A/N: I do not own these characters, but I would have liked to have had the chance to show them what a much nicer owner I could have been. Hence, this story.

This was the Christmas gift to a group of friends on LiveJournal, but in reality I wanted to share it with a larger audience eventually.

It was originally called Christmas Rose, but as there is another story by that title (and since it's by Subversa and no doubt a much better one than this little offering), I changed the title based on the Robert Frost poem, which has always reminded me of Severus Snape. I hope the meaning of the poem will become clearer as the story progresses.

The rating is for later chapters. This story contains explicit sexual content.

For DMuse and The 'Teddypeeps'


Overture –

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud -
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.


It was the most beautiful autumn anyone could remember in the tiny village of Bottlebury Marsh, and Hermione and Rose Granger spent most of September and early October strolling through the charming little lanes of the Barnsley town they had come to think of as their own. The russet and golden leaves seemed made to match Rose's lovely dark auburn hair, and her bright blue eyes danced as she and her mother raked leaves and held races to see who would be awarded the coveted jump into the fragrant pile afterward.

Hermione almost always 'let' Rose win, but she made sure her daughter knew that she had to work for even this most inane of prizes. Hermione didn't want her daughter to ever think she was being pandered to or patronised. The Weasleys did enough of that. They spoiled their lovely granddaughter and smothered her with all the affection they missed giving to her late father.

Rose was climbing to her feet, breathless with laughter and covered in dead foliage. "That was tops, Mum! Next time, you get to do it!"

"Maybe tomorrow," Hermione smiled, and held out her hand, which Rose took affably. Hermione drew her daughter into her arms, and they grinned at one another as they rubbed noses, their signature sign of affection. "Let's get home and cleaned up for tea."

Rose nodded, and they headed for home, arm in arm. Hermione smiled at her daughter, who was chatting away about everything and nothing in particular. She was glad Rose resembled Ron so much, and herself so little. At age ten, Rose was already tall, like her father, and Hermione privately thought by next year she would actually be looking up at her good natured, clever daughter. That pleased Hermione. It was a fitting tribute to his memory.

As they walked, Hermione's thoughts turned to the past. She'd been only a little older than Rose when she met Ron on the train to Hogwarts, tall and gangly and full of Weasley bluster and brashness. Now it was Rose's turn; she would be heading to Hogwarts the following September; according to Headmistress McGonagall, her name had appeared on the book register the day she was born. She was excited about it, already talking of classes and dorms and roommates and which House she'd be sorted into, of course. She was already hoping for Gryffindor; not so much in tribute to her mother, but because she so wanted to follow in the footsteps of the father she had never known.

Hermione squinted at the weak, watery late autumn sun. She still thought of Ron fondly, but the memories were fading, like an old film grown grainy and indistinct, even with the benefit of a Pensieve. But she still remembered that last night, before the final battle at Hogwarts, when they had sealed their love in that way that all lovers do, full of first time fumbling and shyness and laughter – and hope.

Hermione could still remember very clearly the stark, life-changing moments after the dust and ruin had finally settled, and the quiet of Hogwarts grew more unnerving than the screams of battle. She could still recall the feeling of fear and dread, walking into the Great Hall, and seeing the Weasleys huddled around a still form. She could hear Molly's wailing and Ginny's sobs; she could still remember running toward them, her heart thumping sickeningly in her chest, only to be halted by a weeping Harry Potter, holding her back.

"You don't want to see it, Hermione," he wept, still reeling from the final moments of his own epic battle to finish Tom Riddle's reign of terror once and for all.

"Let me go to him!" she'd cried, battling against her dearest friend.

"You'll want to remember him the way he was-"

"No!" she screamed, breaking away from him, and racing to Ron's side. She looked down at the boy she'd given her heart and her love to, and then she fainted dead away. Harry had been right. She hadn't wanted to see him like this. It was the last in a long list of things she hadn't wanted to see that night, and it was the one that sent her over the edge and into St. Mungo's for a week, too traumatised to do more than lie in bed and weep.

A few short weeks later, having moved into her parents' empty house, she was further troubled by what had felt like some sort of stomach bug. After several days of being unable to keep anything down, even with Anti-Nausea Potions, she returned to St. Mungo's. Two hours later she emerged, a changed woman, leaning heavily on the arms of Harry and Molly Weasley, clutching a parchment with a title something along the lines of So, You're Having A Baby! Don't Worry - Witches Do It All The Time, So Suck It Up and Be Prepared.

Her pregnancy was a time of such conflict and change, Hermione felt as if she were in a Muggle video on fast forward. After the initial morning sickness passed and she grew accustomed to teetering about on fat feet, she actually didn't mind. Of course, the Weasleys were beside themselves - especially Molly, who found the entire situation beautifully poignant.

Hermione resigned herself to the fact that this child was destined to grow up spoiled rotten by its grandmother. But he or she would also grow up as part of a loving, close-knit family, and Hermione found that comforting. Her own parents were far away, in Australia, unaware they had either a daughter or an impending grandchild. Once she realised she would be unable to restore their memories, Hermione was left only with the sense of gratitude that she had this little piece of Ron left in her life, with which to start a new family. This would be her life now- just herself and her little stranger.

We will be our own little tribe, she told herself. We'll make our own traditions and our own decisions, and if the Wizarding world doesn't like that they can go hang, Hermione thought, clutching her rapidly levitating belly. "You and I, little one," she said fiercely to her unborn child. "We can take on the world."

At last, the day arrived, and the Mediwitch placed Rose in Hermione's arms. Seeing this crying, red-faced, long-limbed little girl, Hermione thought her heart would burst. "Rose Helen Molly Granger," she said, tears of pure joy and love streaming from her bloodshot eyes and down her swollen face. "Her name is Rose." She closed her eyes and whispered, "Oh, Ronald, look what we made."

The next ten years passed in a blur. When Rose started Muggle Infant school, Hermione decided to enroll in St. Mungo's internship programme in order to become a Healer. She worked like a witch possessed, earning her degree in record time, which surprised no one except herself. By then, the stipends given to the 'heroes of the war' had been doled out, and Hermione found to her delight that, including the Weasley's generous gift of Ron's share, she was a wealthy woman. With a little smart investing, she could stay at home with Rose and spend as much time as possible with her until the girl left for Hogwarts.

The ten years since the end of Tom Riddle's war had been one of turmoil and unease in the Wizarding world, and while Hermione had not gone completely Muggle, she did her best to shield her daughter from the harsher realities of their special world. She had purposely moved to a Muggle town and enrolled Rose into a the local school for the first few years of her education, and while they waited for the day her Hogwarts letter arrived, Hermione taught Rose how to live with one foot in her late father's world, and one foot in Hermione's.

Though she was too much of a Weasley to ever truly be called stunningly beautiful, Rose had character, and integrity, and an inner serenity that charmed everyone. Even at ten, she was one of the most caring individuals Hermione had ever known. She never met a stranger, never turned a blind eye to those being wronged, never knew anything but love and the right to be loved. Had it not been for Hermione's pragmatic nature, their house would have been overrun with dogs, cats, hamsters and gerbils – as well as any other manner of unwanted and unloved house pets. Rose regularly adopted the broken or abused dolls abandoned by friends and cousins. Her soft heart could not bear to see an animal in distress or hear a child crying.

It staggered Hermione that Rose was almost eleven years old. In a way, they had grown up together, and were as much friends as they were mother and daughter. Hermione taught her daughter how to knit, and sing, and her love for Muggle films. Rose grew into a wonderful companion, with her father's likability and her mother's keen intellect. Hermione often bragged that Rose had taught her as much as she'd taught Rose, and they loved one another's company.

Hermione always made a point of telling Rose that her father had died a hero's death, and always made sure Rose knew she was proud of him, but in reality, Hermione was more proud of Rose, and her place in the hearts of everyone who met her. For Rose Helen Molly Granger was universally loved, and she expected to love and be loved in return by everyone she met.

Which is how Hermione Granger came to find Severus Snape, living rough in Knockturn Alley, barely alive.


Opening words: Choose Something Like A Star - Robert Frost