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December 31st, 1999
Miss Granger,
I trust this letter finds you in good health, as it does me.
Physically, at least.
I have received all 28 letters you sent me since my discharge from St. Mungo’s the year before; I find it impossible to ignore that atrocious owl of yours, Athena –an unoriginal name if you ask me, but I will not hold it against you.
You may be curious, though: why now? Why write a letter to you, on New Year’s Eve no less, when I have been more than vocal about my intention not to associate myself again with anyone even remotely friendly with the Boy-who-Lived-to-torment-me? The answer is simple: you already know that St. Mungo’s deemed it necessary for me to follow through with a series of Soul Healing sessions; I saw you at the Wizengamot trials, sitting in the audience, so I believe this isn’t news to you.
What must be news to you is that I actually complied. I will be frank; I do not like the therapist assigned to me, and I do not appreciate having someone pointing out all the ways that my personality has been shaped by past trauma. But I am diligent about following up on the sessions, and recently I was prompted to do something honest.
Write letters, my Healer said. Speak to people you owe explanations to, because sorting out my grievances before the new Millennium is considered a proper step towards forgiving myself.
I can imagine your head swimming with more questions than what I am eager to answer. You always were like that –too curious for your own good–, and it’s almost a shame I cannot take five points from Gryffindor for that. But on the other hand, not being a professor anymore is a different sort of relief. I decided that independent research is more to my taste than trying to keep dunderheads from creating an explosion in my classroom.
What I mean to say is –thank you for all your visits while I was recovering. Despite my not wanting yours or anyone else’s presence by my bedside, I eventually appreciated that you took the time to read to me. It made time more bearable; I would consider taking care of my diction, though, if I were you—something to consider next year.
So, there you have it, my end-of-year reflection as suggested by the Healer. I had to ask Minerva for your address –she was sad that you decided to attend a Muggle university before seeking any sort of magical apprenticeship, and to Sydney, no less. But I think that Mathematics will serve you well. I will not ask how the Boy with the hero complex and his unheroic sidekick have taken the news of your imminent departure. I just hope you will find your own path. You don’t deserve to live in their shadow constantly.
Happy New Year, Miss Granger, and best of luck on your new adventure.
Severus Snape.
P.S.: I apologise about the teeth incident during your fourth year. I had seen a difference.
December 31st, 2000
Professor Snape,
I suppose that isn’t the correct way to address you anymore, but I don’t think I can call you anything else just yet. As much as you instilled fear in the student body, I believe you were actually quite a good professor. I still remember the year Professor Slughorn took over the Potions class: It was an uncoordinated nightmare, the kind I would not like to experience again.
Since you started what I will now call a tradition between us, let me send my own year-in-review (no matter that I’ve already sent you several letters throughout the year and you responded to roughly half of them).
First of all, you’ll be pleased to know that you were right. Mathematics does serve me well. Knowing how to handle numbers means knowing how to handle life itself, and that feels comforting in a world that’s constantly shifting. Sydney is a vibrant city, too, although I sorely miss the snow-blanketed Christmases of my childhood. Christmas here equals visits to the beach, and I still haven’t come to terms with that.
More than that –I’m sure someone will have informed you by now: the reason I decided Sydney was my destination and not London, or Edinburgh. My parents are here. They arrived safely here before the war became too threatening; you understand that the Muggle parents of Harry Potter’s best friend would be the first targets for Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and no one would have been able to save them.
I made a rash decision for their safety, and while it worked, the Healers haven’t been able to reverse the damage I caused so far. They are dabbling in experimental treatments that are unsuccessful yet, and it only adds to my regret.
My parents get to know me anew, and they haven’t forgiven me for taking away their memories. It’s a long conversation, but in the end, they are alive. We can make something out of this eventuality.
It makes me think of you: you always lived in that constant state, bound between your duty and the repercussions of your decisions. No wonder you were so angry at the world; I am, too, because I had to make a decision, and I still cannot set it right, so much for being the Greatest Witch of my Age. At least here, I’m just…Hermione. Not Harry Potter’s smart friend.
In any case, life here is pleasant. I miss Britain terribly, though. I miss my friends, and I miss Hogwarts, and sometimes I even miss your Potions classroom. I am visiting an Apothecary here; the owner knows you. She says you are one of the most brilliant Potioneers in the guild. It makes me somehow proud to know that I was once your student, even though you pretended not to notice what Malfoy did to my teeth back then. I’ve forgiven you.
Mostly.
This year has been pleasant, even though I am homesick. Surely the hardest things are already behind us. I hope you feel the same way. Is your Healer still making you write letters to people? Is he still in one piece? I want to know more about your therapy this upcoming year, if you decide to share.
Happy New Year with fewer regrets and more hopes.
Hermione Granger
P.S.: The little satchel in the envelope contains dried Grevillea flowers. Ms Lee says you can use it instead of Lovage in the Beffudlement Draught.
December 31st, 2001
Miss Granger,
What makes us insist on upholding this end-of-year letter? It should have grown tedious at this point; I wonder, don’t you have better things to do than write to me and then scramble to find a Portkey to send this with all the way from Sydney to Cokeworth, just for me to receive it before the turn of the year? Between your studies, the situation with your parents, and the other 45 letters you’ve written me this year, I really thought you would have better things to do.
(I do not count the letters, if that concerns you. I guess the number by looking at the stack on my desk.)
This year, upon the usual end-of-year reflection, has been quite uneventful on my end, compared to yours. Starting over after not expecting to live through the war has its hardships. I am not surprised, nor does hard work scare me the way incompetence does. My Apothecary is picking up business; I now have two employees to handle the business’s trickiest aspects -the people- while I concentrate on brewing and researching.
You have asked me, as always, the most observant questions about the advancements of my work, and I find myself relieved that you still wish to be a know-it-all. The new modifications I made to the Memory Enhancement Potion are progressing nicely, as you already know.
My findings have piqued the interest of the Brain Room researchers, and we will soon have an interesting conversation with the Unspeakables. I need to thank you for the lengthy review of my article on Potioneering Quarterly, too; it’s reassuring to know that you still dabble in the magical arts now and then. You still stay informed, and that is more than most of your peers can say.
This research was probably the highlight of my year, along with my continued patience in visiting the Soul Healer at St. Mungo’s. I deserve to be congratulated. Healer Smith says that some things take time to heal. That I should be patient and trust that progress isn’t linear, but rather, a jagged line that has ups and downs. I wish it didn’t take time, but alas, I have no say in the matter. Peace, much like revenge, takes time to have a hold of someone.
Remember to take care of yourself, Miss Granger. Writing to your old acquaintance so often isn’t necessary, even though it is appreciated. Remember to enjoy what you are building on the other side of the world. Enjoy your parents’ company and the absurdly warm New Year you no doubt have. I heard this summer is particularly rough on your end.
Happy New Year,
Severus Snape.
P.S.: Let me entertain you now before I forget. I recently became a patron of Longbottom’s business. The boy was a proper menace in Potions, but he is surprisingly adept in Herbology, and his greenhouse is very decent. He seemed ridiculously happy to receive my patronage, too; I still wonder why. Ponder upon that until your next letter, because I expect your explanation about it.
December 31st, 2002
Snape,
I cannot express my gratitude enough to you this year. I knew you would understand me when I began explaining what my true intentions were when I first decided to study Mathematics.
Yes, you guessed it before anyone else: numbers can explain human functions. The fine line between magical and non-magical people becomes blurry when the advancements of Muggle science are involved. My mentor here, Professor Lumers, has modelled human health and behaviour, and his latest work on memory is bringing me hope.
Maybe this will help me understand where my Memory Manipulation spell went wrong back then; if we can map my parents’ memory curve with time, maybe we can decide on the right magical cure instead of trying remedies at random. I do not like all the probing that’s been done to them by the magical Healers here; trying things without concrete evidence that it will prove beneficial only results in disappointment.
Do I have reason to hope that I will finally get my parents back?
You took the time to listen to my theories about using my expertise to predict their memory patterns so that the appropriate remedy will be provided to them. While I know it sounds like a wild idea, you took it upon yourself to use a Portkey all the way over here to visit us and make your own observations about their condition.
I will admit it here, despite having sent you roughly 15 letters since your visit (I am obviously not counting): I was thrilled to see you. You have changed; time has treated you well. Life has finally treated you well. And being in your company for those twenty days that you stayed in Sydney only reinforced what I already knew from writing: you finally are content with your life, as you should be.
Your particular brand of humour speaks to me, too, although I knew that from the last four years’ worth of correspondence. So, true to the nature of this last letter of the year, my resolution should probably be to endeavour to experience more of that humour. Maybe you could come over again. There are a lot of things I didn’t have enough time to show you around Sydney.
Or maybe I will travel back to Britain. You never know.
If you’re not hiding under a rock, you already know that Harry will be getting married next year. I am honestly surprised it didn’t happen earlier; he and Ginny had decided early on that they were each other’s forever. But I know for sure that I’ll be there to celebrate them. Probably half of the wizarding world will be there, considering Ginny is a Quidditch legend, and Harry is…well, Harry. He told me that you’ll receive an invitation, too.
I don’t suppose you’ll be particularly thrilled to find yourself in such an event, but at least you will have friends in that crowd.
In any case, we can revisit that topic before June.
Happy New Year. May you find more peace. It suits you.
Hermione Granger.
P.S.: I was supposed to wait a few more months before telling you, but I find myself impatient. If I pass all my lessons by May, the return to Britain for Harry’s wedding will be permanent.
December 31st, 2003
Granger,
I begin to wonder whether you’ve made it your life’s mission to keep me on my toes.
You have barely been back for half a year, and I have found myself in your presence more than I have through all your years in Hogwarts. You have been terrorising my employees, though; just last week, Gibbons told me he would quit if you made one more suggestion about the product placement in the shop.
(You were right, I admit: the warming salve sells much better since you placed it on the stands by the door, where the incoming draft reminds my patrons that it could come in useful. But if you hurt Gibbons’ pride one more time, I will have trouble replacing him.)
No matter.
Keeping the correspondence alive, even though I see you multiple times a week, is helping me keep my life in perspective. I will surely be very amused –or horrified, both can be true at the same time– to read those letters in the future and remember how, five years post-war, I attended Harry Potter’s wedding on my own volition, and accompanied you to the event, no less. If anything, the sight of Ronald Weasley on the verge of an aneurysm will be enough to lift my spirits on low days.
I will admit –you seemed happy to be seen with me; that was the most unexpected turn in that evening.
Besides that, this year has been busy for us. You were right that magical arts alone lack the precision needed for healing; your professor’s idea of timing your parents’ emerging memory flashes and adjusting their therapy options accordingly has been brilliant. You failed to mention that Lumers is a Squib; that makes collaboration much easier, and your parents can only benefit from it. Jane, in particular, seems to recall her only daughter at five, and the things she overshares in our memory retrieval sessions about you are entertaining.
Unicorns, Granger? Really?
Life is moving forward in a way that makes me believe we are finally on the right path. I no longer regret surviving Nagini; my days are full of brewing for the shop, researching the Memory Retrieval treatment, and your constant presence. My days are much more fulfilling than they were back in Hogwarts. I mostly deal with intelligent people like you instead of dunderheaded students, and that is certainly a life upgrade.
Although…I sometimes wonder whether my proximity to you compromises my work when you prove distracting, but then again, there isn't a better academic companion out there than you.
(Remember that there will be repercussions if you happen to breathe a word of this assessment to anyone. If Potter comes at me with a tearful face and open arms, I will not hesitate to hex you in retaliation.)
Happy New Year, Granger. You did a splendid job of keeping me engaged intellectually this year. Here’s to another one filled with good results.
Severus Snape.
P.S.: Potter has sent me three owls this week alone, asking me to confirm that I will attend his end-of-year celebration at Grimmauld Place. I replied that, naturally, I will attend with you, since you already asked me to. He seems troubled by the idea. Help me mess with his head a bit more tonight, if you please.
December 31st, 2004
Severus,
I am not ready to stop writing those letters. They have become a habit I still enjoy.
Do I fear that one day you’ll use them as a form of blackmail? Certainly, I do.
Still, that has been a tremendous year. Working with you and St. Mungo’s has been a delight. Professor Lumers is having a field day, too! It’s very hard to adjust our findings into Muggle-safe-to-read papers for publication, but we’re almost there. The first paper on the results of memory loss patterning will be submitted for review to a Biomathematics journal soon. Expect a copy of it when it is published.
On your end, too, the three papers published by St. Mungo’s about this research were a delight to read. And knowing that you spearheaded the project? And seeing my parents remember a few things about me during childhood? It already feels tremendous. They still cannot reconcile the woman I am today with the girl they began remembering in little flashes. Forgiveness, like progress, will be a long, uneven road. I am prepared to handle this with renewed energy, now that I can finally see tangible proof of their recovery.
You have been pivotal in this progress. Because you actually listened to me when I had no one to understand my theory, and instead of disparaging it as some girl’s naivete, you gave me a solid plan to follow. You worked with me, and it’s been a pure delight, even though you dismiss me whenever I say it out loud.
For the last few years, you have made me feel like I matter, even when I was outside the little box the magical society wanted me to fit into.
I have no qualms about saying that the time we spend together is a pleasant parenthesis in my days. It feels silly to seek excuses to visit the Apothecary when you already made it clear that I am welcome anytime. But discussing with you always puts things into a new perspective: you never fail to pull me out of any bad mood, either with your sharpness or with the challenges you set for me to ponder.
Even outside of our common research pursuits, your presence matters to me more than I can say without making you scoff. But I will say it nonetheless: you matter. To me, you do, and we have come full circle. Here's to a new year with joint adventures.
Happy New Year, Severus.
Hermione.
P.S.: We will go together to Grimmauld Place tonight, right?
December 31st, 2004 (6:38 PM)
Hermione,
Writing an end-of-the-year letter when I am in the next room over is rather unnecessary.
Potter told me, and I quote, “I sent the invitation to your girlfriend”. He sounded both giddy and horrified, if that is possible. I suppose asking me if we are going together to attend his gathering is also unnecessary.
Happy New Year. Here's to more shared victories. Next year, we are certainly breaking through your parents’ memory issue. Now, if you please, come over here.
Severus.
P.S.: I thought about our understanding a lot. From your insistence on keeping communication with me after the war and my actual compliance with the Soul Healer's advice, the result lies in those letters. And that was how it started, and this was how it ended; who would have thought we would have ended up here?