autumn | severus snape

forty seven

The Great Hall was filled with the warm glow of floating candles and the faint hum of enchanted holiday music. Glittering garlands hung above the tables, and a magnificent Christmas tree sparkled at the far end of the room. Despite the festivity, the hall was quieter than usual, occupied by only a handful of students who had stayed for the holidays.

Ophelia sat with Teddy and Draco, absently picking at the roast on her plate. Teddy was regaling a story about his disastrous attempt at decorating the Slytherin common room with enchanted snow. Ophelia managed a small laugh, though her heart wasn't really in it. Ana was still in the hospital wing, and the worry gnawed at her constantly.

"You're awfully quiet," Teddy nudged her gently. "Should I be worried?"

Ophelia managed a faint smile. "Just thinking about Ana."

"She'll pull through," Draco said confidently from across the table. "You Delisles are stubborn."

Before Ophelia could respond, a snowy owl swooped down, dropping a crisp parchment onto her plate. Her heart sank when she saw the familiar handwriting. Her mother.

Teddy leaned over, curious. "What's that?"

"Nothing," Ophelia muttered, quickly breaking the seal. She unfolded the letter, her eyes skimming the sharp, unforgiving words.

Ophelia,

It's disappointing, though not surprising, to hear that you're still playing hero at that school. Your sister's condition only proves that your choices have consequences...

Am I a bad mother? Why do you despise us so much?

Disgrace.. ruining your father's reputation.. selfish..

The words blurred as her eyes filled with tears. Her breath caught in her throat, the festivity around her fading into a dull hum. She folded the letter with trembling hands and shoved it into her pocket.

"I need some air," she said abruptly, rising from the table.

"Ophelia—" Draco started, but she was already walking toward the doors.

Ophelia pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the cold, biting air of the courtyard. Snow crunched under her boots as she made her way toward the edge, her breath visible in the icy air. Her chest heaved with suppressed sobs, and she clenched her fists, willing herself to keep it together.

Her hands shook as she fumbled for her cigarette case, lighting one with a flick of her wand.

The first drag stung her lungs, but it steadied her fraying nerves.

Her childhood had been shaped by expectations she could never meet, by love that came with conditions. She had needed her mother to be her keeper, to shield her from the storms of the world. And her father to be her steadfast guide, a role model to show her what strength truly was.

But life just didn't unfold that way.

Her mother had been an enforcer of her father's will. Rules were meant to be followed, no questions asked. And when Ophelia dared to push back, to carve out even the smallest piece of herself, her mother had crumbled into a martyr, twisting defiance into betrayal.

Her father, on the other hand, had been solid. Unshakable. A looming figure who commanded obedience and respect. He had been a guide, in the strictest sense of the word, a force that shaped her, but never nurtured her. Discipline had been his love language, control his greatest display of care. There had been no softness in him, no room for weakness.

And if Ophelia wanted to survive in their world, she had to learn how to bite her tongue when it was safer not to speak, but she also learned how to hold her ground when she knew she was right.