Author's Note: I forgot to mention that Rose is largely modeled after my own 4 year-old in terms of speech. You may resume reading my spam-a-lot.
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money.
Another summer was creeping towards its end, and he was rather irked that he hadn't heard from the apothecary about the status of the school's order for potions supplies. He'd just finished prepping his 7th year NEWT lesson plans and decided to walk down to Hogsmeade to inquire after his order.
The village was its usual quiet hum of activity, the pubs being the most active hives. The first thing he noticed upon approaching the apothecary shop was how unusually clean the windows were. The second thing was the poorly crafted crayon drawings stuck to the panes. The door still chimed when he pushed it open, but he was greeted by a distinctly female voice shouting from the back room, "I'll be right with you!"
A mangy looking stuffed chimera lay abandoned on the floor by a sheaf of parchment and a box of muggle crayons.
Severus busied himself browsing the ingredients and ready-made potions displayed on the shelves; a dreadfully hideous cuckoo clock chimed the hour from its place above the door leading into the back rooms of the shop.
When did Appleborne get that monstrosity?
"Ah, there you are, Rose, you can go back to your pictures… How may I help you today? Oh, hello, Professor Snape! It's lovely to see you again. You're here about Hogwarts' order, I imagine? I was just finishing it this morning when Mr. Appleborne asked if I'd kept you apprised of its status. I'm afraid we're both still figuring out this apprentice business...Oh, I'm rambling, aren't I? Forgive me professor, I'm done now." Her eyes had remained riveted on the brown streak in his hair.
He found his own rather fixated on her lone black curl. Curious. "Missus Weasley. I must admit I'm surprised to find you working here of all places, what does Mister Weasley think of it?"
"It's Granger again, actually. Ronald and I divorced back in January."
The most peculiar thing happened when their gazes finally met over the counter; Miss Granger seemed to be swathed in a golden glow. He was distantly aware of her gobsmacked expression; his magic thrummed in his veins. Curiouser and curiouser.
"I'll...just go fetch the crates for you then. Do you require any assistance transporting them to the castle?"
On any other day he would have responded with a perfunctory 'no', but he found himself responding, "Yes, thank you."
"Pick up your things, please, Rose. We're going out on a delivery; no need for Mister Appleborne to come back to your crayons everywhere." She said gently, once more disappearing into the back.
By the time Granger had returned with a line of wooden crates floating along behind her, the child had tidied up her drawing things and was stretching on tiptoe to set them on the counter. He saw the box slip and reached out to catch it before it hit her in the face. She tugged on his robes until he looked down at her after setting her things on the counter.
His lone raised brow prompted her to speak, "Thank you, Misser Saype."
"You're welcome, Miss Weasley," he replied at the same time Granger gently corrected, "MisTer SNape, Rose."
"That's what I said, momma, Misser Saype!"
Granger smiled ruefully at her daughter and shot him an apologetic look, "Sorry professor, we're still mastering t's and n's."
Severus waved her off, drawing his wand to relieve her of some of the crates, "I can hardly be offended by a three year old's-"
"Four, Misser Saype!" The girl in question interrupted.
"Pardon me, Miss Weasley - a four year old's mastery of the English language, nor fault her slip in good manners." The little girl had the decency to blush and duck behind her mother at the sidelong look he shot her way. "Even I can not be that proud."
She smiled gratefully and ushered him out the door, flipping the three sided sign on the door from 'Open' to 'Out on Delivery' as she and the child followed him out. He waited in the street, their two columns of crates hovering nearby as she locked up and warded the shop.
He felt eyes on him and looked around only to find the young Miss Weasley staring at him, enraptured, and half hidden behind her mangy chimera doll.
"Rose, it's impolite to stare," Granger chided, reaching for the girl's hand and starting down the road.
"Momma, why did you and Misser Saype glow before?" When Minerva had discovered that her favorite of the Golden Trio was in the castle, she'd wrangled her and her daughter into staying for dinner with the rest of the staff.
Granger nearly spewed pumpkin juice across the table; Severus' fork clattered to his plate. He felt Panic trying to roil its way out of the mental box it was tucked away in. The Spy shoved it deeper into his psyche.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Rose," she managed to choke out once she'd composed herself. She was obviously lying - Gryffindor's were patently terrible at it - but the girl bought it, her unwavering trust in her mother unable to comprehend the possibility that she might be lied to.
Minerva and the others eyed the three of them curiously, the Scottish Headmistress looking particularly keen to learn the truth.
Granger made their excuses as soon as was polite, extending offers of visits and tea to all of them, including Severus. Then she and the child disappeared into the night. He participated minimally in the conversations that followed, making a mental note to visit the library later; he had a distinct urge to resume researching what had caused the blasted brunette streak in his hair.
It wouldn't be until the next morning that he found a mangy chimera abandoned on a desk in his classroom.
Elsewhere, a howler was being written.
"GEORGE WEASLEY! I'VE HALF A MIND TO COME BOX YOUR OTHER EAR OFF! THAT BLASTED CHARM OF YOURS WORKED! WE - UGH! - WE LITERALLY STARTED GLOWING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE APOTHECARY! I WILL BE HAVING WORDS WITH YOU NEXT TIME I SEE YOU!" The howler took a deep breath and continued far calmer, "Molly, could you watch Rose this weekend? I've some rather intensive brewing to do this weekend." Then it shredded itself to bits and drifted to the table top.
George was grinning wildly at the paper scraps, "It's a shame she didn't mention who the lucky bloke was."
Another thought occurred to me - I'd intended this to have a vast, complicated plot, hence the implication that Snape has mentally split his personality into neat little boxes to keep them tidy and to easily access them when out spying and whatnot. I imagine it would be a practice he'd continue even after the war, out of habit. WHICH REMINDS ME of another thing I never actually end up explaining because this turned sharply down the fluffy route. I doubt Snape would continue to play the Git and bad guy, nor would he continue Occluding at full strength, but I doubt he'd just stop all of it; I mean, after twenty some odd years, it'd be akin to breathing. So there's my explanation for his behavior.