autumn | severus snape

four

"What is this?" Ophelia asked, lifting something fleshy and grotesque between her fingers.

"Bat tongue," Snape replied without looking up.

A dramatic retch followed. "Ugh."

"Careful, Miss Delisle," he growled, eyes narrowing. The tongue hit the table with a wet slap.

"Sorry," she muttered, wiping her fingers on her pants. "It's just... when my father said you'd be training me this summer, I didn't think it'd involve... dismembered body parts."

"Potions is as essential as any other skill," he said, voice low and clipped.

She rolled her eyes, he heard it in her tone. "Sure, Professor," she replied dryly, plucking a lionfish spine from a tray and twirling it in her fingers. "Whatever you say."

The sarcasm bit harder than it should have. He had barely sat down before she began poking and prodding, testing his patience like a child tapping on glass just to watch the snake coil.

They were in the basement turned potions lab in Snape's home. He'd confiscated her wand the moment she entered. Not for safety, though that was part of it, but because he'd seen the arrogance in her eyes and knew she'd never learn if she thought herself in control.

She wouldn't last three days. He was sure of it.

"And what's that?" she asked, pointing to a pile of shredded greenish leaves.

"Dittany."

"And that?"

"Salamander blood."

She wrinkled her nose. "And—"

"No more questions." His tone dropped like a guillotine.

"You said you were going to teach me," she said with a scoff, moving like she had somewhere better to be.

Typical, he thought.

"This feels more like babysitting with a side of trauma."

"Patience," he said, not even glancing at her.

"You're one to talk about patience, Professor. You don't exactly radiate zen."

"I'm not here to impress you," he muttered.

A long pause stretched between them. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke, calmer this time.

"What would you like to do when you graduate?"

Ophelia blinked. "I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Maybe a healer. Or an astrologer."

"Your father says you're gifted in Defence Against the Dark Arts," Snape said, not looking up from the potion he was mixing. "Have you considered that?"

"It doesn't matter what I'm good at," she said, voice colder now. "What matters is what I want. And I don't want to deal with the Dark Arts."

"But astrology?" he said, dryly. "Stars and symbols?"

"You say that like it's a joke."

"It was my intention."

Ophelia smirked despite herself. "You're surprisingly funny, Professor. Who knew sarcasm was your love language?"

"It's my only language," he muttered.

She leaned forward, chin resting on her hand. "So you don't believe in the zodiac?"

Snape gave a slight shake of his head.

"How can you not believe in it?"

"Because it's absurd to think everyone born in the same month shares the same fate."