conversation better, but she takes another sip anyway.
She presses on. "I've read so much about the castle before I applied to fill in the position. What's your favorite part about teaching here?"
“Teaching isn't about favorites. It's a job," she replies, her tone firm, making it clear she's not up for an extended conversation about that, “which allows me to have enough time for my research. A means to an end. However, I find satisfaction in seeing students grasp the practical aspects of the magic they would only abuse without proper guidance. There's a certain beauty in that.”
Clarissa nods, seemingly undeterred by Leonora's concise response. "I suppose we all find our silver lining in the daily grind. Mine's definitely the chance to inspire young minds and help them navigate through their first years with an exceptional gift others can barely dream of."
That’s when Leonora’s head snaps around, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t remember asking” she sneers, fed up with the conversation she is forced into and not willing to hold. The day was bad enough already, with it being the beginning of the term, and much to her own dismay she had woken up with pain flaring through her leg in the morning.
Twelve more minutes, she notes as she reaches for the pocket watch and takes a look. Twelve more minutes until she is relieved of her duties and can tend to the cauldrons in the dungeons, until the stabilization spell she has placed over them before her departure begins to dissolve.
The other woman, taken aback by her reaction, busies herself with dinner and soon picks up a conversation with another colleague on her left. This leaves Leonora with twelve minutes — now eleven and 34 seconds — and her eyes, sharp and discerning, sweep across the Great Hall like a predator scanning its territory. Bitterness lingers in her gaze, a product of years spent navigating the web of politics inside and outside of Hogwarts, ensuring her survival, and enduring the relentless pursuit of magical excellence. Her manner echoes Snape's, her former teacher turned superior at Hogwarts, showcasing the influence of a rigid and disciplined upbringing and a past she isn’t exactly proud of.
As her gaze settles on the students below, her lips curl back into a subtle sneer. The animated chatter and laughter of youth is almost painful, a stark reminder of a time when she, too, was an ambitious student hungry for knowledge and power. But unlike them, she learned the hard way that Hogwarts — and especially the world outside of the protective walls and wards — was not a haven for the faint-hearted, and success came at a price only a few were willing to pay.
Eleven minutes and counting, and the shadows of the Great Hall seem to dance with her bitterness. It's a familiar dance, one she has perfected over the years. The seconds tick away, each passing moment bringing her closer to the solitude of her beloved dungeons, where books await, knowledge, experiments. Research and parchments, stacks of them filled with theories, exchanged letters. Valuables.
Spacing out, she lets her mind wander, occlumency shielding her thoughts like a fortress. Retreating to the sanctuary of her own mind, built like the most luxurious library where memories and experiences have been stored away and labeled meticulously, she seeks out an event from the morning — an experimental potion, the hiss of bubbling concoctions, and the scent of rare ingredients wafting through the air. Stepping into the scene, she finds herself standing behind her, forming thoughts about ingredients and their properties and conducting silent, theoretical experiments, even with her physical form stuck at the welcoming ceremony.
As Leonora delves deeper into her mind, the experimental potion unfolding in her memories, a subtle filter settles upon her surroundings. The noise of the Great Hall, now a distant echo, is covered by the blanket of her thoughts — not enough to silence it, but she can hear her own voice clearer, not as distant. Hovering on the brink of a breakthrough, a valuable thought almost within reach, her focus sharpens even further.
Just as the threads of it start to weave together and begin to form a word on the empty parchment in front of her, a sudden touch startles her. A gentle hand on her shoulder attempts and succeeds in pulling her back to the present. Clarissa, who has noticed Leonora's detachment.
"Leonora, everything okay?" Clarissa's voice cuts through the fog she is experiencing, unwilling to let go just yet.
Leonora's eyes snap open, her occlumency releasing its grip on the carefully constructed thought. Startled, she blinks as the remnants slip through her fingers like sand. It lingers for a moment, close, not close enough, before dissolving like a parchment going up in flames. What follows is hot and white anger.
"What do you want?" Leonora snaps sharply, her irritation clear, directed not just at the interruption but at the dissolving idea.
Clarissa, taken aback by the sharp response, withdraws her hand as if she had been burnt. "I just wanted to check in. You seemed... too far away."
"Well, congratulations, you've succeeded in destroying my train of thought," Leonora retorts with a hiss, frustration etched on her features. The once-promising concept, now reduced to ashes, leaves her with a lingering sense of irritation and Clarissa, only now realizing the impact of her intrusion, retreats with a muttered apology.
The redheaded woman has had enough. Gripping the cane by the side of her chair, she pushes herself up with uncontrolled fury, the scrape of the chair against the stone floor sharp. Leonora's gaze, a storm of irritation and anger in gray eyes, fixates on the other professor.
"Next time, think before you decide to disrupt someone's thoughts," she sneers, the venom in her words cutting through the air. With that, Leonora, cane in hand, strides away, disappearing behind a wooden door behind the table and slamming it shut in the process.
"She is just like him," a voice on the other side of Clarissa says. Emma Anemone, History Professor for a number of years at Hogwarts, observes the scene with a knowing expression. Her gaze follows Leonora's retreating figure and she sighs, as if she's witnessed this particular brand of conflict many times before.
Clarissa, still recovering from the encounter, glances at Emma. "Him? Who are you talking about?"
Emma's eyes flicker toward the direction Leonora disappeared before she busies herself with a piece of salmon. "Severus Snape, of course. Leonora has the same edge, the same bite, almost the same mind. Brilliant, but not one easy to be around."
Clarissa needs time to process the information before she furrows her brows. "Severus Snape, the Potions Master? No way. I always believed he never accepted anyone as an apprentice."
Emma chuckles, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, he didn't willingly take her as an apprentice. She earned her way through sheer determination and talent, something he always valued in his students. It wasn't an easy journey, but she became one of the few he acknowledged as a true student with the ability to understand potions and respect as well as he did. Leonora studied under him for years, longer than actually required, and well, some traits are hard to shake off. They were almost too similar to begin with, so I am far from surprised by her overall behavior."
Her eyes widen in surprise. "That explains a lot. I had no idea."
Emma nods knowingly. "Leonora's time with Snape left its mark on her. You'll find that Hogwarts is filled with stories, both in the history books and the dead as well as the living, breathing people who walk its halls."
Clarissa, now with a mix of curiosity and caution, watches as Emma resumes her dinner, leaving her with her own thoughts.
In the dungeons, when Leonora reaches her lab, a room hidden away in the darkness of twisted corridors, she's finally free from the prying eyes and interruptions of the Great Hall. The heavy wooden door creaks as she pushes it open, and a familiar, comforting scent of potions and magical ingredients greets her like a warm hug. The light coming from the fire underneath the cauldrons casts long shadows over shelves filled with neatly organized jars and bags filled with ingredients.
With a flick of her wrist, the room comes to life, and the dim glow of the now lit candles reveals an array of equipment. The sturdy workbench in the center is cluttered with parchments covered in her precise handwriting and the air around her is thick yet comforting, something she has grown to love and appreciate. It meant silence, focus and no interruptions.
Leonora doesn't waste a moment. She strides to the workbench and unceremoniously sheds her coat, letting it fall to the floor, revealing a meticulously tailored pantsuit underneath that hugs her tightly, providing both protection and warmth in the hostile environment. With practiced efficiency, she rolls up both sleeves of her blouse, exposing the pale skin of her forearms adorned with faint scars from years of potion-making mishaps and stories she isn’t willing to share.
As she prepares to delve into her experiments, a faint shimmer catches the light on her left forearm — a complex, eerie design etched into her skin. The details of it, a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth, are etched with precision. The snake, menacing, coils around the skull, eyes gleaming with an otherworldly hostility, and the black ink seems to swallow the light, casting an unsettling shadow on Leonora's already pale skin. A haunting reminder of her past, an emblem of the choices she made during her youth, nothing she is proud of but a lot she has to live with. The haunting brand that once pledged allegiance to the greatest dark wizard of its time now stands as a permanent scar covering the ones beneath it, proof of countless failed removal attempts. Leonora stares at it for a moment, a mixture of regret and defiance flickering in her eyes, before she pulls herself away and shifts her focus to the task in front of her.
Retrieving ingredients helps, just like meticulously measuring each one and writing down every single gram and thought that crosses her mind in the process. The cauldron in front of her soon comes to life, bubbling and hissing with magical energy. Soon the room hums with the sounds of her skill — a mix of potions bubbling away and the soft mutterings of incantations. Leonora gets lost in the art of magic-making, pushing the past aside, at least for a bit.