Dear Professor,
I know that you are a private man and not accustomed to receiving post, especially not that of a friendly nature. However, I write today, the bearer of bad news. I like the job not, but I feel it is my duty given the circumstances of the past seven or so years of my life.
Many years ago we knew each other. Time out of mind, it seems, these days. I hardly expect you to remember the days of your childhood. Mine, however, haunt me with a vengeance. I can recall with great clarity the home of my youth. It was a self-effacing little cottage well off the beaten path. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a den. But its greatest glory, to me at least, was the barn out back. I kept two horses there, all through my years, and I used to have only one partner to ride with.
A grumpy boy my age, he was raised a stone's throw from my yard. His home was immaculate. The opposite of everything we had. A great stone manor, it was. Snape manor. Your home. I suspect your memory is coming back to you now. How you used to come out on summer days and we would ride the entire day away, exploring parts of the wilderness of southern Scotland that we were sure no mortal had ever set foot upon before.
That's right. It's me. Petra Antonia. All grown up. I still live in the cottage, though I do so alone these days. Mother and father passed on five years ago, here in this very house. I returned here almost eight years ago to care for them, in their declining health. It wasn't long after I returned that I became reacquainted with your parents.
I nursed my parents for three years, but eventually death overcomes us all. My father went first, followed only three days later by my mother. Your parents were very kind to me, though their health was slipping as well. They took over wonderfully and everything was taken care of, thanks to them. Mum and dad are peaceful, buried beside the stream that runs behind the pasture. I'm sure you remember it.
In any case, I remained here. I bought another pair of horses - Percherons, this time. Great fun to ride. I never broke contact with your parents. And over the past few years I found their health declining as well. I took care of them as I cared for my own mother and father. You can be assured that they wanted for nothing and felt no discomfort. But alas, no one can stop death when it comes.
They have passed, Severus. At ten o'clock this morning I went to check on them and found them. They went silently - comfortably. In bed. In each other's arms.
I know you haven't spoken to them in years. They told me everything about your past. The row that you had the year you graduated. I'd wondered why you never came home for a single holiday. I hope you won't allow that to deter you to coming and helping to settle their affairs. You don't need to fear me. You were always guarded and reclusive. I can respect that. I won't ask a friendship of you now, if you don't want it. But for the sake of your inheritance, at the very least, come and settle things. I haven't the first idea where to begin and the ministry is already sniffing around, looking to see what they can claim by way of unpaid taxes, etc.
Come home. I've made your room up for you just as it was when you lived here. I can't take care of this myself.
Deepest Regrets,
Petra Antonia
I know that you are a private man and not accustomed to receiving post, especially not that of a friendly nature. However, I write today, the bearer of bad news. I like the job not, but I feel it is my duty given the circumstances of the past seven or so years of my life.
Many years ago we knew each other. Time out of mind, it seems, these days. I hardly expect you to remember the days of your childhood. Mine, however, haunt me with a vengeance. I can recall with great clarity the home of my youth. It was a self-effacing little cottage well off the beaten path. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a den. But its greatest glory, to me at least, was the barn out back. I kept two horses there, all through my years, and I used to have only one partner to ride with.
A grumpy boy my age, he was raised a stone's throw from my yard. His home was immaculate. The opposite of everything we had. A great stone manor, it was. Snape manor. Your home. I suspect your memory is coming back to you now. How you used to come out on summer days and we would ride the entire day away, exploring parts of the wilderness of southern Scotland that we were sure no mortal had ever set foot upon before.
That's right. It's me. Petra Antonia. All grown up. I still live in the cottage, though I do so alone these days. Mother and father passed on five years ago, here in this very house. I returned here almost eight years ago to care for them, in their declining health. It wasn't long after I returned that I became reacquainted with your parents.
I nursed my parents for three years, but eventually death overcomes us all. My father went first, followed only three days later by my mother. Your parents were very kind to me, though their health was slipping as well. They took over wonderfully and everything was taken care of, thanks to them. Mum and dad are peaceful, buried beside the stream that runs behind the pasture. I'm sure you remember it.
In any case, I remained here. I bought another pair of horses - Percherons, this time. Great fun to ride. I never broke contact with your parents. And over the past few years I found their health declining as well. I took care of them as I cared for my own mother and father. You can be assured that they wanted for nothing and felt no discomfort. But alas, no one can stop death when it comes.
They have passed, Severus. At ten o'clock this morning I went to check on them and found them. They went silently - comfortably. In bed. In each other's arms.
I know you haven't spoken to them in years. They told me everything about your past. The row that you had the year you graduated. I'd wondered why you never came home for a single holiday. I hope you won't allow that to deter you to coming and helping to settle their affairs. You don't need to fear me. You were always guarded and reclusive. I can respect that. I won't ask a friendship of you now, if you don't want it. But for the sake of your inheritance, at the very least, come and settle things. I haven't the first idea where to begin and the ministry is already sniffing around, looking to see what they can claim by way of unpaid taxes, etc.
Come home. I've made your room up for you just as it was when you lived here. I can't take care of this myself.
Deepest Regrets,
Petra Antonia