The usual disclaimers apply.
xx
"Daddy, is that alright?" Ophelia lifted a lettuce leaf and showed it to him. She was absolutely in love with her tortoise and after she had dressed, had her cake, had blown out the candle and hugged him again, she had followed it around on the floor the entire time. And the bloody tortoise had sported a rainbow-coloured shell the entire time.
Rainbow-coloured meant ecstatic. More than happy and it showed in every movement she made. No, for rainbow-coloured he did not need the tortoise. She put her head sideways flat on the floor and smiled at Skippy (what a name for such an animal) and pulled faces, then smiled up at him and at the tortoise again and when he had suggested feeding her, she had jumped to her feet and had grinned and hugged his legs and nodded and – he had probably never seen her this happy. And he congratulated himself for thinking up such a great present.
She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, the lettuce leaf still in her hand.
"Yes, that's fine, Ophelia," he said quickly, quite forgetting about her question. "See if she likes it and then we should go."
"Where are we going?" she asked with a sneaky grin and he only rolled his eyes and pointed at the tortoise.
"Feed it and I'll get the things we need," he replied snarkily and watched her for a moment, as she knelt on the floor and dangled the lettuce in front of her new pet. He smirked – and summoned the bag he had packed the night before. He had done his research and had transfigured things accordingly.
He shrunk it and put it in the pockets of his Muggle coat. He had kept it since they ventured there so often. It hung next to her coat. And he had taken both out already and she was ready and he was ready.
He did so many new things with her – and sometimes, he had to shake his head at the fact what she had done with him. Already.
xx
She walked up to her parents' house. Tired – a little. Surprised – no. Shocked – no. Clueless – hell, yes. She had no idea what to talk about and what not to talk about. She would probably not tell Hugo yet – he wouldn't understand. And neither would she tell Rose. But she would say something to her parents.
Her parents knew about the best schools. Her parents would help her find a way to talk to Ronald. He had a right to know, after all. Even though he would probably not believe her. And if he did – he would blame her. And truth be told, she didn't want to tell his parents. Arthur would probably be more understanding – but Molly? She could already imagine her reaction. A Squib was like a blemish on the family.
She sighed before she unlocked the door. Hugo would have difficulties. If she couldn't make sure that he had a place somewhere in the Muggle world – a good school, good education. And that he was happy that he was not a wizard. That was the most important thing. Not to make the mistake of making him feel like a failure.
Probably, she thought as she walked inside, she would just have to build an annexe to her parents' house. Or maybe look for a flat close by. It was the best solution. Her parents – and herself – knew the area. And he would not feel so left out as he would if they lived in Diagon Alley. Or Hogsmeade. No, he was still loved. And she knew that he would have a hard time with the paternal side of his family – but not here. Here, he would be even more accepted, probably. And she would have to do her best to show him.
"Mummy!" her son bounced into the corridor and smiled at her broadly. "It's Ophelia's birthday today."
She smiled back. "I know. I told you, oh son of mine," she replied and knelt on the floor to look into his eyes. He grinned back and hugged her long and hard.
"I missed you, Mummy," he whispered in her ear. "Where were you?"
"Out, and a bit at work," she replied back and held him tightly. No, nothing had changed. He was still her sweet, loving, kind son. Curious, nosy, daring and the one who needed more hugs than his sister. He was still the very same boy.
"Can you help me?" he asked, pulling away slightly.
"Help you?"
He nodded. "I want to write a birthday card for Ophelia," he explained solemnly. "But I can't write yet. Not Ophelia. And I don't know how to write birthday. And happy."
She laughed and tickled him. "Of course I'll help you," she replied after a minute and when he was begging her to stop.
"Mummy, you're home!" Rosie came rushing towards her as well and almost ran her over, pushing into her arms next to Hugo. "Look what I can do," she beamed and raised her hand – and the book she had carried (The Wind in the Willows) hovered above her hand briefly before it clattered on the floor.
"You're such a show-off," Hugo rolled his eyes and it looked very sweet. "And what's so good about making a book fly anyway? It will not make studying simpler, will it?"
"You're just jealous because I can do it and you can't," Rose looked hurt.
He shrugged. "And? I have a friend and will write her a birthday card now!"
"You can't write..."
"Rose. Hugo," Hermione said sternly. "Stop. Rosie, your book hoovering is very nice. And Hugo, if you go upstairs and get some paper and pens, we'll write the card together, okay? And you can draw a little something for Ophelia."
She looked after her son as he ran up the stairs but her daughter was still there and used the moment to get a full hug – not shared by her brother.
"Mummy, are you proud of me?" she asked, very softly.
"Of course I am," Hermione had to swallow hard but caught herself and kissed her girl. "And what did you learn today?"
As her Rosie told her about her day and she slowly but surely got up, her knees cracking slightly, she noticed her father observing her closely, standing the door frame. And she knew she could trust him to help her decide what to do.
xx
She hated apparating. Definitely. And it was her birthday and Daddy was still apparating with her. She had to cling to him again and couldn't even look for a moment where they were. She was curious, yes, but the apparating always upset her tummy and it only helped to smell at Daddy's neck for a while.
"It's okay, Ophelia," he whispered gently in her ear and rubbed her back for a moment before she felt him beginning to walk and she looked up.
"Where are we, Daddy?" she asked, not recognizing the building they were standing in front of. Large and grey and rectangular.
"We're a bit away from London," he explained gently and carried her towards the building.
"What are we doing here?"
"We're going inside," he smirked and, just as they stood in front of the doors, he looked in her eyes. "Can you walk?"
She nodded shyly and wriggled free, but grasped his hand as soon as she stood next to him. It was always better to hold Daddy's hand. It was safer, and his hand was always warm and large and when something dangerous happened, or she was afraid, she only had to squeeze it and he would look down and would pick her up. He never failed to do that. He suddenly, and she had not seen how he did that, carried a large, black bag in his other hand and pushed the door open.
A smell hit her. A strange smell. She sniffed and no, she couldn't place it. It wasn't not nice. Only a bit strange. She had never smelled it before and she had to glance at Daddy but he only took a sniff as well and kept on walking.
"Daddy?" she asked again and she knew her voice sounded a bit – small. "What is this smell?"
He sighed and picked her up. "This, my girl," he whispered in her ear, "is the smell of chlorine."
Chlorine. Never heard of it. It wasn't used in potions, or at least in none of the potions they had made together.
"What is chlorine?"
"It is used to disinfect water," he explained and his eyes softened when he saw her frown. "And this smell, Ophelia, is apparently, the typical smell of a public swimming pool."
"Swimming?" she asked, realisation dawning on her. "Are we going swimming?"
He nodded. "This is a swimming pool," he explained softly.
"But...but...but, Daddy, I can't swim," she shook her head.
"I know," he said and his voice had a teasing touch. "But do you think I won't teach you?"
She looked at him and her mouth fell open. He would teach her something again! Swimming! So she could decently look under the water without drowning. She could swim then. Daddy would teach her how to swim.
Did Daddy even understand how great he was?
xx
"You should tell me," her father said when Hugo and Rose had gone to tie the birthday card on the owl's leg. It was strange, really. Rose and Hugo were always complaining about each other – but when the one – or the other – needed help, they stuck together worse than glue. She was, in such moments, when she thought that the owl could nip at his finger, could hurt him, very much the older sister – looking out for her baby brother. And she loved the owl. Of course.
She sighed and caught her father's eye. "I was in the registration office today," she explained softly.
"Why?" her mother asked, coming into the kitchen and settling down on the chair next to Hermione. "John, tea?"
Her father nodded and filled water into the old, chipped kettle and switched it on.
"There are files there. Oh, the magical registration office."
"And?" Dad asked, leaning against the counter in the kitchen.
"It was – I was curious and when I went to see Snape the other day..."
"You went to see him?" her mother asked. "Why?"
She nodded. "Because of the laws. And if someone knows the laws it's him. And while he couldn't really help me, he had an idea and I sort of picked up on it and remembered that Harry had looked up his daughter in the registration office."
"You're talking in puzzles, dear girl," her father said gently, putting milk and sugar on the table.
"No, no, it makes perfect sense," she sighed and put her face in her hands. She was completely wound up – but a moment later, there was a hand on her back, rubbing soothingly. She still kept her face covered and peeked through her fingers. It was soothing seeing her dad throwing a pyramid teabag in each mug and putting them on the table as well. It was so normal. Calming.
"I am a Muggleborn and obviously Ronald is a pureblood. Any children I have as a Muggleborn are specifically marked in those files if they are witch or wizard. Any children of Ronald, as a pureblood, are marked if they are Squibs," she explained. "Hence, out children are marked. And I looked into the files."
"And Hugo's a Squib," Jonathan Granger concluded.
"Yes," she looked up in surprise. "How did you know?"
Her mother, next to her, still rubbing circles on her back, chuckled. "The first time you did magic was when you were about eighteen months and made the mobile over your head move very, very rapidly. John, do you remember? We looked all over her room for draughts and winds and whatnot."
"I remember," he smiled and poured the boiling water into the mugs. "A month later, you sent the trousers you didn't like flying across the room."
"And Rosie," her mother continued, "didn't you say that she started early as well?"
"Eighteen months," she sighed. "Yes. Same age as me, then, I suppose."
"Hugo's four, Hermione," her father took her hand and pulled it completely away from her face before he held it tightly. "And so far, you didn't tell us that he did anything and neither did he do anything here."
"You knew?" Hermione asked – startled.
"No, we didn't know. Of course not. We don't know a lot about that accidental magic in children," Judith Granger explained, "but he is not even interested in charms and spells and potions. He helps Miss Breaze with the moulding of dentures in the dentistry. Or at least pretends to help."
"And he's quite hand with the drill these days," her father chuckled.
"It's going to be horrible. And difficult."
"It won't be," Dad soothed. "It will be fine. He's just a normal boy. And a very lovable at that."
"No, I know that but..."
"Molly Weasley will flip," Mum nodded. "But that should be rather entertaining."
"Entertaining?"
"Of course, entertaining. And the chances that Ronald will not want to raise a Squib in the Wizarding World – those are quite huge, don't you think?" Mum continued. "And you can't pull them apart."
She gestured towards the window where she saw her babies playing together – actually, for once, playing, not fighting. And Hermione nodded. Nobody in their right mind would allow for two siblings to be raised separately.
xx
He knew he looked – well, naked. Ridiculous. Swimming trunks in black and his thin legs with the black hairs on it, his frame too thin and scars all over his chest and back and neck. He was not concerned about his appearance though. But he had never been this naked outside of his own flat and even there – well – Ophelia had seen the scars when she had walked in on him showering a few weeks before. She hadn't asked about them though, it was merely something of interest for her, something to be traced with her little fingers, and, with a towel around his waist, he had let her. It was, apparently, normal to her. But he knew that people in that public swimming pool would stare – and that was why he had chosen one (as carefully as he could with only two days worth of research) which was far away from London, in a non-magical area, and not highly frequented. And it wasn't, he noticed as he walked in, barefoot, with Ophelia on his arm. She had thoroughly enjoyed that warm shower beforehand, sitting on his forearm, her arms around his neck.
She looked, once more, every bit a Snape. Her legs were too thin, her body was, well, he was working on that and would tell Mary Kelly – if she continued to cook for them – that she needed more nutritious food. And her black swimsuit fit very well, her black hair clinging to her back and plastered to her head. She smiled so broadly and couldn't stop hugging him. No, he had no chance of putting her down and those few people that were in the pool – mostly older women and men – only spared them a glance before they swam again – duck-like – their head carefully held above water.
"Is that the pool?" she asked, shivering a little as they had not dried themselves after the hot shower and now stood in the cold. He had not left his wand. Oh no. Not even he would be so stupid. It was, perfectly concealed in a little hoop inside the leg of his swimming trunks. Intelligently enough, he had chosen those that looked like boxers – and the leg was long enough to hide it. But he did not dare to pull it out and cast warming charms. Not enough thought on his part but they would get into the water and move around a bit. That should keep them warm.
He had learned to swim – yes. Not in a swimming pool, not in chlorinated water. No. He had learned to swim in the Black Lake. First Year. Lily had taught him. A long time ago. Another lifetime. And he had practised. And now, he was here, with his girl, teaching his girl.
No – he was sure that he could have never had such a perfect child with Lily. Ophelia was all he needed. And all he wanted.
"Can we go into the water, Daddy?" she whispered in his ear and he smirked as an answer and simple stepped in on a ladder – her still in his arms.
She squealed a little, not loudly, and clung to him. The water was shallow – for him and it only reached up to his navel but her feet were hanging in the water and apparently, she disliked cold water just as much as he did. But – since his swimming trunks were completely hidden by water, he grasped his wand and cast warming charm on both of them – and that relaxed his daughter instantly.
She smiled and kissed his cheek and his nose and when he tread into deeper water, she let him twirl her around and held his hand underneath her tummy and helped her learn the basics of swimming.
He had never experienced something like that. Pride. And he was even happy. Happy pride. Proud happiness. Enough to make the formerly cold, bastard, surly, git of the dungeons who had never smiled and had never shown any positive emotion, kiss his daughter and smile at her and teach her to enjoy the water she was in. Enough to make him cuddle her and be surprised at the fact that he treasured something so much in his life.
Thank you!