More than kisses, letters mingle souls.

John Donne


Thanks rookseer for pointing out that this chapter had gone MIA, no idea what the go is.


Snape wasn't sure why he'd spent the day reading through hundreds of fucking letters. He must be losing it in his old age. Was he a wizard or not.

You're a glutton for punishment you old fool. Did you really need those letters to tell you everything you already knew? Did you think listening to them would finally atone for your mistakes? There aren't enough letters in the world for that.

About 400 letters in, he exploded from the pile, leaping from the floor and pulling his wand from its sheath. His non-verbal Accio was perhaps a tad excessive, tearing four letters from the pile while sending the rest of the envelopes flying everywhere.

And of course, to add insult to injury, he'd recognised the chit's handwriting as soon as he saw it. He'd marked more of her work than any other student in memory. She'd been the only student to plague him with feet upon feet of extra information, regardless of the countless acerbic comments he'd left in the margins.

Falling back into his wingback chair, Severus growled down at the four letters before him. The chit had managed to make a fool of him again, with nothing more than ink and parchment. You made a fool of yourself Severus. Three of the letters bore the familiar neat print of the Granger girl, while the other was branded with the postmark of 'A Posse Ad Esse.'

Severus examined the yellowing envelopes trying to determine which was the oldest and thus, the original letter. Then with a growl he remembered his wand once more.

"Aeon Revelio" he muttered in his sonorous voice as the letters emitted a faint glow. Severus picked up the brightest one before letting the other faint pulses fade away. His long thin fingers picked apart the envelope; it's seal crumbling instantly as flakes of Gryffindor red wax brushed his lap. Great merlin, there were three separate pages. Was the girl determined to plague him with essays until he finally perished?

"Dear Professor Snape,

I am well aware that while reading this, you are undoubtedly preparing yourself to endure another slew of mindless apologies. Even after all this time, I still can't adequately express how sorry I am for my sub-par healing efforts and their irreversible effects.

Therefore fear not on reading this to find any further renewal of those apologies that were so unwelcome all those months ago. I will even go so far as to subdue my Gryffindor nature and completely abandon any further words or gestures to the effect.

I know that whether I am sorry or not, what is done is done, and you never did care for the opinions of an insufferable know-it-all anyway. But I believe, sir that I now have something to offer you that is worth more than both my opinion and apologies.

After completing my NEWTS some months ago; with the highest scores in the last century in all but potions (I am sorry about that too sir, but some know-it-all from the class of '78 beat me), I'm currently engaged in an internship at St Mungos.

While I may have overestimated the level of academic stimulation the position affords, I've taken great solace in my own personal research, and I've finally managed to produce an improved concentration of Dittany.

Let me be entirely open and forthright about this development, and my reasoning in alerting you to its existence. The research holds no promise to those already sporting old scarring, and once again I am sorry, but I'm afraid it is of no medical use to you.

No, the reason I am writing to you is to confess that this is, at least partially, your research.

I know you are aware that Harry, in his sixth and last year of Hogwarts, obtained your old copy of Advanced Potion Making while completely oblivious to just who his silent accomplice in Slughorn's lessons was. After learning your identity however, Harry was content to leave your book in the room of Hidden things forevermore. The discovery of "The Half Blood Prince's" identity had quite the opposite effect on me; I'd never approved the use of your book, but before leaving Hogwarts that summer, I decided to reclaim it. In my defence, we were about to embark on what I believed to be a suicide mission and I was under the impression that should we get caught, a stolen textbook would be the least of my concerns.

I'd like to thank you, even though I can imagine you glowering at the page at my gratitude; your book was an invaluable help whilst preparing for my NEWTs at the Burrow. It was almost like reading your own particular brand of constructive criticism in the margins once more.

I'd also like to hope, (I say hope rather than believe) that this research could be used as a definitive gesture of my sincere apologies, and perhaps, if you don't find the thought of corresponding with a Gryffindor Ex-student too outlandish, a bridge in the formation of a new acquaintance.

You'll find a copy of my research enclosed, as well as all the relative patent forms that require only your signature.

I hope you won't think me too presumptuous to retain your potions text for the time being; I will however understand if you wish to hate it returned and I will only to readily oblige.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Hermione Granger."

Severus had to re-read the letter twice before he took in a single word. It took the a final third reading before he could believe any of it. Drawing up his occulumency wards, he set the letter carefully aside and reached for the next.

"Dear Professor Snape,

I am not sure whether to begin this letter as I did my last, or rather, to start afresh. If my last missive was in fact misdirected, than the former would do tolerably, however if you did receive my last letter and simply have not yet formed a reply than I would hate to bore you by repeating myself.

I will endeavour to be brief.

I initially wrote to you about a research project I recently finalised; I've managed to improve, through the distilment process, the concentration and effects of Dittany. Before you wonder about my motive in informing you, I should remark that this improvement is relative only on the first application. That is to say, it is of no use to you medically.

My reason for contacting you is that the inspiration of my research came, almost entirely, from a comment in your old potion's textbook. I am sure you knew of Harry's appropriation of the book in our sixth and final year of Hogwarts; his sudden ascent to the top of potions was not exactly subtle. Harry disposed of your book shortly before learning the identity of 'The Halfblood Prince" and he never returned to claim it from the room of hidden things. That further theft, I'm afraid, was down to me. After learning that the book I had mistrusted for a year belonged to you, I retrieved it shortly before Hogwarts broke up for the summer. At the time, I had far greater things to worry about than a stolen textbook, as did you, I'm sure. I have to thank you once again for the book, which not only helped sustain my sanity whilst on the run, but also was an absolute blessing whilst preparing for my NEWTS this summer.

I think my attempts at brevity are beginning to fail. To stick to the bare facts, I am currently in possession of your textbook, and enclosed in this envelope is a copy of my research, as well as patent papers that you need to sign. Seeing as it was your idea, I feel it is only right to half all proceedings from my work. I hope this in turn serves as some amendment for my unsatisfactory healing attempts, and for all the times we made your life harder by running foolhardy into danger.

I hope you find my initial letter, which being far more in-depth does my sentiments greater justice.

Awaiting your reply,

Hermione Granger"

Attempts at brevity indeed. Severus' face was a blank mask as he set the second letter aside. He refused to be side-tracked; He would take all three letters in rationally. He had a feeling that should he stop now, he wouldn't get through them at all. He'd reach for the bottle of Odgen's and be lost to the world for a night. He resolutely broke the seal of the third, much slimmer envelope.

"Dear Professor Snape

I am writing to inform you that I have in my possession your old Hogwarts copy of Advanced Potion Making. I have written to prior letters on the matter, and I encourage you to locate and read them. They contain the details of my current research, which has enhanced the consistency of Dittany. The research was inspired, or perhaps more precisely, originated, from a comment in the margin of your textbook.

I must admit, I feel rather foolish at the tone I adopted in my last two letters; frequent interactions with your book's commentary over the past year, which is indeed quite personable, has lead me to confuse our past working relationship. If it was this that offended you in my previous correspondence, causing you to ignore contact and refrain from reply, than I forgive you. It is well know you are a solitary man and I apologise for intruding.

Again, perhaps I am too hasty in my conclusions and apologies, but I find it far too circumscript that both of my letters went astray. Still, I have made duplicates of this letter, and have mailed them to your Hogsmeade slot, to you personally, and (again, forgive my Gryffindor brashness) have handed one to Professor McGonagall to pass to you.

There reason I have gone to such lengths with this letter is because it is to be my last. I will concede that when I began my research, I was motivated by a need to make amends to you personally. Indeed, I hope it does achieve that end. I have always respected you and I truly am sorry for all my past actions concerning you.

But in the last month whilst awaiting your reply, I've realised the true potential this work has; for me to delay its publication is akin to me delaying the treatment of individuals in far greater need. How many more scars can be laid on my slate? Perhaps my aims are selfish but my conscience has enough to deal with. I have registered the work and an article is to be published within the month.

The patent department, like most of the ministry, is unsurprisingly incompetent. There are no identity checks, no anti-fraud or forgery charms placed on any of the paperwork. All it took was an approximation of your signature on the form. Luckily I had retained a multitude of old essays, each bearing your mark. I flatter myself that the forgery is believable.

I know this won't in any way improve your opinion of me, and even I'm not entirely sure whether this can be considered ethically viable or not. But I couldn't bear the thought that any personal animosity you cherished towards me would prevent you from getting the accolades you deserve. Perhaps forgery was beneath me, but I feel better in the knowledge that, at least on this score, I can say you've been treated fairly. I know it probably doesn't make up for anything, but short of you announcing all of this to the patents office, it is done and nothing more needs to be said.

I fear I have failed in my task of keeping this letter aloof and reserved. Please don't believe I am taking liberties or speaking out of disrespect. With this, I hope, my dues are paid and we can part once more with indifference. At least on your part, that will actually prove an improvement on our relationship.

Wishing you the best,

Hermione Granger.

Severus Snape was no stranger to remorse. He'd lived the last 20 years at its beck and call. 10 minutes ago he could have said, with clear conscience, that all other slights, all new mistakes were but a pebble on an over heavy pile; an addition to an ever-growing list.

It seemed Hermione Granger had started a brand new list. Like all her written words, it was of considerable length, and it seemed to Severus as though she had set upon his flesh with a blood quill. Every apology, every entreaty for forgiveness was another chapter carved out of his soul.

She didn't steal from you, you idiot; she spent months upon months researching for you.

Severus did his best to ignore the pointed voice; he closed his eyes and rested his head back on his chair, struggling to summon back the all-consuming rage that tormented him at the start of all this mess. He would take rage any day.

How he wished he were still angry with the chit. Angry with the know-it-all who had stolen from him without a second thought. Anger he could deal with. A Gryffindor taking advantage of his intellect he could deal with. Someone actually giving a shit what he thought, someone going out of their way to make amends, to spend months of time and effort on the likes of him. That he didn't know how to deal with. He could count the number of people who'd gone to such lengths on one hand. He didn't need all the fingers either.

No, she must be doing it out of guilt. This was Granger. This was the girl who tried to singlehandedly free every house elf in Hogwarts. This has nothing to do with me.

But I couldn't bear the thought that any personal animosity you cherished towards me would prevent you from getting the accolades you deserve.

God, the girl had even equated acting for the greater good, releasing the research, quite rightfully to help others, as a selfish indulgence. He was simply another hopeless cause, a charity case for the brains of the golden trio to fret over.

People don't offer to befriend charity cases you miserable git.

Severus had to wonder when the voice had taken on Minerva's distinctive brogue.

if you don't find the thought of corresponding with a Gryffindor Ex-student too outlandish, a bridge in the formation of a new acquaintance.

Perhaps, there was the wild possibility the young woman would have welcomed a new acquaintance. Perhaps she had meant to initiate a correspondence. Frequent interactions with your book's commentary over the past year, which is indeed quite personable… Severus couldn't recall anyone ever describing him as personable. Most likely she would have appreciated the intellectual stimulation. A small part of him twinged at the idea of having someone other than Minerva and Narcissa care if he drowned himself at the bottom of a bottle. But he quickly shut the mutinous feeling down. Yes, he would have tolerated a correspondence.

But that was before.

Before he had burst into the burrow and sent her world crashing down around her. Before he'd flown to the wrong conclusions and twisted the knife in her side. Again, the image of the young witch, mature now in her lime green robes, sinking to the ground as he apparated away forced itself before his eyes. Severus summoned a new bottle of Odgens and put the letters aside before they could plague him anymore.

She's better off without the likes of you anyway.