City greening was not common in Italy. After leaving the small garden laid with lawn, they arrived at the adjacent courtyard, which still retained the appearance of a convent, each individual room resembling a prison cell.
Laughter drifted near and far. When a nun dressed in black passed by on the other side, her thoughts floated back to that office in the semi-basement.
The children's laughter and sunlight poured into the room together. In truth, she preferred his office beneath the Black Lake, where the songs of Mermaids echoed beyond windows that never opened.
Sweat gathered along his brow. Those black eyes, like mirrors made of obsidian, reflected her face.
It was finally over. He had been like a taut bow, and once the string was released, all strength seemed to leave him. He quickly lay down to one side, as if afraid his weight would press on her.
She took the initiative to nestle beside him, looking at this life that had shed its youthful awkwardness and grown powerful, his heartbeat echoing by her ear.
"Next time, it's your turn," he suddenly said.
All that lazy comfort vanished at once.
He raised a hand and gently wiped the tears from her face, as if he meant to wipe away her tension and fear along with them.
"That's what you told me. I can do anything I want, so can you."
She resisted.
"You're trembling." As though he had discovered something amusing, his face remained expressionless, but there was an indescribable hint of laughter in his voice.
She did not find it amusing.
"We're not monks." His large nose brushed against her neck. "This is a wizarding school, not a convent."
"What we're doing is forbidden," she said fearfully.
"We can leave. Or are you like Miss Granger?"
Pomona felt