Melisande waited for when she was supposed to meet him, pacing her room. He hadn't spoken to her since they'd left the armory yesterday morning. Would he be there? Had he changed his mind? Was this a mistake? The knots in her stomach made each second of her life ticking away into agony. She couldn't take the waiting. She sat on the edge of the large bed, exhaled with force and threw herself back in frustration, her legs dangling over the edge.
With the what if's and uncertainty plaguing her mind, her pride told her to not to go to him. Don't answer to his beck and call. Be the one in charge. Decide
you
don't want him. Be the strong one. She was the Headmistress of Ilvermorny, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and she would be damned if she would be strung along and teased. She was no one's plaything.
But then she remembered that day in his classroom. The day when it all started, when he had sent her heart pounding, and gave her a craving for something she never knew she wanted.
________________
She had been focused on the Samhain preparations, worried that she had given too much work to the fretful Transfiguration professor, Professor Lillith, and had wandered into the Charms classroom, her head down as she reviewed a sheaf of notes in her hand. "Good morning, bien-aimé," said a man at the head of the classroom, his smooth tenor cheerful.
She looked up to see Professor Anafiel pushing himself back from the dark, ornate desk to rise upon her entrance, always a gentleman. The windows behind him showed a forest on fire in the sunlight, the leaves saying their farewells in a spectacular array of goldenrod yellows and blazing scarlets peppered with some lingering, stubborn peridots - the latter being her favorites for their defiance. A cool contrast to the firescape behind him, the first thing she noticed was the way his silver silk cravat and matching brocaded waistcoat complemented his wolf pup blue eyes. He always dressed smartly in her opinion, though Anafiel had no patience for the frippery of ruffles, rhinegraves and ribbons, choosing instead to wear more practical, fitted attire for his dual position as Duel Master.
"Morning, Fiel," she replied, approaching his desk with a smile. When she had first had the insane idea of founding Ilvermorny, he had been the one to come to her aid when she was venturing on her own, and help her make sense out of her jumbled thoughts. He was a good listener, and a passionate believer in her ideals. Through the hard work of the first months, he was there, always willing to help. She'd grown quite comfortable in his company, and had shared many long discussions with him over a bottle of wine - sometimes about his troubled past and her troubled childhood, or sometimes just about a good book. She considered him a true friend. He had become her right hand man, and should she ever vacate her position, she knew she would choose him as her more than capable successor. Although she enjoyed his company, his guidance was what she sought now.
Setting her notes down, she leaned back on the edge of his desk, palms holding the wood behind her. She turned her head to look over at him, and sighed, getting straight to the point of her visit. "I don't think Professor Lillith is up for the spellwork we need for the Great Hall for the celebration. Do you think I've tasked her with too much? Would it insult her if I took the responsibility away?"
Fiel walked over to stand in front of her, crossing his arms and looked down, considering for a moment. "I know she has a lot on her mind. It seems the mediwizards aren't sure what is causing her fatigue and have been requiring her to do a lot of tests, which in turn is making her more anxious. But no, I don't think it would insult her. I can talk to her gently about it if you like, offer to take on the task."
"Will you have the time to do it yourself? I know you have a lot of preparations to finish for Williamstown," Melisande inquired, tilting her head to the side.
Fiel unfolded his arms and sighed, remembering his other commitments. "Honestly, probably not. If you don't mind laying down the foundational charms for the floating ornaments this week, I can come in next week and finish up."
Melisande, glad of his willingness to help, smiled at him. "Sounds good. Don't worry about this week, Fiel."
"Merci, bien-aimé," he replied, the French rolling off his tongue without thought.
He had been calling her that lately, but she had never actually thought to ask what it means. She wondered now. "Good" something? Her French was non-existent, but Fiel had been born in France, and his childhood had been split between living with the English and the French. "What is 'aimé'?," she asked inquisitively.
He gave her his charming grin, stepping forward to lean on the desk next to her, his body turned towards hers. "All one word," he explained. "'Bien-aimé' means 'beloved'."
She had laughed then, replying, "You make it sound like we're vampires." Fiel, always the scandalous flirt, always calling people "petite" and "cheré". Now this new term of endearment. He already had a fanclub among the students, both male and female, and she knew he enjoyed the attention. She expected his flirtations and knew to shrug them off.
What she hadn't expected was him moving closer to her. Melisande's eyes widened as his hand rose to brush a strand of her amethyst hair from her face, letting his fingers lightly trail down her cheek. He had never touched her before, never stood this close. Her breathing became shallow as he held her gaze with his beautiful eyes. (Beautiful eyes?, she thought to herself. Since when have I thought that?) He leaned in, his chest touching the side of her arm as he palmed her cheek, guiding her face towards his. Softly, pressing his lips to her parted ones that were open slightly in shock, he kissed her. It was only once, but it was enough to unhinge her.
Pulling back, he gave her his smirk and said, his voice low, "I would happily spend eternity in your company."
The sounds of students approaching down the hall startled Melisande from her paralysis and she jolted away from him, not wanting the students to see the lack of distance between her and Professor Anafiel. "Uh, I..." she stammered. Rattled, she hurriedly grabbed her notes and started walking out of the classroom as the first students made their way in. "Thank you for your help, Professor," she managed to say as she tried not to flee the room.
Where had
that
come from?!, she wondered. Thinking of his new address for her, she tried to remember when he had started calling her that, and realized that she had never noted it in her memory. Had she missed something? Some change? His flirtations were to be discarded, she thought. They meant nothing. He flirted with everyone. She'd enjoyed his charming attentions before, but it was all harmless fun. But this. This was dangerous. In the span of a few seconds he had changed their dynamic from one of easy friendship to... something she couldn't quite name.
Distracted, she proceeded with her day, teaching her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, trying to decide if she should slap him the next time he took such liberties, or if she should follow her curiosity and let him continue. She hadn't seen him during the midday meal, and in an attempt to shut off her mind before dinner, she retired to her study above Horned Serpent to read.
Melisande was a few minutes into reading when Fiel came in unannounced, which wasn't unusual for him to do, but after this morning, she wasn't sure if she welcomed his presence. She resolved to ignore him, but Fiel was unfazed, and sat down near the other end of her sofa. At least he was keeping his distance now.
