The usual disclaimers apply.
xx
Hermione Granger hadn't laughed that much in years. Probably. But her ex-husband's thoughts were just that – laughable. The man who would not even change a nappy, who did not know what to do when one of his children had a scraped knee – no matter whether it was the consoling part or the healing charm (or – in rare cases – the Elastoplast), who loved his children, yes, but had spent the first few years of their lives at work during the day and every free weekend, he had taken them all to the Burrow. He had hardly spent any time alone with his children. And now he wanted to have them live with him and a woman she did not know at all?
And just who did he think she was even considering letting their children house with someone she had never even seen – let alone met – let alone approved of?
No – in short – this was all very, very ridiculous. And she had had so little reason to laugh lately – she had to. And couldn't stop. She knew she sounded a bit hysterical. But she had every reason to do so, didn't she?
It wasn't the fact, not at all, that a father wanted to have their children with him. If her parents had divorced, she would have wanted to stay with her Daddy. But not Ron. And with a new girlfriend. Whom she would certainly not allow to see her children as long as she hadn't approved.
"Something funny?" he asked suddenly and she still giggled. Couldn't stop. Couldn't stop at all.
"Yes," she giggled. "Do you really think I would allow my children to let my children live with you and a strange woman?"
"Henrietta is not a strange woman," he argued, his ears turning pink.
"Have I met her?"
"No," he shook his head, "but she's a good girl and you'll like her."
Her mood changed suddenly. A good girl? A girl? No. She would fight tooth and nail. Seeing his children? Yes, no doubt. Probably, for a couple of weeks, living with him – and him alone – why not. But forever and with a good girl? No. Over her dead body.
"You're insane," she spat angrily. "You will not get them. Not like this."
"I'm not insane," he argued, pink ears but unfortunately, his temper had not risen yet. He was annoyingly calm. Quite surprisingly. "And why shouldn't I? My children are wizards. They should grow up knowing there is such a thing as magic."
"They know that," she argued. "And have you seen some accidental magic? Because Hugo hasn't done anything yet. He hasn't summoned anything, he hasn't apparated anywhere and her hasn't done anything even remotely magical."
"He hasn't?" Ronald paled. "But..."
"But I thought you were quite open towards the idea of Muggles and Squibs. I remember you – you! - telling me when I was pregnant with Rose that you didn't care whether it was a boy or a girl or a Squib."
"Yes, but..."
She nodded. "Fine, Ronald. So you want to bring your children up the Wizarding way, eh? What if one of them is not a wizard?"
"He could still..."
"Do Mister Filch's job?" she sneered. "No."
"He hasn't done anything yet?"
"You would know that if you had spent more time with him."
"You're being unfair," he cried and stood up hastily.
"Yes, yes, I am. As you were all those weekends when you worked double shifts and I was left alone with two babies. Fine. Try and get those children but only over my dead body, Ron."
xx
The Gryffindor wanted to have him over for dinner. And his daughter was making friends with a drunk over breakfast. And he was almost forcing her to live in the coal shed. Just because he had a daughter.
It was Ophelia's fault, really.
Ophelia had made him do all those things. Dangerous, persuasive little Ophelia. Take in a drunk. Let his daughter play with Gryffindors. Making a potion to stop addiction.
And still – he did not mind. His Ophelia had learned well. He had barely recognised the fact that he had been manipulated. But she had, knowingly, or unknowingly.
Yes – the pet had been a good idea. And that special pet was a good idea as well. Now, only that idiot from the Magical Menagerie, Frida Fera, had to deliver it. He had been given a special price – because, apparently, the magical photograph had confirmed that fact, the stupid animal had shifty eyes. Not that he minded. It would be perfect for his Ophelia – and for him.
And he had not had to leave the house to get it. That had been the best part because leaving Ophelia alone? No. Definitely not. He could not possibly do that. Leave his little girl alone – or even with anyone? No. Never. Not until she had to leave for school.
His parents had often left him alone. And he didn't want to do that. He didn't want her to sit alone at home, wondering if there would be something for dinner or not – if his mother brought home some money, or if his father had spent all of it in the pub down the road.
No – he would not allow that. She would not be alone at all.
And still – he dragged his eyes away from the odd letter Hermione Granger had sent and looked at his little witch and the witch without a wand, a tea towel in her hands still, listening intently.
Maybe – maybe he could get her this way. Not that he cared but she was a brilliant test person after all. And she seemed to like Ophelia.
"Would you consider watching my daughter once in a while?" he asked quietly and, as expected, she looked puzzled. Almost – scared.
"Will you?" Ophelia almost bounced on her seat. "Just think, Squiffy, we could play and we could read and you could tell me stories!"
He saw her flinch when his daughter called her by that horrible nickname. And at the moment, she wasn't squiffy. She wasn't in the least inebriated. Sober. Just sober and the trembling was a bit worse but she kept herself together. She held on tightly to the tea towel – but the flinching had been visible and his daughter would not ruin his plan. No, she was the means – and the tool. As much as he hated to do it.
"Ophelia, please do not call Missus Kelly by that infernal nickname," he admonished – but kept his voice as gentle as he could.
The little witch frowned. "But..."
"Ophelia, please call Missus Kelly by her name."
"But I thought Squ..."
"You can call me Mary if you like," Mary Kelly lay a kind but trembling hand on her shoulder and seemed to squeeze.
"Will you sometimes play with me, Mary?" Ophelia asked, obediently.
She looked at him – searched him with her eyes and Severus did indeed pull up his Occlumency shields. He did not want her to see what his reasons were for wanting her away from the alcohol – especially since he did not want her to see what he did not want to realise himself. That he did it not only because he needed a test person but because she was...
No. Better focus on his daughter and her smiling, winning face. Her dangerous, cunning face. The one nobody could resist.
And it seemed that Mary Kelly was looking at her as well – especially since the little witch snuggled up to her a little and Severus felt something odd inside himself. A weird feeling in his chest – in his stomach and he felt his hands clutching to fists. He could not be possibly – jealous – of Ophelia liking another adult? But his little witch with an arm around her little shoulder that was not his? Had seemed unlikely only a few weeks ago when she had been scared even of him.
And she seemed to notice that he did not like seeing her like this – and smiled brightly. Smiled at him and it relaxed his hands at least and his face, that must have been like thunder, fell into the usual mask. Still, she smiled up at Mary Kelly, then left her side and skipped over to him and climbed on his lap.
Nobody in the whole wide world – not even Lily Evans, not even Albus Dumbledore – had ever known him as well as his almost five-year old daughter. Three days until her birthday.
And she would love her present.
"Do you want me to watch you?" Mary Kelly asked and Ophelia, her head settled against his chest nodded viciously.
"Yes, please. Can you be my granny then?" she blurted and all the feelings that might have been jealousy evaporated into thin air. Too Gryffindor. Too direct. He had more to teach her. A lot more.
"Your granny?" the woman paled and the tea towel in her hand, wrung together, was clutched against her mouth.
"Missus Kelly, I have to apo..."
She shook her head and stared, fearfully and got up too quickly – the chair clattering to the floor. "I...," she merely said and ran from the living room into the corridor – and after that, he only heard the front door bang shut. And his daughter looked scared up at him, not knowing what she had done wrong.
He groaned – knowing he would have to explain. And brew another batch of Sober Up Potion.
xx
Hermione paced the kitchen. She was glad that her mother had bought that bloody DVD with the odd film – one she remembered from when she was young though – and had put the children in front of it as soon as they had all returned home. All four at once, almost. Up until then, she had paced already. Had waited for an owl from Snape – had wanted to tell someone what an idiot her ex-husband was but she could not really think of anyone to tell this to. Harry and Ginny were more than prejudiced (and both of them had not been in the Muggle World for quite some time – both had embraced their Wizarding status – and she understood, sort of. It wasn't as if Harry had been treated nicely by Muggles), and she did not really have much contact to anyone else that she trusted enough to tell this to.
Except her parents at the moment. Marriage had made her lose friends. Before she had been married to Ron, she had occasionally met Luna, had occasionally met others from school – but with marriage and children, her social contacts had been reduced to the Weasleys and all their relatives and spouses and children and her parents.
"Will you sit down?" her mother groaned. "It's making me nervous."
"Hermione, will you tell us what happened?" her father asked gently.
"Ron. Ronald Weasley happened," she spat. "He wants the children. Wants Rose and Hugo to live with him and his new girlfriend."
"He can't get them," her mother said, shocked.
"I bet he'll tell his mother and Molly will interfere and you know what she's like," Hermione huffed. "I mean who does he think he is? Superdad? Snape was a more loving father than Ron. Snape spends more time with his daughter and we always thought he was a heartless, cold git."
"He didn't seem that way," Jonathan Granger interrupted.
"I know. That's what's so horrible," she spat. "I thought Ron would be a good father. I always thought that he would enjoy having children. That he would be good with them. And he isn't. He spent more time of those days off work on the quidditch pitch with Harry than with us. Snape wouldn't even leave his daughter here alone."
"Why does he want the children then?" he asked, Judith obviously too shocked to say anything.
Hermione threw her hands in the air. "I don't know. He said something about raising them in the Wizarding World and basically exposing them to magic."
"What?" her mother shouted. "The arrogant twit. You know," she pointed her finger at Hermione, "you can say what you like but all those purebloods are the same. No matter what everyone thinks about the Weasleys. I know that they're considered Muggle friendly but Ronald was always afraid of us and he never let you come over Christmas. He always looked down on us. Always thought we were silly and amusing but not to be taken seriously. I will not have my grandchildren grow up that way," she got up as well and paced together with Hermione.
Jonathan Granger grinned amusedly. Yes, yes, it was a serious topic but Ronald Weasley was that way. He had an idea and had to act on it. If that idea was met with problems, or if it didn't immediately work, he soon lost interest. He had been that way as long as he had known him. And probably as long as he had heard stories about him from Hermione.
He understood his women's fears. The children were their one and only – well, especially Hermione's one and only. The only thing she had left apart from them and her work. But Ronald would never be able to handle two children at once on his own.
"And his new girlfriend, Henrietta without a surname, is supposed to be their new Mummy," Hermione spat and John frowned. His wife, his darling Jude, was rigid and stood stock still.
No, he would not leave his grandchildren alone with some strange woman. His family, all of them, would fight against this. If Ronald Weasley was so stupid to really pursue this. Or worse – dragged Molly Weasley in there.
That woman could be like a dog with a bone. Only worse.
"Calm down," he said and pointed at two chairs. "Pacing and standing will not help. We'll devise a plan and he will not be allowed to have my grandchildren living with a strange woman I have never met."
xx
Ophelia was shocked. She thought Squiffy – no, Missus Kelly – had been nice and would watch her in case her Daddy had to go somewhere. Not that he ever went anywhere without her but still. It would have been nice to have a grandmother who made biscuits and hot chocolate and baked and cooked with her. That breakfast had been delicious and while she loved porridge, this was something else. It was hot and greasy and tasty and wonderful.
Daddy sat completely still. He had his arms around her to keep her on his lap but he didn't even move his hands. He just sat and she had to check if he still breathed.
"Why did she run away, Daddy?" she asked, turning a little on his lap and looking up at him.
He sighed and suddenly, his hands were on her back and he moved his fingers only a little. The way she liked it. The way he always did when she needed reassurance, when she needed to know he was there and thought about what she had said.
"Is it my fault?" she asked again, fearfully, as she waited for his answer.
"I do not know, Ophelia," he replied slowly. "But I think you reminded her of her past."
"Of her dead family?" she asked again, remembering, "Why?"
He pulled her to him. "She was reminded of what she does not have."
Ophelia frowned. "I don't understand."
"You're too little to understand," he replied and pressed a kiss on her hair.
"I hate it when someone says that," she huffed. "You don't do it."
"No, I usually don't do it," he replied and looked in her eyes again. "She never had a grandchild and maybe she wanted one."
"Like I want a grandmother?" she asked innocently. "But if she wants a sort of grandchild and I want a sort of grandmother, why did she leave then? She could be my granny and I could be her grandchild."
He sighed but said nothing and Ophelia was very confused. Sometimes grown-ups were very weird.
"Will she come back?" she asked after a moment.
"I suppose she will," he answered and set her on her feet. "And I believe we should have the potion ready for when she does," he added in a weird voice. Like he was sure of what he was doing.
"The Sober Up?"
"That and the other one," he muttered and since he walked towards the door, she followed him quickly. She would not let him brew alone. She wanted to help. And wanted to find out if Squi...Mary was angry with her. Daddy would know. If she only dug a little deeper.
xx
She paced her room – the children in bed, the parents in bed and she was still up. It disturbed her greatly. She could not possibly live without her children and she had been more than glad when her parents had stood by her so closely, had supported her when she needed it the most.
The case was simple. Since the Wizarding World seemed to be so old fashioned, it should be no problem to claim that they were better off living with their mother. Which – in this case – it was. Better than with a random stranger.
But really – it was strange and she would have to do a little reasearch on the fact, but it seemed that even the Muggleborns, at least those she knew, had completely left the World of their parents and all had jobs within the Wizarding one. Why was that?
She loved magic, she really did, but there were advantages of being a Muggle. Or living there.
She stopped pacing suddenly. There was one witch she knew that had chosen the Muggle World. And one Wizard she knew who showed his daughter Muggle culture. And both were relatives. Mother and son.
She would throw caution in the wind. If Ron was serious – and she did not doubt that he was (he could be like a dog with a bone when it came to things he cared about – stubborn as he was) – she needed all the help she could get.
And he had never denied helping someone. Whether he liked it or not.
She would throw caution in the wind. Simple. Would go and see him. Would ask. Would tell him. Whether he wanted to hear it or not. He knew about both Worlds. He was a halfblood and his daughter was a halfblood and he, though living in Knockturn Alley – ventured out into the Muggle Words regularly.
She would ask him. Go and see him and ask.