The usual disclaimers apply.
xx
The smell of something completely unfamiliar to that flat tickled his nose. It wasn't Ophelia – curled up next to him – he knew her smell and that was as much part of his place as the squashy old couch or the worn table in the kitchen. This scent, however, no, he was not used to smelling it. Not there.
He had recognised it immediately. It was breakfast at Hogwarts.
Bacon. Eggs. Fried Bread. Beans. Mushrooms.
None of the things he had at home. And since Ophelia was next to him – and under no circumstances allowed near the stove without his supervision (and she knew it! Had known it ever since she had accidentally put a finger on the hot stove and he had to summon the Burning Salve), there was only one possibility who was making breakfast. Well – two, really. But he did not have a House Elf and never would have one. Submissive little creatures had always annoyed him greatly. All that 'Yes, Master', 'Yes, Master', 'Right away, Master', 'Immediately, Master' – no. He could not stand that.
He had played that kind of game long enough himself.
So, that left one possibility: Mary Kelly.
Mary Kelly was making breakfast for them? How?
He had made a decision the night before – and in those minutes he had been awake during the night – he could not possibly let her stay.
But – he needed a test person for this new potion he was developing. And who would be better suited for the job than the very addict living in the Alley? If he was successfully getting her off the Silvergin, he did not doubt that he could cure any addiction. Besides, he did absolutely not doubt that in the foreseeable future, she would be lying in front of his shop again – and that was not good for the reputation of his shop. That that that was good in any case but he needed the money. And a drunk woman passed out on his doorstep would mean less customers – and those would mean less money.
He knew that night, that there was only one solution. Give the woman a roof over her head. Close by. Feed her the potion as soon as possible. See the development and make sure that, as long is took to take effect, that she was basically shut away.
There was, he had remembered, during the night, as his little witch had pushed herself up and he had woken with a lot of dark hair in his face, a coal shed in the back. Unused for years. And probably dirty as well – and draughty and cold and rather small.
But he was a wizard and he had a wand and had done a little redecorating, refurbishing when Ophelia had come to live with him and he knew his Extension Charms. He knew Charms that allowed him to keep her inside, he knew Charms that would not allow her to bring anything dangerous into the coal shed.
He had decided to take Ophelia out with him for a while and look at it and he would show her some real magic. But he had counted on her still being asleep.
Now, there was the smell of cooked breakfast in his nose and obviously, the addicted witch was up.
Slowly, he disentangled his little witch from beside him. Ophelia had a way of sleeping in his bed. It was a large bed. Large enough for two grown up people. But she was always pressed up against him. Or had her little arm thrown across his chest or stomach or her head on his shoulder or his arm or on his chest. Her little legs wrapped around one of his.
But she was sleeping there, peacefully, and cuddling his pillow when he had gotten up and he smiled again. Probably it wasn't that bad if nobody saw it. And she looked perfect sleeping there.
He dressed quietly and left his bedroom. As long as he did not go down to the shop, he did not leave a Patronus. She would find him then without being scared.
Mary Kelly stood in his kitchen, cooking. Without a wand. She just stood, in her now clean clothes, in front of the stove and flipped bacon.
He knew he was a silent walker – years and years of spying had taught him how to walk without anyone hearing him – if he wanted that. And now he did.
She was trembling, of course common since she was sober and had not had any potion but had sobered up naturally. That would cause her to tremble but she handled that cooking better than he ever had. Without a wand too.
"I hope you like a fry up," she said suddenly without looking up – her voice clearer than he had ever heard it before. "I just finish this and will be on my way."
He was surprised. If he didn't want to be heard – he wasn't heard. And yet, she had.
"Do you have a wand?" he asked.
"No," she replied in a no-nonsense manner and wiped her hands on a tea towel. "I sold it a few years back." He had never heard her this way. She was reasonable. Clear. Precise. And had turned to look at him. Her eyes were clear, shining, blue and she had pulled her brown-grey-streaked hair back. She looked old, yes, and had dark circles around her eyes but she seemed fitter than he had ever seen her. Awake. Almost well. Apart from the trembling and the once-in-a-while deep drawing of breath and – now – gulping down of water.
He nodded curtly. "I am developing a potion and if you agree to test it, I could give let you live in the back."
"What kind of potion?" she asked immediately and pulled the frying pan off the heat.
"It is a potion that will stop addiction," he replied calmly.
"Stop addiction?" she asked back. "No, I don't think so. Thank you."
"No thank you?" he spat. "If you want to throw your life further away, please do so. The door is over there and do not expect me to sell you any more of the potion you need every morning."
xx
Hermione breathed deeply. The children were away, school, nursery and her parents were working. She should have gone into the office that morning but she could just as well work from home.
Odd – she thought – she already thought of her parents' house as home again. Probably had never really stopped. Godric's Hallow had not been home. Even though, yes, she did have some happy moments there. The marriage to Ron hadn't been all bad. There had been good times.
But she was truly from another world and she only noticed that now. She found that, the older she got, the more she understood her parents' way of thinking. Easy fixes? No. And she had embraced the Wizarding World – but essentially, she was the child of Muggles. She was Muggleborn. And she liked being Muggleborn. She liked watching the telly with her children and she liked washing the dishes with her mother (despite the dishwasher). She liked cappuccino and chai latte. She liked Muggle clothes and she liked driving. She was selfish, probably, yes, but she wanted the best of both worlds.
She wondered, sitting on her parents' table, over her parchments and files, if Snape had received her letter yet. And if so, what he would answer. He was a one of those wizards that seemed to have made the transition from half-Muggle to full-wizard but he took his daughter to Muggle-things all over London. Maybe he wasn't the wizard she thought he was. Maybe he was still the half-blood. And maybe he wanted to show his daughter where her mother had come from. Whoever that was.
The little one, Ophelia, was absolutely cute. She was sweet, really. A bit afraid, yes, but sweet and looked so much like him.
She put her chin in her hand and thought about her. And Snape – and forgot to wonder why she was thinking about them at all and forgot all about her files, about the parchments, about where she was. It happened sometimes to her.
She was pulled out of her thoughts abruptly. A knock on the door. A knock on the front door? Everyone always used the bell – except...a witch or a wizard.
Snape! It would be Snape picking up the robes and she was alone there and could finally talk to him about what she had talked to with her father. That she was grateful too. That she wanted to thank him, and that she was sorry.
Hermione smiled and dashed to the door and flung it open.
Only – it wasn't Severus Snape at all.
xx
"Stop," he bellowed. "You do not want to stop drinking?"
Mary Kelly stared at him. "Would you want to? I may be drunk most of the time but I can still read. And I heard about you, Severus Snape. I've known about you before all of this happened. If you hadn't been so lucky, don't you think it would be you in my position? Would you want to stop drinking then if you'd be without your adorable daughter? Imagine you lose her now and then multiply that horror by three – wouldn't you want to forget?" she spat – tears beginning to shine in her eyes.
He didn't know what to say to this. Of course he had thought about it – about the great possibility that it could have been him. But he was offering her a home – and the end of her addiction and she didn't want to? That was plain stupidity and if there was one thing Severus Snape could not stand – it was stupidity.
"You will take the potion," he glared.
"Do you think you can tell me what to do, boy?" she glared back, "I am very grateful that you let me sleep here tonight and as a sign of my appreciation, I bought breakfast and cooked it. But I will not be treated as a..."
"And you did not buy alcohol?" he asked suddenly, startled out of his anger.
She grimaced. "Good bye, Master Snape."
"Missus Kelly," he groaned. "Take the coal shed. The potion is not ready and..."
"The coal shed?" she laughed hysterically. "The coal shed?"
"With charms and extensions on it, of course. I thought you'd prefer it to the streets," he spat.
She shook her head and handed him the tea towel. "Thank you so much for your hospitality," she nodded curtly and pushed past him.
"Are you going, Squiffy?" Ophelia stumbled out of his bedroom, her hair wild and tangled and she was still in her nightgown.
"Yes, sweetheart," she stopped just in front of the door and turned to face his daughter. "There's breakfast in the kitchen."
"But I want you to stay," she said and yawned and ran towards Mary Kelly. "Please? Just until breakfast is over?"
xx
"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed and the smile that had been playing on the corners of her mouth fell completely. She had not expected him. And had absolutely no longing to see him either.
"Can we talk?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Sure. Come in."
He looked as uncomfortable as he had always looked when he had to come into her parents' house. He disliked the electricity. Probably. Who knew exactly.
"Well?" she asked, leading him into the kitchen and gesturing him to sit down on the kitchen table. The same chair Snape had sat on the day before. She busied herself making tea – and waited for him to speak.
"I want to see more of the children," he said suddenly.
"Fine," she turned and smiled a little at him. "I'm sure they're happy to see more of their daddy."
"Yes," he said slowly and – until she had put the cup in front of him, said nothing. Only when she had sat down as well, he looked at her again and sighed. "I have a new girlfriend," he continued soberly.
"I heard rumours," she said evenly. Not that she cared. He could do whatever he wanted to do.
"It is quite serious, 'Mione. I took her home to the Burrow yesterday and introduced her to my parents."
"Good," she replied – not as evenly. She didn't care. Didn't he understand? "Do you want me to tell you that it's alright?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Then you just came here to tell me that you want to see the children more and that you have a new girlfriend?"
He shook his head again. "I'd like them to live with me and Henrietta."
xx
Severus Snape unrolled the parchment as he listened with half an ear to Ophelia telling Mary Kelly about a dream she had had that night.
His daughter was a dangerous specimen. Truly, truly dangerous. Persuasive with that smile of hers and those large eyes. On the other hand, he was relieved to see that he was not the only one who had fallen under the spell of his little witch.
Even Mary Kelly had, after a bit of wheedling (and it had been less Gryffindor, more Slytherin than before) agreed to at least look at the coal shed when he was finished with it.
And he would tell his Ophelia that there was the possibility of Mary Kelly always being like she was that morning. With the potion he was developing. Absolutely not doubt that the little witch could manage to persuade Mary Kelly to take it. He would have to make sure that one dose was enough. Would have to make sure that she did not have to take it regularly.
He smirked to himself. Ophelia was dangerous. Very, very dangerous.
His eyes fell on the parchment. And the smirk disappeared from his face. Granger writing him?
Why?