autumn | severus snape

fifty nine

The sky over Hogwarts turned softer in the days after the battle, as if the very air knew that something had shifted. The dark magic that had clung to the grounds like a fog was gone, burned away in the final confrontation, and flowers bloomed in its place.

The Minister of Magic resigned within a week. Public outcry over the truth, the sacrifice of Teddy, the manipulation of the war, forced a reckoning. Chester Cecil disappeared, as did Graham.

Ophelia moved through the castle like a ghost at first. Her robes still smelled faintly of smoke and earth, her wand never far from her fingers. The greenhouses became her sanctuary again. The hybrid plant stood tall, its leaves now golden at the edges, almost as if it knew its purpose had been fulfilled. Professor Sprout said they'd made history, that people would study it for years to come. But Ophelia wasn't sure if she ever wanted to touch that plant again. It had given her so much, but it was also a reminder of everything she had lost. She insisted Professor Sprout put her name on it.

Ophelia sat by her sister's bed every night, often falling asleep with her hand in Ana's, whispering stories about Peter. Sometimes Ana would laugh, other times she'd cry, especially when she realized she would have no one to go back to. Though Ana would have Hogwarts for the next six years, a steady path, somewhere to stay. But Ophelia, she wasn't sure where she would go.

She tried not to think about it too much, tried to keep her thoughts anchored to Ana's recovery, passing her classes, feeling like herself again. But the quiet spaces in between, the ones where Ana wasn't around, where there was no one to take care of, no immediate danger to prepare for, those were harder.

Draco took the longest to come back from it all. After the final confrontation, Lucius had vanished. Some said he fled, others said he was captured and then released under house arrest. Draco hadn't seen him in months. He didn't ask.

In the days that followed, he seemed hollowed out, quieter than Ophelia had ever seen him. They had silent cups of tea in the hospital wing while Ana slept. Quiet walks through the edges of the Hogwarts grounds, where the air still carried the scent of smoke and earth, and the stones remembered everything.

After some time they started to laugh again, more than either of them expected. Real laughter, the kind that came from shared sarcasm and quiet mischief. Draco never stopped checking the windows, though. Or his wand. He was still a Malfoy. Still looking for shadows.

Severus distanced himself again. At first, Ophelia pretended not to notice, but she could still feel him watching. The way he lingered in dark corners, silent, waiting, always hesitant. Severus had always been a man who kept his distance, even when he stood inches away. But this was different. This wasn't retreat. This was waiting.

𖠇

The sun was barely over the horizon when a student delivered the note. Professor McGonagall wished to see her in her office, immediately. Ophelia didn't think much of it at first. She assumed it had something to do with Ana or the hospital wing's overcrowding, but when she opened the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, she paused.

The new Minister of Magic stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, as regal and composed as ever, but her eyes were soft, thoughtful.

"Miss Delisle," McGonagall said, motioning for her to take a seat. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Ophelia said cautiously, glancing between them both as she lowered herself into the chair. "Is something wrong?"

"Quite the opposite," the Minister said, turning to face her. "We've been discussing plans for a celebration."

Ophelia blinked. "A... celebration?"

"To mark the end of the war," McGonagall said gently. "To honor those who fought. And to remember those we lost."

Ophelia swallowed, her throat tightening. Teddy's face flashed in her mind, his crooked smile, his laugh echoing in the greenhouse. She nodded slowly. "I think... that's a good idea. People need it."

The Minister inclined his head. "We agree. Which is why we'd also like to recognize a few individuals for their extraordinary courage. Your name, Miss Delisle, has come up more than once."

Ophelia's brows furrowed.

"We would like to award you the Order of Merlin," he said. "Second Class, for now. But I'd like to recommend First."

There was a long silence.

Ophelia looked down at her hands, calloused and still faintly stained with dirt. She thought of Ana's pale face in the hospital bed, of the lives lost for her survival, of the choices others made for her, and the rage she still hadn't fully unlearned.

She looked up, her voice quiet but firm. "Thank you, Minister, but I'm not sure I can accept it."

"I understand this is overwhelming," the Minister began. "But this is an honor, it's about personal recognition, it's about what you represent to the public. To the survivors. To the future."

Ophelia shook her head slowly, the corners of her mouth tightening. "And I appreciate the thought, but it doesn't feel like an honor, it feels like a wound."

She pressed on, her voice steady now.

"I failed more times than I can count. I made mistakes and people died because of them. If you want to thank someone, it should be Teddy, or Robert Allen, or Professor Brown."

The Minister opened his mouth, but McGonagall raised a hand gently.

"May I?" she asked, her eyes never leaving Ophelia's face.

Ophelia nodded once, reluctantly.

McGonagall leaned forward slightly, folding her hands on the desk. "This award isn't meant to erase what you've been through. Nor does it make light of the sacrifices made along the way. You're not being celebrated instead of them, you're being honored with them."

Ophelia blinked, her throat tightening. She thought of Ana's fragile fingers curled around hers. Of Teddy's laughter echoing through old memories. Of Draco, trying every day to prove he wasn't his father. Of Severus, watching her from across crowded rooms, saying nothing but always staying close.

"You don't have to wear it," McGonagall said, standing now. "You don't even have to attend the ceremony. But I think, someday, when you're ready, you'll look at that medal and remember that you made it. And that others did too, because of you."

Ophelia sat in silence for a moment longer, then drew in a slow breath.

"Does it come in gold?"

McGonagall smiled. "I'm sure you'll be pleased with the material, Miss Delisle."

Ophelia let out a quiet breath, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Good. I've earned at least that, haven't I?"

The Minister chuckled, some of the tension in the room easing. "That you have."

McGonagall gave her a long, fond look, then stepped around the desk. "We'll handle the details, you only need to focus on graduating. And for what it's worth, Ophelia, I'm proud of you. We all are."

Ophelia's expression faltered, just for a moment. Pride was something she hadn't let herself feel in a long time. But hearing it from McGonagall, in that quiet, sincere tone, it settled something deep in her chest.

She rose from her chair, nodding to the Minister, then to McGonagall. "Thank you. Both of you."

As she stepped out into the corridor, she leaned against the wall for a moment, breathing in deeply. She didn't need a medal to remember what she'd done. She had scars for that. And a sister who still reached for her hand at night.