autumn | severus snape

sixty seven

AUTUMN, 2000

Severus,

The desert is harsher than I imagined, but beautiful. I keep thinking you'd appreciate the quiet out here, the endless stretches of sand, the starry skies, the way it presses in on you until you're forced to listen to yourself.

Professor El-Amin is exacting, insatiable in his expectations, but brilliant. He reminds me a little of you, relentless in his search for answers.

The Re'em Lily grows here, tucked away in the mountains, hidden like it knows its worth. Its magic is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's breathtaking. Professor El-Amin says the plant has properties that could revolutionize restorative potions, and I'm beginning to believe him.

I hope you're keeping well, and Hogwarts isn't treating you too terribly. How are the students this year?

Yours,

Ophelia

Ophelia,

The quiet of the desert? If I recall correctly, you were never particularly fond of silence. Perhaps it's the absence of distraction that you're beginning to appreciate or perhaps what you're learning is not about the desert at all.

The work you describe is nothing short of remarkable. I trust Professor El-Amin has not entirely succeeded in exhausting you with his pursuit for answers, though I know you well enough to believe that you are more than capable of keeping up.

Hogwarts, as it turns out, has also proven itself rather... exhausting. There was nothing left for me there. I have, at long last, taken a small apothecary near the coast, in a town that barely anyone seems to remember exists. It's quiet, isolated, but there is comfort in it. The sea is not entirely unpleasant.

Send word of your progress with the Re'em Lily. I find myself more curious than I expected. And remember that diligence, though tedious, is rarely wasted.

Yours,

Severus

WINTER, 2001

Severus,

The work here is challenging, but exhilarating. We've found a way to preserve the Re'em Lily, to save it. We've stabilized the sap and discovered that under the right conditions, it multiplies its potency tenfold. Professor El-Amin is cautious, but I see the potential. It's like watching a constellation come into focus.

You can pretend you don't miss my enthusiasm for Herbology all you want, but I know better. You care more than you let on, even now.

Sometimes, when I'm alone in the desert, I hear your voice, lecturing, judging, occasionally amused. I can't help but think of you each time we gather ingredients, every time we explore new mixtures. Funny, isn't it? You taught me more than I ever let on. Maybe I'm only realizing it now.

I still think of the way you used to make tea, like it was an exact science. I miss that kind of certainty.

Stay warm by that sea of yours, Severus.

Yours,

Ophelia

Ophelia,

If my memory serves, you found that thirty minutes with Professor Sprout had taught you more than weeks worth of class with me. A lapse in judgment, perhaps? Or just sentimentality getting the better of you?