Chapter 2
The final scroll of the Hogwarts’ budget has been finalised, signed, rolled, and is ready to be owled to the Board of Governors.
In other words, it is time to celebrate finishing his most troublesome task two days earlier than his self-imposed deadline.
For once in his career as Headmaster, Severus Snape has time. Two glorious days until the blasted blighters return to the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, and he resumes his tedium.
He needs a drink. Across his office, a lacquered wood table boasts an array of carafes and decanters. There are many options to choose from, but the only thing that suits the occasion, he believes, is Minerva’s annual Christmas gift of aged scotch whisky. It is the closest magical equivalent to the deeply delicious Muggle variety that he remembers from his early adulthood.
Once his decision is made and he returns to his seat, he is, of course, interrupted.
A subtle, two-toned whistling sound comes from a brass box on his desk. The significance of the alert is unusual, as there aren’t many members of staff in the castle at the moment. Even so, they all know not to disturb him with interoffice memos during their mid-year break.
Although, if this missive is from Minerva, who he knows is in the castle, perhaps he can trouble her with a drink or two to vent about the board and pass the time.
Opening the box and finding a hastily rolled scrap of parchment, he settles back into his chair. The letter is too dense to resemble a scholastic memo, and Minerva’s unusually elongated cursive hints at her distress and triggers his slightly dormant sense of suspicion.
Severus,
Forgive me, dear friend.
He raises an eyebrow, then continues.
I have been enlightened about a blessing that has been bestowed by magic. I am a skeptic, though significantly less so than you. As you are no doubt wondering why I have chosen to share such irrelevant ballyhoo with you, allow me to be Gryffindorially direct in this missive.
When was she not, he wonders.
I had tea with Hermione Granger this afternoon. We meet almost every holiday, believe it or not. As you know, my health is not as it was, and I did not find myself able to mingle as I used to at the gatherings held by the grown members of my house.
Despite the quiet recuperation I am enjoying in my quarters, I find myself conflicted following Hermione’s latest visit and my subsequent realisation.
Severus, forgive me for not meeting with you to discuss this. I believe that, in light of this knowledge, you may require the privacy you so value to process what I am about to divulge.
Just below Hermione’s collarbone, there are two marks on her chest. They are approximately two inches long, one ahead of the other, and only slightly thick. Dark red in colour, completely visible, yet I have never seen it before tonight.
Severus’ breath catches in his throat, and his incredulity at his colleague’s obviously composed-while-drunk letter vanishes from his head.
Believe me when I say that I tried to pass it off as an ageing witch’s illusion. However, it is not to be.
Almost twenty five years ago, I saw the same two lines late one night in the staff room. I know that acknowledging such an intimate appellation is unseemly, but they match, Severus. Magic has made it so.
She is yours, and you are hers.
I spoke of nothing to Hermione; I trust you to act at your own discretion. You are both dearly beloved to me. Please, do not begrudge me my desire for your mutual happiness. I leave this matter of fate in your capable hands.
I am always, your friend,
Minerva