CHAPTER TWO:
A Dark Way
It's a dark road
And a dark way that leads to my house
And the word says you're never gonna find me there
-Annie Lennox
When Hermione opened her eyes again, they were in a sitting room, and thanks to an incantation uttered by Severus, the bleeding had stopped.
He set down the girl and rubbed his temples with his fingertips, possibly massaging away a headache.
Hermione glanced around. This seemed to be a flat, or perhaps a very small house, but the décor was not at all what she would expect from the former potions professor, a dark and snarky Slytherin whose chambers were location in the dungeon of Hogwarts for nearly two decades. On the contrary, it was downright... homey.
The couch was a deep ocean blue, soft and plush, with square yolk yellow decorative pillows on either end. There was a matching easy chair, this one with a pale yellow pillow (atop which sat a rag doll). In the corner by the window, she saw what looked to be an antique wooden rocker. The curtains were the same orange as the pillows, the floor was mostly covered by a large light blue rug with darker blue accents, and opposite the couch, where a Muggle might have put a television, was a mid-sized pink and purple pop-up tent with a flap entrance. The only thing that suggested this was the home of a wizarding world academic type was one tall, narrow bookcase, featuring what looked to be mostly informational titles (she spotted Hogwarts, A History).
Directly opposite her was a door, and to the left of that, she assumed, was a hall, perhaps leading to a bathroom. She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her was a cheery kitchen. There was a counter separating it from the sitting room rather than a wall and a small glass-topped table with two chairs.
The walls were painted bright white and behind the couch was a large framed painting of a sunset over the sea.
"This is where you live?" she asked, turning back.
He nodded.
"Here?"
"You thought, perhaps, that I still lived in a dungeon, perhaps a laboratory? Or a torture chamber?"
"No! Nothing like that. It's just that it's so... lovely."
"Wait until you see the bedroom."
Her jaw dropped for the second time since discovering him alive. Did he mean for her to see the bedroom? Under what context? Why would he think she would even want to see the bedroom, or be willing? They hardly knew each other! He'd been her professor, for Merlin's sake!
Suddenly realizing how she'd taken what he'd said, Severus cleared his throat and clarified.
"I did not choose the apartment's color scheme, Miss Granger, nor did I select the furniture, and the bedroom is even less to my personal taste than the rest of the place. I apologize; I did not intend for it sound as though you would be seeing the bedroom, only that it would not be what anyone who has ever met me would expect."
"Oh. Right!" She shot him a shaky, relieved smile, but the tiniest littlest ickle-bittiest part of her couldn't help thinking... perhaps she wouldn't mind seeing the bedroom. (It had been a long six months. Ten, if you count the four months she and Ron were basically on a break before they agreed to take a break.) She quickly forced the ridiculous notion from her mind.
"Sit down." Severus gestured toward the couch. "Try not to bleed on anything. Spells never truly get it all the way out, and such a pain it would be to have to explain away a blood stain every time we entertain, eh, Eileen?"
Eileen, who remained standing beside him, did not seem to have heard the question. Or perhaps she was simply in the habit of not answering people.
"Baking soda and dish soap." Hermione tossed her jacket and jumper to the chair, then sat crossed legged on the couch. "That gets out blood. It's the Muggle way, but it works wonders."
"Is that so?" He sounded unimpressed. "Remain here. I shall return momentarily."
He disappeared down what she assumed was the hall, leaving her alone with the girl.
"So," Hermione started, smiling. "You speak English?"
"Witch," said the girl.
"Yes." Hermione tried to keep smiling. "I'm a witch. You know because you saw my wand, and your... er... Professor Snape has one just like it. Your name is Eileen, right? That's a lovely name. Mine is Hermione. It's nice to meet you."
The girl did not answer, but she approached Hermione. She touched Hermione's right forearm, which was covered by the long sleeve of her blouse.
"Mudblood," she whispered.
"What did you say?" Hermione wrenched back her arm. She glanced down, half-expecting to see that her sleeve had disappeared, or, at least, gotten pushed up somehow, but no, the word was completely hidden, as usual.
"Mudblood witch," the girl whispered, her eyes wide, unblinking, her head tiled oddly to one side. She did not look at Hermione. She looked off into the distance, to her right, as if something was there beyond the wall.
"Back away, Eileen." Severus reentered. She obeyed. He sat on the couch and turned Hermione to face him, pressing his right thumb gently to her forehead, assessing the damage. "I'm going to clean this cut, then use Essense of Dittany..."
Eileen slipped under his right arm and settled herself on his lap, narrowing her eyes at Hermione, who half expected her to growl and nip like a small dog. Severus rolled his eyes but did not make her move.
"As I am her only parent, Eileen does not like for women to get too close to me," he explained. "Though I do not know whether this is more because she is afraid to lose me, or because she is unwilling to share my time, it can be a bit... trying. I had a girlfriend, once..." He exhaled slowly. Eileen went back to staring at Merlin-only-knows-what out of the corners of her eyes. "We invited her to dinner. As soon as I'd poured the wine, Eileen saw fit to hold her breath until she turned blue and passed out, simply to divert attention. I have told her repeatedly that this behavior is inappropriate, but I suspect possessiveness was ingrained in her while in the womb. She gets it from her mother."
He said all this in a dry, steady tone without inflection, almost as if droning on in front of a classroom of bored first years rather than imparting upon Hermione information more personal than he'd ever shared with her or her friends, with the exception being, of course, the memories he gave Harry the night he died. Well, almost died.
"As you might have guessed, that particular woman was not my girlfriend much longer."
Hermione tried to quell her involuntary reaction, as she thought it might be rude to express shock over the fact that he'd even had a girlfriend.
But of course, she realized, if this girl is his daughter, surely he must... see women. Or have done enough of that in the past to have created her, at any rate.
"I know what you are thinking, Miss Granger." He gently swabbed her cut with soft, white gauze. "You are both correct and incorrect, but I'll not be more specific."
Her face reddened. She'd forgotten how proficient her former professor was at Legilimency. She would have to be more careful. Quickly, she worked to clear her mind. While she was no master of Occlumency, she had studied it a bit after the war, thinking it might help her should she seek a position in Magical Law Enforcement someday (which, eventually, she did – but hated it).
Once the blood was cleaned up, Severus made use of his wand, magically suturing the cut, then gently applied a thin layer of Essence of Dittany over it with his first two fingers, cupping her chin in his opposite hand. He was certainly better at healing than she'd ever been. The Dittany felt cool, almost tingly, but in a pleasant way, and she felt herself responding almost inappropriately to the way he massaged it into her skin before placing a small bandage over the wound.
"I make my own Essence," he said, answered her unasked question. "Helps to better prevent scarring. I add an infusion of undiluted murtlap oil. That's why it tingles."
Apparently her Occlumency abilities were even more rudimentary than she'd realized.
As soon as he removed his hand from her forehead, Eileen climbed down off his lap.
"Young lady," he said sternly. 'You need to go back to bed. What were you thinking, sneaking out in the middle of the night? You could have been kidnapped, gotten lost, or frozen to death. You're hardly dressed!" He shook his head and tugged her headscarf. "At least you thought to cover your hair. You did well with the scarf."
Though Eileen did not quite smile, Hermione could tell she was pleased by his praise.
"We've talked about this, Eileen Prince. You are six years old. Six-year-olds do not wander around the ruins of Ancient Rome all alone at nighttime. Six-year-olds stay home with their fathers or other trusted adults. Six-year-olds stay in bed when it is bedtime. Understand?"
She did not nod or speak, but she did look at him.
"Good. Now let's get you ready for bed. Again."
"Are you Muslim?" asked Hermione. "Or Orthodox Jewish?" She couldn't think of any other reasons a little girl could have for completely covering her hair, though Muggle religion, like Muggle art, was a subject she knew precious little about. "Is that why...?"
"We are neither Muslim nor Jewish. We do not cover her hair for religious or cultural reasons."
Eileen began to hum tunelessly, bouncing on her toes.
Severus pulled her toward him and removed the scarf.
Hermione gasped.
"You see?" he asked.
The girl's hair was not like any Hermione had ever seen on a child. Or on an adult, for that matter. It was shoulder-length and wavy, unnaturally silky, strangely shimmery... and silver. Not gray, gray would be odd enough on a little girl, but this was unicorn mane silver.
"I have tried countless times to change its color. Charms. Dyes. Glamours. We even shaved it off once, hoping it would grow back differently, but to no avail. And rather than risk the general public thinking I am some sort of oddball who alters his child's hair to be a glittery silver, we keep it covered when we're out. It's safer that way. Draws less unwanted attention. Right, Eileen?"
Eileen pointed at Hermione as she had in the ruins, calling to Hermione's mind images she'd seen in a textbook in which Muggles centuries ago had cast shame upon those labeled witches, before stoning, hanging, or burning them.
"I know," said Severus patiently. "Miss Granger is a witch. Forgive Eileen, please. She doesn't see many witches. This is exciting for her. Now to bed with you. You should have been asleep hours ago."
"Mudblood," said Eileen, her tone not harsh, but curious.
"Excuse me?" Severus asked sharply. He looked from Eileen to Hermione and back again. "What did you say?"
"Mudblood," she repeated, seemingly surprised by the harshness of his tone. She pointed more vehemently at Hermione. "Mudblood!"
"Where did you learn that word?" He grabbed hold of her wrist, though not hard. "Had your grandmother said it?"
Hermione was distracted from the use of slur momentarily as she realized if the girl had a grandmother, than either Severus Snape's mum or his former significant other's must be alive.
"Eileen! I asked a question. From whom did you learn that word? Did Yia Yia say it? Eileen, did you learn that word from Yia Yia?"
Eileen shook her head, recoiling from his touch, her lower lip quivering. She was clearly aware that she had done something wrong but had no idea what it was. She stepped to Hermione and patted her covered forearm.
"Mudblood?" she whispered, looking to Severus as if seeking confirmation, or approval.
Severus appeared uncharacteristically flummoxed, so Hermione pulled up her sleeve to show him what had been done during the war, the red-raised scrawled scarred letters forever marring her skin.
"Perhaps she's referring to this. But how did she know it was here? I didn't show her my arm."
He bent forward to examine the slur, running his fingertips over the letters, sending a shiver up her arm and down her spine.
"This is positively heinous. Not voluntarily carved into your skin, I presume."
"No, of course not. I'm not a masochist."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Pity."
"What?"
"I said, prithee, tell me, who did this to you?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange."
Both Severus and the girl flinched at the sound of the witch's name.
"Eileen, how did you know that there was a word – that word – carved into Miss Granger's arm?" He lifted the girl and sat her on his knee in such a kindly fatherly fashion it suddenly made Hermione long for her own. "Could you see it?"
Eileen, no longer engaged in the discussion, was clearly seeing something else at the moment, something neither of the adults could see. She was again staring out of the corners of her eyes, this time to the left, with her head tilted, flicking her fingers near her ear. Humming.
Severus asked her once more. When she still didn't reply, he kissed her temple and set her down.
"You need sleep. You get this way when you're sleepy."
He waved his wand, summoning a green cotton night dress out from inside the pink and purple pop tent. He changed Eileen quickly, removed her shoes, and carried her across the room. He lifted the tent, which had no floor, to reveal a miniature bedroom inside. There was an elongated toddler bed, several stuffed animals, a number of stacked books, and a collection of Chocolate Frog cards. He tucked the girl into bed and lowered the tent over her.
"She prefers to sleep in small, dark spaces," he explained. "I purchased the tent so I would stop finding her curled up in the back of the cupboard or under the bed. Unfortunately we were unable to find one less... cute." He spit out the adjective as if it tasted bad, then waved his wand and muttered, "Muffliato."
Hermione took the use of the conversation-muffling spell to mean he might be willing to answer a few questions, though she tried not to show that this excited her. She's been hoping to discover a secret or two in Rome and while a war hero presumed dead wasn't at all what she'd sought to find, it was certainly interesting! She started with the most important (save, perhaps, for asking him why he's not dead).
"She's yours?"
"I've raised her. I'm her... Baba. That's what she calls me. It's Greek," he answered, thus not quite answering. "Same as Yia Yia, or grandmother. As you may have surmised, for some time after the war ended we resided in Greece."
Hermione waited patiently for him to expand upon this, but when he spoke again, it was not with further information about the girl's parental situation or his time spent hiding out after the war.
"As you have no doubt realized, Miss Granger, Eileen is... different. Special. She has..." He glanced toward the tent. "She is not like other children."
"Is she ill?"
"Not... exactly." His gaze again diverted to the tent, lingering. He shook his head before turning back to Hermione. "She doesn't speak much. She couldn't speak at all for a long time. We've worked on it, but even now, especially when she's overtired, she regresses to using one, maybe two words, and fails to respond to questions, even ones she can answer with a nod or a shake of her head. She listens, though. She takes everything in. She's a sponge. And though she seems like she's neither absorbing nor reacting to the world around her, she absolutely is. One of the benefits of Legilimency is my ability to interpret her subtle attempts at communication better than someone without it. I cannot necessarily read her mind – she's a natural Occlumens and she's gotten in the habit of shutting me out, especially when she's humming or flicking her fingers – but when she's feeling a particularly strong emotion or uniquely focused on something, I can sense it, and when she wants me to understand something, she makes damn certain I can."
"Is there a name for it? For whatever she has?"
"Not yet. But we do not need a name for it. The only name that matters is the one I gave her: Eileen Pax Prince. That is the only name she needs." His eyes darted yet again toward the tent. Hermione's heart splintered at his expression, which was as loving and worried and protective as that of many of the best parents she'd known, her own and the Weasleys in particular.
"It's nice of you to have named her for your mother."
"My mother?" He looked to her sharply, with suspicion, as if she'd been caught at Hogwarts out of bed after hours. "How do you know of my mother?"
"I..." Hermione fidgeted, tugging on her sleeve. She hadn't meant to admit she'd read up on his family tree, but since the cat was out of the bag... "When Harry was using your old potions book, sixth year, I had my suspicions about the... the person who'd kept notes in it. I did some research, seeking students with the last name Prince. I came across an Eileen, born some twenty-three years before you. Knowing that you were the Half-Blood Prince, it was easy to discern that Eileen was your mother. She was in the gobstones club."
He relaxed.
And he smiled.
Hermione realized it might well be the first time she'd ever seen him smile.
He had a nice smile.
"My mother loved gobstones. She taught Eileen to play.. She lived with us, until..." His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact.
"Until?" prodded Hermione.
"She passed away, a few months ago. We're still in mourning. Well." He stood, looming imposingly over her, a familiar figure in black, and cleared his throat again. Had he been the sort to clear his throat back when she was at Hogwarts? She couldn't recall him ever doing it then but it seemed a regular habit now.
"Well, what?"
"Well, would you like me to apparate you home before I Obliviate you, or shall I..."
"Obliviate me?!" She leapt to her feet, knocking one of the yolk yellow pillows to the floor. "Why would you Obliviate me?"
"You don't think I can have the wizarding world knowing that I survived, do you? I've done well to keep myself a secret up until now – myself and Eileen – for our protection. I'll not have you destroy our lives..."
"Do you think I would do that? Do you honestly think, Professor Snape, that I would destroy your life, and your child's life? For what purpose?"
"What are you doing here in Rome, Miss Granger?"
"I... I came to research."
"To research what?"
"Ancient peoples, both Magical and Muggle, to see if I might unearth... anything interesting."
"Would the news of my survival be considered 'anything interesting?'"
"No! Not at all! I mean..." She stood up too fast, got dizzy, and gingerly touched the gauze on her forehead, wincing.
"Yes, I'll side-along apparate with you to your home first. I wouldn't want you to do yourself further harm, thus I'll ensure your safety before Obliviating you. Fair enough?"
"No! Please, Professor Snape, I won't tell a soul. You can trust me. Please don't Obliviate me. Please, I'm begging you."
He seemed surprised by her vehement pleas. "It's not painful, Miss Granger."
"Please, after what I did to my parents, please don't do it, I couldn't bear it!"
"After what you did to your parents?"
"I just know if you do it I'll spend the next several days in a fog, wondering where my night went, how I got hurt, how I got home, and I'll worry. I won't know I've been Obliviated so I'll worry that perhaps I was attacked, beaten, assaulted sexually... I may even figure out that I've had my memory tampered with and forever be haunted by the possibility of what I've been made to forget, and..."
"Hush!" He held up a hand to silence her. "How can I be certain, if I let you leave with your memory intact, you won't rush right off to Potter to share the news?"
"I haven't spoken to him in months."
"Weasley, then. Is he not your... other half?"
"We're on a break."
He cocked an eyebrow but refrained from comment. "The girl Weasley, then. Isn't she a friend of yours? Or Mr. Longbottom, whose snake decapitation skills are secondary only to his terrible memory? What about Miss Lovegood? Will I see news of my miraculous survival in that ridiculous Quibbler?"
"They're my friends, yes, but sir, I swear to you, I promise, you can trust me! Here, to show my good faith, I'll make the Unbreakable Vow!"
She knelt at his feet, holding her arm out, as she'd seen it done when she joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (it was one of the only interesting things that happened during her time there).
After an uncomfortably long pause, he took her by the arm and guided her back into a standing position.
"That will not be necessary."
"Please don't Obliviate me, Professor Snape."
"Please stop calling me Professor Snape, Miss Granger. I've gone by Prince for the past four years, and was no longer teaching for two years prior to that."
"Very well, Mr. Prince."
"No." He screwed up his overlarge nose like the name smelled sour when she said it. "No, that won't do either. You may call me Severus."
"And you can call me Hermione."
"No, I don't believe I can Miss Granger. Such informality would make me uncomfortable."
"But you're alright if I call you Severus?"
"Yes."
"Alright. How long have you been in Rome, Severus."
"I've changed my mind." He summoned in a bottle of elf-made red wine from the kitchen and took two glasses out of a small cabinet against the wall beyond the tent. He held the bottle toward her and, upon her nod, began to pour. "Snape will suffice. You may call me Snape."
She half-smirked and sat back on the couch, making herself comfortable. She wasn't sure why he'd given in so easily to her request not to be Obliviated, nor did she understand why he was continuing to talk to her when, clearly, he had not been happy to see her. Perhaps he was lonely. Spending most of his time with a barely verbal child in the Muggle-heavy city of a foreign country while pretending to be dead must leave one short on adult conversation. But that was fine with her. After six months abroad, she was a little lonely too.
Thus without question she accepted the wine, fought back a yawn, curled her legs up under the throw pillow, and decided to be bold.
"So... Snape. Who's her mother?"
