She skipped towards the door, the vial in her hand. True, Squiffy Mary Kelly always smelled bad but apart from it, she was a very nice lady. Especially after she had the potion. Daddy didn't understand that but she always smiled at her and told her to be a good little girl and that she was nice and kind for bringing her the potion. But Daddy knew that Squiffy Mary Kelly always gave her an extra Sickle and she was allowed to keep it. He had brought her a piggy bank (actually, it was a, he had explained, a warthog bank) and she put every single Sickle in there. That had been just before Christmas.
And for Christmas – oh, for Christmas he had given her a new dress, a few crayons so she could draw and paint for real and he had made sure she always had room on the table when she wanted to. And sometimes, she just used one of her books, lying on her thighs, when she was sitting on her chair in the apothecary (yes, she could say it now!) and drew there.
She had been sad that she couldn't give him anything for Christmas. She had no money, she hadn't had the crayons yet, nothing. But she had drawn him a lot for his birthday. One with her and him together brewing, one with just her on her chair, one with him talking to a customer in the apothecary and one of them together eating breakfast. He had not smiled when she had given them to him. But – she knew – he had almost smiled. Almost.
Because – there was now a fourth face. When the lines were almost completely gone from his forehead and the left (or was that right? He had only begun teaching her and she couldn't really remember all the time) corner of his mouth twitched a tiny bit. Really. Only a tiny bit. And his eyes were a little more, well, kinder, than usually. They were then more brown than black. But you could only see if when you were standing really close. Or sitting on his lap.
And yes, Ophelia loved sitting on her Daddy's lap (she had settled on that name for the time being. Had thought and thought and thought but nothing had sounded right. Dafa was stupid. Fada just as stupid. Daddysir sounded dumb. Sirdaddy worse. And he had given her the fourth face for the very first time when she had snuggled up to him once after a horrible dream – Madame Sylvie under her bed again – and had said that she felt safe with him. No, she had said something else. She had said 'You're so nice, Daddy.' but yes, he had put on the fourth face). It was just lovely to lean against him and to cuddle with him (he would never say that he cuddled her. Actually, he was someone who didn't say much but it was, in fact, cuddling) and let her hold him tightly.
She would usually put her head on his chest, so that it rested just underneath his chin and so he could put it on it. And he frequently did that.
And just last week – he had discovered her weakness when she hadn't been able to sleep and she had sneaked into his bed again. She had been so tired and in the morning he hadn't really been able to wake her. Until, yes, until, he had poked her in the side. And there he had apparently learned that she was very, very, very ticklish. And he had tickled her. Until she had gotten up. But that was very mean. And now, he used it occasionally and tickled her. Which was really mean.
But he usually made the fourth face when he did so.
And that was mean. She had not intended for him to find out she was ticklish.
But now he did and she knew that he would leave her untickled at least during the day. But that was just because he only rarely had the chance to do so while she was with him in the apothecary. She sat on her chair and tried to read, sometimes, when there were not many customers, she would ask him for a word she didn't know, or they would brew together. He had promised brewing of more Sober Up potion for Squiffy Mary Kelly.
And she had never helped brewing that before. And that was always exciting.
He kept the stool she stood on now always underneath the counter and she could always step on, though she disliked a lot of the people coming in.
And sometimes, but really only very sometimes, she wondered if there were no other children around. She never saw any.
But oh – Squiffy Mary Kelly gave her the money and there were two extra Sickles!
"Thank you, Squiffy!" she beamed and the nice lady patted her on the head and Ophelia skipped away. And of course Daddy was a bit, just a bit annoyed now. Annoyed was okay. Angry she had to look out for. Angry Daddy was bad and he would not bring her to bed if he was angry with her. True – it had only happened once or twice and not since before Christmas but she would miss the kiss he always pretended not to give her on her forehead just as he tucked her in.
Ophelia, that much she was sure of, never wanted to live anywhere else without her Daddy because she loved him and he loved her. Even if he didn't say so. But she knew.
She realised it every day, whether she slept in his bed or in her own, he would never ignore her in the mornings, he always made sure that she ate enough, that she was clean enough, that she picked the right book to take down to the apothecary with her, in case he brewed one of those potion that she wasn't allowed to help him with – and he even explained why every time, mostly because they were very dangerous and he had to cast Protective Charms over her, which tickled nicely – because some books could be boring after a while. He made sure she learned to read, and learned to brew a little. And yes, he always cuddled her. Brought her to bed.
She just loved her Daddy.
"Can we brew now, please?" she asked, looking up at him and he, as he usually did, grumbled a bit but almost immediately, pulled her stool out from underneath the counter and helped her step on it and moved instantly behind her so she could, for only a quick moment, lean against him.
"I love you, Daddy," she whispered just because she felt like it. And because she knew it would make him pull the fourth face. The happy face. Even if she couldn't see it, she knew it was there.
xx
It was not something he got used to lightly. On the contrary. Most of the time she said it, and she always said it at the weirdest moments, it surprised him, caught him on the wrong foot. Like just now. It had been different on Christmas when he had given her a few crayons, since she always seemed to draw with suds in the bath, and always traced the lines on the illustrations in their books – her books. Had given her room to work on the table, well, not really, he had just put his own papers together, had tidied a little and she had her place there anyway. If she wanted to draw, she could now. And he had given her a few, much needed clothes. A dress. He had half expected the I love you, Daddy then. Not now.
This was one of those occasions where he was completely taken by surprise.
He would probably get used to it. Like he got used to hearing Daddy come out of her mouth and realising that she meant him. Him a Daddy. Completely odd. But, he had gotten used to it. Maybe he would really get used to her telling him that she loved him. Even though the warm feeling in his stomach was not that uncomfortable any more. On the contrary.
Now – he – he knew that he had done some things right. She trusted him completely and she learned what he taught her willingly. She was utterly fascinated by all things concerning potions and books and she only ever wore black.
He had been against it – but – he had found out that when she made that special face – he stood no chance. He wasn't sure why. It was just a fact of life. Of their life now.
He had not changed much. His daily routine, well, no, not much. True, he didn't eat alone any more, and he ate healthier things, for her sake, he made sure to bring her to bed at night (a thing that he found painfully missing in all the memories he had viewed in the ridiculously expensive Pensieve – it was only just him, going to bed alone and he remembered feeling sad about that), to talk to her during dinner, asked her what she had seen during the day in the apothecary (finding out, rather, what she had learned from him), to help her bathe, to be there for her. Even if that included being cuddled by her, even if that included getting kissed by her.
And she had learned a valuable lesson just the other week. Never let anyone see your weaknesses. She was very ticklish (not unlike himself – she was his daughter after all) and he used this to his advantage. And she knew. He made it clear every day. Made sure to tickle her every day.
Even though he did quite enjoy it. Just hoped that she would never find out he had the same weakness.
"So you see? We put the tomato seeds in. As a whole."
"Why?" she asked in her usual way, not taking her eyes off the bubbling liquid in the cauldron.
"They would lose their potency if we cut them or dice them or put them in the mortar," he explained calmly. Tuesday. A quiet day. A day that could be spent brewing with her. So willing to learn. So interested. Always asking the right questions. And always leaning against him when there was a pause in their brewing. Always seeking contact.
"Like other seeds?"
"Exactly. For instance?"
"Pea seeds and poppy seeds and almond seeds and...I don't know any more."
"Quite sufficient," he said and put his hand on her shoulder. "Now stir fifteen times."
"Which direction?" she asked and he felt a sort of pride. She was not even five yet, but knew what counted.
"Clockwise," he replied softly and for a moment dared to look at her face. Very, very, very concentrated, her brows beetled together, her lower lip lodged firmly between her teeth.
"My my if that isn't Severus Snape and his famous daughter," a drawling voice came from the door.
"My my if that isn't Lucius Malfoy coming for his monthly potion that nobody is allowed to know about," he drawled back, sneering, and, unseen, put his hand on Ophelia's back. She had not yet seen Malfoy – had always been upstairs, send away in advance – and he could be a bit frightening. Even more so now.
"This is yours?"
"Does she look like mine?"
"Actually, yes. But I don't see a hint of the Mudblood Granger in there."
"Why should there be? Ophelia is mine," he replied evenly – hiding his surprise at the mention of Granger perfectly.
"The Daily Prophet, and various other newspapers and informants seem to think that this child," he sneered and stepped closer, "is yours and the Mudblood's."
"Is that so?"
"That is so."
"As far as I can remember, the Daily Prophet and various other newspapers and informants seem to think you're quite quite innocent and upstanding these days."
"Is that so?"
"That is so," Severus sneered again and he felt Ophelia trembling a little and her hand searching his. He offered it – and she took it immediately, holding it tightly. "Now, if there's nothing else? Would you like the potion? Ah – and, just to inform you, the price has gone up a little. But you can't expect, or can you?, such a potion to be cheap. After all, it is vital for you and since nobody but me can brew it to your satisfaction, solving your little problem to satisfy, and since I am the only one who will not run to the Daily Prophet or various other newspapers and informants, you do not have a choice but to pay, have you?"
Malfoy's façade slipped for a moment. "How much?"
"Well, since you believed me even willing to – well, share my bed with Granger, I'd say, for this month, 120 Galleons."
The façade stayed in place. The arrogant face all there. Unfortunately, Severus knew that the Malfoys had lost a rather massive amount of their fortune and as such, 120 Galleons were a lot of money for Lucius. As it was for most people. Still – he would pay. Perverted fantasies, desires that he needed to fulfil, and only could with the potion.
"My my, Snape, you are a businessman these days."
"I most certainly am," he sneered and squeezed his daughter's hand twice in quick succession. She would understand. She was his girl after all. "Either pay, or leave."
"She's a pretty little girl," he raised his eyebrows in silent threat and looked at Ophelia.
"You're problem is not so little, is it? And you're going through the vial rather quickly these days."
"120 Galleons," Lucius said and put the money on the counter. He had understood. Threat against threat. And he did not care enough about anyone to keep their secrets. No – Ophelia was his duty, his flesh and blood and it was her she needed to protect. No matter what the cost.
The two man nodded at each other and Ophelia once more held his hand a little tighter when Lucius looked at her again. "Pity everyone thinks it's Granger's and yours."
"Yes, pity. Especially since I remember quite clearly what you thought about Granger and what you would do with her, Lucius."
And with that, the tall man was gone and Severus could not hide his smirk. He was his. Lucius did as he said. And he would most certainly not harm Ophelia. One thing less to worry about.
Though – what was that about Granger? The papers – and no, he did not read them – thought his brilliant daughter was his and hers? What utter rot.
"Daddy, who was that man? He frightened me."
"I know he did, Ophelia. But he cannot do anything."
"You promise?" she turned on her stool and looked at him, her chin pressed against his abdomen.
"I promise."
She nodded, hugged him around the middle (another thing he had almost gotten used to. Almost.) and obviously seemed to smile into his robes and he, well, it was what his mother had done, the Pensieve said, when he had been little, stroked her hair gently.
xx
"Rosie? Hugo? How do you feel about a little trip to London?"
Her children jumped up and down and shouted loudly yes yes yes and even though she would have preferred to have gone alone, she had no choice. Both her parents had work to do, Miss Breaze did not have time either, she was not currently on speaking terms with Molly Weasley, and Ron, as well as Harry and Ginny had all work to do. Only she had taken the day off. Needed to look at a few flats in London, needed to make sure that it wasn't him spreading the rumours.
Of course he didn't – he wasn't that stupid – but she just had to clear that up.
Her and Snape having a kid together – whoever had heard such an idiotic thing?
No, she would just be kinder and more polite than she had been. Would ask him if he thought it was better to ignore it – or to give a statement. He would probably not answer her – but, maybe, from his reaction, she could make a decision.
At least Ron did not believe that idiocy. And neither did Harry or Ginny. But there were a lot of people who apparently did. But actually, she did not like that kind of defamation of character. Her character. And that of Ron, and her children. Implying she had carried on with Snape all the time she had been married.
She knew though, that going there would probably only fuel the rumour mill. But it was worth a shot. And she could always get some ingredients while she was there.
"Okay, get ready then, we'll apparate in two minutes. To look at some flats and maybe an ice-cream at Fortescue's?" she grinned and looked after her children who tore upstairs, probably racing who was faster.
It would be fine. She could protect her children. Even in Knockturn Alley. And it was probably good for them to see that there were not only nice people in the world.
She would go and see Snape. With her children.
xx