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Heiress Nephele Longbottom is in the middle of transplanting one of her Shrivelfig saplings to a proper garden bed in her greenhouse when a voice calling her name startles her so badly that she drops it.
“Heiress Longbottom?”
Nephele falls on her bottom in the dirt. Her robes, thankfully, have built-in cleaning charms. Otherwise, she would be too embarrassed to stand up and reveal her soil-speckled skirts.
“My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to startle you, Heiress Longbottom,” a masculine voice says. A pale hand with long, thin fingers, skin slightly yellowed in places—all too common in potioneers—reaches down to her.
Nephele’s personal greenhouse isn’t warded to prevent anyone other than herself from entering. She’s brought friends here. And, of course, apothecaries and potions masters have toured it as well. Her greatest talent is Herbology and she’s proud to acknowledge that the potion ingredients she personally tends to are so high quality that people are willing to fight for the right to purchase them once they’re ready for harvesting.
“No harm done,” Nephele replies.
She removes her gardening gloves, which aren’t spelled to repel dirt, as such magic could strip the soil of plants she touches which would be detrimental to their health. She places them next to the spade she dug the hole with and then places her hand in his.
A glance upward reveals that the austere black robes clothe a tall wizard with an unmistakable visage. Mister Severus Snape is a potions master of great renown. He’s wonderfully innovative, having created many new potions, most geared toward healing, since he attained his Potions Mastery a mere year and a half after he graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Heir James Potter, the inheritor of the Potter potions empire, took three years to acquire his.
After he helps her to her feet, Severus bows and says, “Forgive the impertinence of my unexpected visit. I heard you’re cultivating Boom Berries and I desperately require some for my newest experimental potion.”
Nephele bobs a curtsy and daringly responds with, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Snape.”
They haven’t been properly introduced. Nephele isn’t overly fussed about the supposed disrespect of him showing up unannounced and speaking to her without an official introduction. She understands all too well what it’s like to become absorbed in a project, to be so passionate and invested that things like the minutiae of etiquette fall by the wayside.
His eyes are black and piercing, but they soften slightly when he says, “The pleasure is mine,” as if realizing she meant it sincerely and not as an admonishment of his behavior toward a pureblood heiress.
Severus and she are near opposites in appearance. He is thin; she is quite plump. Where his hair is black and shoulder-length, hers is blonde and falls to her thighs when it’s loose. He is one of the taller wizards she’s met, whereas Nephele is short. His nose is large and hooked, his cheekbones prominent. Nephele’s nose is small and her face is round and plump, like the rest of her.
“I do, as it happens,” Nephele says, turning away from him for a moment to right the fallen Shrivelfig sapling, “have Boom Berries.”
“I’d like to purchase some,” Severus states.
Nephele pauses, her back to him, as butterflies take flight in her stomach. Mister Severus Snape is notoriously picky about the ingredients he uses in his potions. She’s heard other Herbologists complain at symposiums that he’s canceled orders, cut off business, and publicly derided people for the quality of the ingredients provided to him.
That he said he wants to purchase berries she’s personally tended without stating he wishes to inspect them first—though she’s well aware he will before committing fully to the purchase—is … possibly the highest compliment that Nephele has ever received in her life. She takes professional pride in her work. To have that acknowledged by someone of Mister Snape’s professional reputation means a great deal to her.
“They’re this way,” Nephele says, attempting to keep her voice steady as she leads him through her greenhouse.
They pass Venomous Tentacula, Mimbulus Mimbletonia, Fanged Geraniums, Devil’s Snare, and other rare and expensive magical plants. Some pureblood witches prefer to spend their money on clothes and jewelry. Nephele spends hers on plants.
When she’s in her greenhouse tending to them, she feels a measure of peace that doesn’t seem to exist anywhere else. Nephele has preferred plants to people ever since childhood. Thankfully, she has loving parents who support her interests.
Her mother, Lady Alice Longbottom, is extremely social. She’s never once chided Nephele for being shy and avoiding people whenever possible.
“I do believe,” Severus states, startling her again at the sudden end to the companionable silence, “that, for once, the rumors have understated your abilities. I must commend you on your diligence in attending to your greenhouse.” His black eyes are sharp and assessing as they sweep over their surroundings. His thin lips curve into a slight smile. It doesn’t make him handsome, but it sends flutters through her stomach all the same. “It’s rare that I have the pleasure of meeting someone who’s actually competent.”
Nephele’s cheeks burn. She ducks her head and glances away. “Thank you.”
She’s unaccustomed to receiving compliments from anyone outside her family. To most people, she’s an afterthought at best. Nephele is neither popular nor especially pretty. And she was born into a generation of exceptionally talented and comely pureblood wizards and witches.
At twenty-three, she’s yet to be invited on a single Courtship Date. And for all that the Sorting Hat put her in Gryffindor, Nephele has never once had the courage to ask anyone on a Courtship Date either. Though to be fair to herself, part of that is because she’s never liked anyone enough to do so.
“I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable, Heiress Longbottom,” Severus says, his voice carefully even.
She glances over her shoulder and assures him, “You didn’t, Mister Snape.”
Nephele leads him through the greenhouse, conversing companionably with Severus about the various plants they pass. Her heart warms as he expresses interest in several others. It lurches in her chest when he begins muttering uses for the Boom Berries he’s come seeking.
“I think they will be essential in creating a potion to help restore the minds of those who have been inflicted with the Cruciatus Curse,” Severus lectures.
Her great-uncle, Algie Longbottom, is currently in the Janus Thickey Ward of St. Mungo’s Hospital, having been tortured by a Slytherin student long before she was ever born. The culprit is still in Azkaban, assuming he hasn’t already died there.
“Anything you require for the development of such a potion, whether it succeeds or not, I offer free of charge,” Nephele states after turning to face him fully.
Severus’s lips twist with distaste and his eyes turn cold. “I do not require chari—”
“It’s not charity,” Nephele interrupts, uncaring that it’s rude and might offend him further. He’s a proud man, a prodigious New Blood who climbed out of the depths of obscurity. There’s nothing pitiable about him. “It’s an investment.”
He raises an eyebrow, his sneer still present but less intense. “An investment?”
“Not even the Potters have been able to create a potion that will restore my great-uncle to us,” Nephele explains. It’s a bit underhanded, perhaps, to prey on his infamous rivalry with Heir James Potter, but he’s a Slytherin, is he not? “You have proven adept at innovation in both spellwork and potions. If there’s even the smallest chance you will be able to create a potion that will cure him, then I insist on personally providing whatever you need in the pursuit of accomplishing the improbable.”
Severus stares at her as if he can see right to her core. “Very well, Heiress Longbottom,” he says, hands clasped behind his back, “I will accept your patronage for this experimental potion.”
“Thank you for allowing me to contribute to my great-uncle’s possible recovery,” Nephele says.
She feels as if she’s won an impossible victory. Grinning widely at him, Nephele leads Severus around the bend in the path toward the Boom Berries and silently hopes that he will visit her and her greenhouse more frequently in the future.
Nephele and Mister Severus Snape have just become acquainted and she’s already as fascinated by him as she is by the rarest and prickliest of magical plants.