I cannot focus on this story rn. I don't know what's going on lol, but every time I try to work on this, I keep writing something else.
Monday and Tuesday, I tried to second-draft Chapter 12 (the second dream sequence). Thought I'd add some foreshadowing for the next dream. But to foreshadow it, I needed to know what happens in it, right? Before I knew it, I'd written the entire next dream sequence and done absolutely nothing for Chapter 12.
Today I planned to write Chapter 21, but when I sat down I wrote something completely unrelated instead. It's good and I'll definitely add it to the story later, but like... this is not what I was trying to do today. 😅
Anyway, I'm sharing a piece of it because I usually like to post something for the holiday, and it doesn't seem like I'm getting a full chapter posted today.
Happy New Year!
"My essence. It's like—slush," I managed through chattering teeth. "The Dementor must've frozen it somehow. I can't—I can't make it move—" Severus stared at me for a long moment. Then, without a word, he unfastened his cloak and threw it at me. I caught it reflexively, the heavy fabric pooling in my arms. "No—Severus, you'll freeze—" "Put it on." "We could just make a fire, or—" "Put it on, Winters." His voice left no room for argument. I hesitated a moment longer, then swung the cloak around my shoulders. The warmth hit me immediately—residual heat from his body, trapped in the thick wool. And underneath it, something else. A scent I hadn't consciously registered before but recognized instantly: something herbal and sharp, layered over smoke and old parchment. Him. I pulled the cloak tighter, trying not to think about it, and immediately felt guilty for how much better it made me feel. "You'll freeze," I said again, though with less conviction. "Unlikely." He was watching me with an expression I couldn't read. "Walk me through it." I blinked. "Through what?" "Your temperature regulation. The technique. Explain it to me." "That took me months to master—" "Then be concise." I stared at him. He stared back, implacable, apparently unbothered by the wind that was now cutting directly through his robes. "Fine." I took a breath, trying to organize my thoughts through the fog of cold. "You start by finding your essence—the warmth at your center like I showed you before in my classroom. Then you... push it outward. Not all at once, but in a steady flow, like blood through veins. You're creating circulation, not explosion. The key is maintaining it—keeping the current going without consciously thinking about it. Eventually it should become automatic." He closed his eyes. I watched, shivering, as his expression went still and focused. For a long moment nothing happened—and then I saw it. A subtle shift in his posture, a slight relaxation in his shoulders. His breath, which had been fogging in the cold air, began to fade. He opened his eyes. "That is effective." I gaped at him. "You—that took me months." "You required acclimation." "I had masters—" "It is not the masters I was commenting on."
