Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize!

I want to thank everyone who is reading this story. Please review, it really helps me to continue with the story :)


It ached. Something inside of her ached, so badly that she could not remain in bed. The pain was somewhere in her chest, it felt like her had was ripped into millions of pieces. She tumbled down the stairs, still in her nightgown, hoping desperately that the pain would go away. She felt tears streaming down her face, but she did not remember starting to cry. Her legs felt numb when she finally reached the kitchen and she saw everything blurred through the veil of tears. It smelled of eggs and bacon and there were voices, loud chattering and distinct clanking of dishes.

"Violet, dear, is everything alright?" A concerned, but very nice voice asked her. Probably the plump, motherly looking woman, Mrs. Weasley, Violet suddenly remembered her name.

"No, where is Professor Dumbledore," Violet managed to stammer. She sounded whiney and she hated her voice sounding like that. She was not a whiner, she refused to be one. So, she had just figured out she had a father, who was alive, big deal. She should get a grip on herself.

"Oh, he is not here yet. But Professor Snape wanted to come and pick you up. He said he needed he talk to you," Mrs. Weasley sounded quite irritated about the fact that Snape actually wanted to talk to one of his students. "He said he'd be here around ten. So, you better get dressed and have a little breakfast."

Violet turned around, shaking and trembling, almost unable to get up the stairs again. On her back were the eyes of everyone who had been sitting in the kitchen and for Violet every single stare or even a little glance was like a stab with a dagger. She wondered if they knew, did they knew about her being Snape's daughter and if they did, what was so wrong with it? But Violet knew the answer to that question already. Snape was a malicious, weird and miserable, lonely man and nobody really seemed to like him. It was more that they endured him the same Violet had always only been endured.

Ten o' clock, sharp green flames flared up in the fireplace and Severus Snape stepped out of them. He was not his usual self today. Of course he was still wearing his black robes, he always wore. He was still sallow, still hook-nosed and had his usual sour, disapproving-of-everything grimace on his face. Who knew him though could see something in his eyes that had not been there for a very long time, it was hope and passion and longing, it was right there in the darkness of his eyes, but invisible to everybody at Grimmauld Place.

"Where is she?" he asked brusquely. Right that moment Violet stepped into the kitchen. Not like an hour ago, not weak, in pain and full of tears. Not in her nightgown, but still full of fear and doubt and questions.

"Good morning Miss Deermer. Are you coming?" Snape asked stiffly, pointing at the fireplace. Somehow Violet was relieved that Snape seem as incapable in handling this situation as she was.

"Yes, sir," she answered, taking some floo-powder into her hand. "Where to?"

"Spinner's End," Snape replied, very quietly and seemingly uncomfortable. Violet stepped into the fireplace, dropped the floo-powder and said, very loud and clear, Spinner's End. The kitchen of Grimmauld Place, the people sitting on the long, wooden table, including Harry dissolved in a green whirl of fire.

The fireplace she came to a halt in was in a small house. Very small and dark and somehow so very sad. A few seconds after she arrived, Snape stepped out of the fireplace too. Violet looked at him and could feel how desperate and confused he was. She sensed his inability of being able to start a conversation with her. So she had to do the adult thing and just start to talk.

"So, Severus, you want to talk to me?" Violet asked softly.

Snape simply nodded and pointed to the sofa and some old armchairs. "Have a seat," he sat, his voice scratchy and insecure.

Violet sat down on the sofa, taking the room she was in. It was easy to recognize that it belonged to Snape. Every inch of wall was covered with shelves of books and Violet wondered instantly if she inherited her love for books from him. The idea made her stomach flutter.

"Is it true then? I am your daughter, ain't I?" Violet eyes lit up when she asked that question. It was almost like a green fire was flaring up inside of her, burning in her, just waiting to get out. Snape knew that fire, he knew it perfectly well. He had seen exactly that fire so many times, over and over, but in his mind it was inseparably connected with red hair, hot summers spend in the woods and a feeling he had never been able to describe, most likely it was love, but just so much stronger and more eternal.

Snape nodded, his stiff mask slowly melting away. He could not believe that he had a daughter. He would have never thought it could be possible.

"That's weird," Violet interrupted Snape's thoughts.

"Weird? Why would it be? Is it weird that I am your father?" Snape asked, his voice being so far away from his usual sneer that he reserved for people he found mediocre. It was a much gentler, much more vulnerable Severus Snape who sat there in the tiny living-room in this house where he had grown up in. The house he despites so much, but still could not let go off. There was only one person who had known Snape like that and this person was gone, forever, buried deep down in the earth. He was afraid now. Afraid that he would drive Violet out of his life like he had done with the only person who had been trying to be his friend. Maybe Violet was ashamed of him being her father, maybe she'd rather not know it and pretend that she had never heard Dumbledore say it.

"Yeah, it kind of is, isn't it? It's just so hard to understand that suddenly I have a father. And I don't know what you expect from me, what I should expect from you. It's confusing and I have a load of questions."

"Well, why don't you start with those- your questions I mean and I'll answer them as good as I can."

"Alright," Violet replied insecurely, looking down at her fingers while talking. She was not sure if she should really ask him the questions she had in mind, especially not the ones about her mother. Maybe it would pain him too much, after all he must have loved her. It took all of her courage to get the words out of her mouth, the answer she just needed. She would not be able to go on with her life, if she did not ask this. "Who was my mother?" It was such a simple questions but it meant so much more than just getting to know her name. She wanted to know how her voice sounded and what her hair looked like, she wanted to know her favorite dessert and if she liked sunsets. There was so much she wanted to know and she hoped instantly Snape would tell her. But he stiffened up and Violet could see curtains shutting in front of his eyes. He would not open up to her, not day and maybe never.

"Your mother is named Lily Evans, she died such a long time ago." And with those words Snape left, not only the room, but the house, leaving Violet all alone and by herself.