There was one person he saw regularly – never really talked to – but one person who came in about once a month – said hello – he tried to be civil – and he knew if there was anything major happening where he used to be, he would be informed. Not that he was interested – not much at least.
And he knew that Hagrid would be in today – and, seeing his daughter sleeping so peacefully next to him, with her little feet somehow wedged between his knees, he had absolutely no intention of opening the apothecary. And letting him see her.
Nobody, absolutely nobody had shown interest in him – and he liked it that way. He ran his shop, he did what he had to do to make a living and now he had a daughter. He did not need any good advice from anyone. Not the matrons at Hogwarts, not – oh no. Of course the Weasley woman would already know – courtesy of former Miss Granger or still Miss Granger or whatever – he did not care. But then again, Molly Weasley would not care much. After all – he was still, and had been all the time – the person to injure her son – who had cost him his ear. She could be quite – resentful.
Besides, the Weasleys, as a rule, were a respectable family. Knockturn Alley – and his shop by extension – were the complete opposite of respectable.
Still – money wasn't earned by itself – and he slipped from the bed, letting Ophelia sleep. Why he did that exactly, he wasn't sure. But it had been late when she had come to his room the night before, when she had told him – told him – told him...no, he could not repeat it. But she had said it.
In her voice, muffled against his chest and she had clung to him. Had warmed her feet on his thighs.
He shook himself internally – and got up, dressing, watching her but she slept on – half on his pillow, half on her stuffed animal. Cuddled into his duvet.
Severus Snape sighed – and turned away, but, looking over his shoulder, he raised his wand and a beautiful, silver horse sprang from it, poised, watching over the bed.
xx
Hermione thought. Had thought all night long. And had thought some more. Another of those almost sleepless nights and she would be a walking menace, as she always was when she did not sleep enough.
Instead, she had avoided her mother, had avoided her father, had gotten up early, had taken her books, her notes, and had gone to the garden, a coat on, a warming charm in place, and, surrounded by the rustle of leaves, she had worked a little. In the fresh air, trying to clear her head.
She had written two letters – and had received no reply yet. Neither from Hagrid, nor from Harry. And really – she did not actually think it was a good idea now. She had acted too rash – she still did that sometimes, and really, Severus Snape was none of her business.
But the child – not that that was her business – but there was a child, an innocent soul involved. And she was not convinced, even though her mother had been right and he had handled her with a certain kind of protectiveness – that he was the right person to bring up a girl.
Yet, the rational side of her brain argued, she didn't know that for sure.
Her mum had been right – and Hermione hated to admit that. She did not know him. She did only remember the teacher and well, she had been influenced by her husband.
Her eyes widened and she slammed the books shut, put them onto her notes and sprinted inside.
"Mum, have you seen a..."
"Good morning, Hermione," Judith Granger, a cup of coffee in front of her, the children sitting opposite her, munching on their cereal.
"Morning, Mum," she replied quickly and kissed the tops of her children's heads. "Have you seen a..."
"Parchment that came half an hour ago? Yes. With a large brown owl that made a mess in the living room? Yes. On the coffee table," she replied, not really looking up.
"It's the papers," Hermione said gloomily and stalked off, hoping that her mother would, despite their fight, support her in this.
xx
"I'll be right back, children," Judith Granger said and stood up, the cup of coffee on the table. "John!" she shouted then and smiled at Rose and Hugo.
"Yes?" her husband came down the stairs, and she walked towards him, past the living room where her daughter sat – on the couch, over some papers.
"Look after them, please," she whispered, pointing at the kitchen and as he nodded, she hurried to the living room and quietly, sat down next to her. "And?"
Hermione looked up. "It's the official separation papers," she said quietly. "I'll sign those, Ronald will sign those, we wait two months, sign more papers and it's over."
Judith sighed and put her arms around Hermione's shoulders. "It's okay, love."
"No, it's not. Failed marriage," Hermione said softly and obviously her breath caught in her throat and she put her face in her hands. "I knew it was coming but it's still...very odd."
"Of course it is," she replied just as softly and pulled her to herself. "But you're strong, darling, you're very strong and you'll pull through. You might love yet – the real love, the real thing."
"What do you mean, the real thing?" Hermione jumped up and glared at her mother.
She sighed and patted the couch next to her. "Sit down, girl. I like Ron. You know that," she waited until Hermione had stopped glaring at had sat down again. "And I know that you're emotional and in something that you don't know how to get out of. You're probably sitting here, every night, and thinking about what you've done wrong. But you didn't. Ronald and you – I'm not sure you were completely suited for each other. You were friends for such a long time and yes, it can work out but..."
"I didn't love him enough," Hermione replied sadly. "And he probably didn't love me enough."
She fell into Judith's arms – and once more, cried.
xx
She rubbed her eyes. Her Sirfather's bed was so comfortable. Even more comfortabler than her own bed. And warmer. And smelled of him. But he wasn't there.
He wasn't there and cold panic ran up and down Ophelia's back.
Had had abandoned her. Had left her. Wasn't there any more.
She sat up in fear, looking around. It was all the same but then there was – a huge silver horse. In the middle of Sirfather's bedroom.
"What are you?" she asked it, her eyes widely open.
"Ophelia, please get dressed and come down to the apothecary. Carefully down the stairs," the horse suddenly spoke in her Sirfather's voice and she stared and stared.
"Sirfather?" she asked in a small voice.
"Please get dressed and come down to the apothecary. Carefully down the stairs," it said again.
Ophelia wasn't sure what she was looking at. It was a horse. Silvery-white, a little see-through, large. Broad. Huge. Beautiful. It bowed his head a little, whinnied at her and – spoke in her Sirfather's voice. Once more, than just vanished.
She shook her head and rubbed her eyes again.
Maybe – well, Sirfather could do a lot of things with his wooden stick. He could make things appear and disappear, had made the clothes fit and had even once made the bowl full of porridge fly. Maybe – maybe he had made the horse stay there to watch her as she was sleeping and made sure that she was safe (again!) and that she wasn't scared. He was down in the athopecary and waited for her. Maybe he would let her brew again. Or she could watch him when he was so mean to other people.
She scrambled off the bed and ran into her room. Very happy that she was about to have another day before her in her new, wonderful clothes, black woollen tights and with her Sirfather.
xx
He opened the apothecary, as usually, to Squiffy Mary Kelly, got the rest of the money she owed him (which was a new record) and then set on brewing some more Pepper Up. People would come. They would need it and he would sell the vial for about 3 Galleons. That would bring in enough money. Not that he needed it. The apothecary worked very well and brought in a lot of money. He had, actually, nothing to worry about. And neither had Ophelia.
Still – he wouldn't miss this opportunity to make some more. And to see the respectable witches and wizards of England, and maybe Scotland, bowing to him. More or less.
He smirked. That would be good.
Revenge, after all, was really a dish best served cold.
And he had his revenge. Would have it. Until the end of his days – in situations like this. When everyone else thought about the best for humankind. In one part of the world. And did not think about the other parts of it.
He was pulled out of his vengeful thoughts by a little noise on the stairs and he knew that his daughter was up. And had heard the Patronus. And was smart.
He arched an eyebrow. That was his daughter alright.
And yes – it was his daughter alright as she came down the stairs. Dressed in black from head to toe. Snakes on the buckles of her shoes, her black robes firmly in place, her hair even combed.
She was too self-sufficient for her age.
But then – she smiled. Her face lit up and she ran down the last two steps and straight into his legs, hugging them. He would probably never get used to her hugging his legs – or any part of him, really.
"Hullo," she said and smiled up at him, her chin painfully pressed against his leg.
"Good morning, Ophelia," he replied a little stiffly but then his hands slowly found their way to her shoulders and he held them. A little.
"Brewing, Sirfather?" she asked and looked up at him – hopeful? Sort of, yes.
"Yes, we brew the same potion we brewed yesterday."
She pulled away a little and still looked up at him – and her eyebrow was just as arched as his was. "What horse was that?" she asked suddenly and he knew he had to sit down with her – and explain magic.
xx
A lot of people thought Knockturn Alley itself was evil but it wasn't true. There were some shops that were truly helpful. Snape's – for instance. Snape always had the best stuff for those horrible slugs that attacked his pumpkins.
He made it a point of going there at least once a month. Not that the Headmistress knew that he was going. She would be bombarding him with questions about Snape, what he was doing, how he was looking, what he was talking about. They never talked about much. Just said hello, talking about a potion, saying goodbye. That was it.
But Hagrid knew – instinctively – that Snape would tell him if there was anything going on. Or would let him know. Because really, Snape did not talk much. And Snape probably knew that he would drop hints if something on his side of the Wizarding World happened.
He walked heavily through the Alley and people avoided him. He was used to it. And he didn't mind.
The windows to Snape's apothecary were clean for once and he looked in – his brow beetled. A little girl, standing in front of Snape who sat on a stool – in black clothes – obviously listening to him intently.
And suddenly – the letter in his pocket – Hermione's – began to make sense.
xx
"Thanks for taking me, Arthur," Judith Granger smiled. "I wasn't sure what you'd say now that Hermione and Ronald..."
"Hermione will always be part of our family," he replied solemnly, "but I don't see what you want in Diagon Alley."
She smirked. "I need to meet someone and I can get out on my own but getting in without a witch or wizard is difficult."
"No trouble, Judith," he smiled and took her arm. A moment later, she was in the middle of Diagon Alley – only a few feet away from Gringotts. "Will you be alright? I should go into work."
"Yes, fine, Arthur. Thank you so much," she grinned and bent over to kiss his cheek. "We'll be in touch?"
"Definitely," he squeezed her hand and a second later, he disappeared through the masses and left her standing there.
But Judith Granger merely pulled her jacket closer around herself and, steadily, she made her way towards Knockturn Alley. She would just talk to him.
And to his daughter.
xx
"I can do all that?" she asked, amazement written all over her face.
"In time, yes," he replied quickly. "You will go to a school where you will learn it."
"School?"
"Yes, Hogwarts," he explained and saw her immediately shaking her head. "Why are you shaking your head?"
"Don't want to go away to school," she said, her lower lip trembling.
"When you're eleven, girl. Not yet."
She still shook her head and suddenly, she had thrown herself at him again – and clung to him again. It was getting a habit and he sighed, his arms going around her once more. "Don't want to leave," she whispered into his chest and he felt a tightening there. An odd sort of tightening.
"Not yet, Ophelia," he whispered in her hair – somehow his mouth had found its way down there, "Not yet."
She nodded but buried her face deeper into his robes and he – suddenly, looked over her head and saw exactly what he did not want to see.
Noses – pushed against the window of his apothecary.