autumn | severus snape

thirty five

It was early in the morning and the chill of the approaching winter crept into the Hufflepuff dormitory. The silence was heavy, broken only by the uneven breathing of Alya, lost in her dreams. But for Ophelia, sleep was elusive.

Her fingers traced absent patterns on the fabric of her blanket as her thoughts circled endlessly. No matter how much she tried to think of something else, anything else, her thoughts kept being drawn back to the kiss she and Snape had shared. The memory was vivid, seared into her mind like a brand. The heat of his lips against hers, the brief but unguarded tenderness, the intensity that left her breathless. It was everything she'd wanted and everything she shouldn't have allowed herself to want.

But now, the weight of Draco's confession pressed against her chest like a stone. He had left earlier that week, giving her a heartbreaking smile and a long hug goodbye.

Ophelia rubbed her temples, guilt and confusion swirling in her mind. Draco had always been there, steady in his own peculiar way, the kind of friend she hadn't realized she needed until he had carved out a place in her life. And now...

Now, he had laid his heart bare. And she didn't know what to do with it.

She exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. How could she reconcile the two? The man she couldn't stop thinking about, and the confession she couldn't ignore?

Snape's touch still lingered on her skin, a reminder of something she wasn't sure she was ready to let go of. But Draco's words lingered too, an unspoken plea for her to see him, to acknowledge him in a way she hadn't before.

The clock on the wall struck six and so she stood quietly, careful not to disturb Alya, and put on her robes. Her feet padded softly against the stone floor as she slipped out of the dormitory and into the winding corridors of the castle.

Ophelia decided to go to the greenhouses before breakfast, hoping her thoughts would settle there. The sky outside was a pale gray, the sun just beginning to rise and cast a faint light over the grounds. Inside the greenhouses, the air was warmer, damp with the scent of earth and dew.

The vibrant leaves of the Flutterby Bush drooped limply, their usual iridescent shimmer dulled to a murky hue. Nearby, the Sopophorous Vines hung lifelessly over their supports, their tips tinged with an unnatural black.

"What the fuck..." she murmured, reaching out hesitantly.

Her fingers brushed the edge of a Lunaria Blossom, but instead of the soft warmth she expected, a faint jolt of cold energy shot up her arm. She recoiled, staring at the flower as it pulsed faintly with dark energy, as though something had tainted its core.

Ophelia's breath quickened as she moved down the row, touching other plants cautiously. The Fanged Geraniums snapped weakly at her fingers, their vibrant red petals dulled to a muddy maroon.

Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the cause. Magical flora were notoriously sensitive and had to be handled with care, but what could have caused this?

She knelt by the Moonshade Ivy, its silver leaves crumbling at her touch. As she inspected the soil, she noticed faint scorch marks on the edges of the pots, as though they had been burned.

The sound of the greenhouse door opening startled her, and she turned quickly to see Professor Sprout entering, her arms full of gardening tools.

"Miss Delisle?" Sprout said, her voice filled with surprise. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I—" Ophelia hesitated, gesturing to the plants. "Something's wrong. Look at them."

Sprout set down her tools and walked over, her expression growing more concerned with each step. She touched the Flutterby Bush, her brows furrowing deeply.