Letter 8: Severus Snape to J. Alfred Prufrock, 15th December 1997

A/N: For simplicity’s sake, titles of books, journals etc are underlined and emphases are italicised. In reviving the old tradition of epistolary novels, I understand the plot may be a little slow, laborious and difficult to follow. Some might consider it AU and a little OOC.

In order not to weary the reader’s patience, a number of letters from the series of correspondences have been suppressed; only those which are necessary to a complete understanding of the events in this group are reproduced. For the same reason, some letters from the actors in the events of this drama have also been suppressed.

Proestigium or What the Seasons may Bring

Letter 8: Severus Snape to J. Alfred Prufrock, 15th December 1997

Severus X. A. Snape

Potions’ Office,

The Dungeons,

Hogwarts,

Scotland,

UK.

15th December 1997

Please inform Penelope that I do not need fattening up. I already feel like a lamb to the slaughter without the constant reminders from her brother-in-law and your lot. If I were unacquainted with her, I would have pegged her as a Dumbledore by blood rather than marriage, given her meddling streak. You need not fear that the foodstuffs were laid to waste, for I donated them to my employer and unofficial Godfather. I keep reminding him that he will rue the day he ‘adopted’ me but he only laughs. The infuriating old goat!

Lest you think this is a social letter, I must disabuse you. I wish to, nay, I have to talk shop. I want you to halt the publication of Magical Drafts and Potions, as I am presently rewriting a few sections. There are also major changes in a few chapters. You should have the manuscript at the earliest by the end of the year.

Albus Dumbledore will be holding a meeting two days hence at Order Headquarters. He requests that you bring the accounts books. He is planning the logistics for the purchase of basic necessities. I think we should have enough to cover the costs of the operation, but you know my opinion counts for little.

I concur with your views on the war – I cannot wait for it to be over. It is a great financial drain on me. Being a lamb to the slaughter isn’t enough? I am already contributing to the Order fund and that confounded War orphans’ fund. I look on these charities as a necessary evil from which I am able to atone for my sins. Merlin knows how many decent wizards and witches I have killed! Attempting to save this side and silently aiding their dunderheads (who deserve to drown in a cauldron of Longbottom’s worst potion mistakes) are all I can do. However, the Dark Lord also expects contributions to his war effort. It is akin to paying tithe to a feudal lord and you know how I despise that. He takes about a quarter of my monthly teaching income! Blast him and his egocentric monomania! I cannot refuse to donate to his cause – I would be killed instantly for being a traitor. I feel like a muggle woman because it’s damned if I do and damned if I don’t. You are right in a manner of speaking – if Albus Dumbledore had not suggested I write books, I do not know how I can afford to maintain myself on the remnants of my Hogwarts salary. Thank Merlin – the Dark Lord does not know I am Jigger. If he finds out, our cause will undoubtedly be blown into pieces.

If my damnable father had not been such a wastrel, the Snapes might have been almost comfortably off. Bah! His indulgences in lost causes resulted in too much pain and misery to the family. Yet, all things considered, I am a lost cause in myself, hoping for redemption when I am far beyond it. Will these hands never be clean? I sometimes wonder whether it would be better if I were to be killed by either the Dark Lord or Albus. It does not signify who strikes the killing blow, after all, I am tanquam ovis and as such, should be resigned to my fate.

My lessons will commence shortly, I must pen off. Remember the meeting. It’s at the same time and venue.

S. Snape

Footnotes

Proestigium is Latin for illusion. Ironically, the English word Prestige derives from it.

Tanquam ovis is Latin for “like a lamb to the slaughter”.

In case you’re confused, in this story, Penelope Tudor married Aberforth Dumbledore, our favourite headmaster’s bartending brother. Penelope Tudor is the chief editor at Prufrock and Tudor Literary Agency. This was mentioned in letter 4.