"You're mean!" she said and ran off. For the first time, she had run away from him. Just like that. Had just not accepted his no and had run away. And it had made him swallow, had made him feel weird, had made him – he didn't know. He wanted to get up, wanted to go after her and tell her that she could have everything in the world but not the meeting with a Weasley but he was rooted to the spot, staring at his sprouts, his meat and he looked then at her plate. Almost untouched.
Why couldn't she have waited with her bloody question until she had finished her meal? Didn't she understand that he could not let her play with just anyone?
Granted, not that Hermione Granger's and Ronald Weasley's children were, what decent people thought, just anyone – but he lived in a different world.
After the War, more than ever before, there was a clear distinction between decent folk – and not so decent folk. Two sides – those that had come out of the War with their reputation intact, like the Weasleys, Potter, some Order of the Phoenix Members – and those – whose reputation had suffered. His. His neighbours. Plenty more he knew. Not that he cared or minded. He had made his living from those whose reputations had suffered as well. And a good life it was.
But one side did not mix with the other. It just wasn't done. Hence, the big scandal about him and Granger in the papers. If it was a big scandal. He wasn't sure. But she couldn't really be interested in being brought into contact with the likes of him.
And why – apart from the fact that he did not like either Granger or Weasley – he could not let her play with their children.
But how to explain that to his child?
And she was angry with him.
She had never been angry with him. Scared – he could understand. Afraid, yes. He was that sort – but angry?
A lot of people had been angry with him over the years. He couldn't even count how many – but never her and that was a strange, unknown feeling. Something, he could not ever remember feeling. A sort of pressure on his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. Well, not difficult, but it wasn't as easy as it should have been. As it had been minutes ago when she had talked about the fact that she did not like sprouts because they were green and round and that she had recognised the word 'daisy' on one of his jars in the shelves. She had grinned and smiled and had speared a sprout on her fork and had then asked.
Silly girl.
What was he supposed to have said?
'Yes, darling Ophelia, you may go and play with Hugo Weasley turning the Wizarding World upside down?'
As if.
She was scandal enough – not that she knew – by just being the offspring of Severus Snape.
He knew – exactly – what people were thinking about him. People were thinking of him as an apothecary. Someone who had no private life. People had always thought that he had none. Years ago, he had been spying and teaching. And that had been it. Now, he apparently was brewing and selling the potions. And that was it.
Only, it wasn't.
Ophelia was the best example that it wasn't. And as such, a sort of scandal – keeping everyone interested. That was also, why his sales had gone up 45% in the last three months. But could have also been that the Pepper-Up-Shortage was responsible for that. He didn't mind.
It was all in a vault at Gringotts. For Ophelia. For her future.
And now she was angry with him.
And he remembered.
His father – he had always said no. No to everything. As far back as he remembered. Later, he had not cared, later he had learned not to pay attention. Later, he had just left the house and had hidden somewhere outside. But before that?
He had not been angry when his father had forbidden him something. Well, maybe a bit angry – but the same part was disappointment. Maybe even more disappointment than anger.
Not being allowed what he truly, he truly had wanted. Even if it was something like going to the zoo. Something he had always wanted to...
He sighed.
Severus Snape did not want to be like his father. He did not want to be his father. He would make it differently – act differently.
He remembered a pale little boy, sitting on his bed, trying hard not to cry, failing, because Father had said no when he had wanted to pick a few herbs from outside. Just herbs for Mother to cook with. No potions because Father disliked magic. Because Mother had explained about magic but had broken her own wand. And she couldn't even show him magic.
He had done magic – and Father had kicked him and had almost used his belt. Only Mother had interfered and he couldn't.
Though, the little pale boy did know that getting the belt was a lot simpler than having to hear Mother cry and scream and Father grunting.
Once, once, he had tried to stop it. And something really strange had happened. The door to their bedroom had burst open and Father had flown from the bed into the wall.
And Mother had told him to hide in his own room and to be quiet and not to listen. And he had listened to her and – had heard more screams and more crying. Until he had put his fingers in his ears. Because Mother had said so.
Severus Snape shook himself. No, he would not end up like his father. Not like the despicable, evil man. Not like the man that had violated his mother. Not like the man that had, indirectly, killed his mother.
His father, he was sure of it, would not even consider going to see his child in a situation like that. And he would make the opposite.
He got up and cast a Warming Charm on her plate. She would eat those sprouts, no matter if she liked them or not. They were good for her health. And – he would take her to the zoo – her very first visit, his very first visit. Not have her sitting in the apothecary every day, all day long.
And he would – and if it killed him – console her now, hug her. No matter what. She deserved that. Even if he did say no to playing with Hugo Weasley.
xx
"Hermione? Your son's upstairs crying," Judith Granger stepped into the living room – the room that her daughter mostly used to work in.
"I forbade him something," she said tiredly. "And he's probably just mad at his evil mother."
Jude knew when Hermione was in a mood like that. She had had it more often in the last few weeks. The divorce was almost final – and the children had listened but at least Hugo had not understood the concept of divorce and asked – often – for his father. And Ronald couldn't always come, couldn't always make the time and Hermione, simply, felt guilty. Understandable. Completely, utterly comprehensible.
"Oh dear," she said softly and put a hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"I went to see Snape today," she looked up and her eyes looked a little glassy.
"Snape? That dreadful man?"
"Him," she snorted.
"Because of those things in the paper?"
"Yes, of course," she sighed. "But it wasn't a big deal, really. He didn't care, he thinks he can protect his daughter from the gossip..."
"Well, his daughter does not have Molly Weasley as a grandmother," Jude replied coldly. This woman had another thing coming for talking to her grandchildren like that. For telling their grandchildren that they had another sister. And for not believing Hermione. Clearly not thinking, that woman.
"True," Hermione looked at her a little sadly and rested her head – as she had done as a girl – against her stomach and Jude ran her hand through her girl's hair and brushed her cheek.
"You have a fever," she said suddenly, feeling her burning up.
"No, I'm freezing," Hermione blinked up. Then, suddenly, coughed.
"Up to bed, child. I'll be there with the thermometer in a moment," she said, commandingly and looked sternly.
"Mum! No," her daughter argued.
"Hermione. To bed or at least the couch. We'll take your temperature and then we'll see."
Hermione – grumbled but moved to the couch and fell on it tiredly.
xx
There had been a tickling in her throat a few days ago. A bit of cough but she had a potion for that and had taken it. The nose, well, potion that had helped. Sort of. But she had not really expected a fever. And she didn't have a fever.
Definitely not.
Until her mother had put the thermometer into her mouth and the little digital one had shown her 39.3°C. And that was a fever. No doubt about that. Especially after she had not believed her mother and had taken her temperature again. Even though – it was the evening and it would probably be lower in the morning.
But still – she was sick. And that was so inconvenient. Especially at the moment.
She was supposed to sign her divorce papers at the end of the week and she had to go there.
And yet – there was something – cosy, something nice – about her mother bringing her tea to the couch, tucking her in, pressing a kiss on the hot forehead and sitting beside her for a moment, brushing her hair from her face.
"My poor girl," she said softly. "You should have said something sooner."
"I'm not feeling that bad," she argued. "It's just a bit of cough and sneezing."
"I never heard you cough."
"I took a potion," Hermione replied tiredly. "For the throat and the cough and the nose."
Jude rolled her eyes. "Without telling anyone anything?"
"I'm alone now, aren't I?" she sat up slightly.
"Right," she said gently. "You're not. Your father and I want to know and you know that. Just because you're not married any more does not mean that there's nobody left."
"But I have to be strong for my children," she croaked suddenly. Potion wearing off.
"No, you don't," her mother replied and took her in her arms. "You are still Hermione. No matter if your last name is Weasley or Granger. You don't have to be strong for them. We're still here for you and for them. Don't forget that, alright?"
She shook her head tiredly. "I won't," she replied and let herself be hugged.
xx
She sat in her bed – and again, Severus Snape had a vision of a pale little boy sitting on a bed, just like she was at that moment, in his head.
"I didn't say no because I do not want you to play with children," he explained softly and – sat down on the bed, looking at her. He owed her something. Something he had never received from his parents. Neither from his mother nor from his father. He owed her honesty. Honesty he had wanted all his life – and had only rarely received. "Hugo's parents and I, Ophelia, we are no friends."
She looked at him quizzically. "Does that mean I cannot be friends with Hugo?"
"If you want to play with other children, you should say so," he answered. "But I am not even sure whether Hugo's parents would allow you to play with him."
"Why not? I'm not a stealer or a liar," she said suddenly, viciously.
"Of course you're not," he looked at her and saw her confusion and wished he could make it simpler for her. But her life would be anything but. And that wasn't even her fault. Not her fault at all and he felt for his girl. For his little girl. His own Ophelia. "And it has nothing to do with you, my girl, it's because of me."
"Why, Daddy?" she asked and rubbed a bit left-over tear away.
"Because..."
"Is it because Hugo said that you look scary?" she interrupted and looked so innocent.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek – another generation of Weasleys thought he looked scary. Wonderful! And this was the simple answer. "Yes," he replied. "Sometimes, people believe what they see and not what is true..."
"Like people don't like Squiffy because she's sad and has to take alcohol because she is sad and wants to forget?"
"Yes," he nodded and on impulse, he pulled his daughter on his lap, kissed the top of her head and held her. "Are you still angry with me?" he asked – and, immediately, his heart seemed to stop.
This – no – he had not meant to say this out loud. He had not meant to say it at all. No, she wasn't supposed to know that he thought about it, that he cared what...
No.
This had not been the plan. She was his duty, his daughter, he had to feed her, clothe her, probably give her a few hugs because apparently children needed this but soft, tender feelings towards her had never been on the agenda.
Even though – if he wanted to do the exact same opposite of what his parents had done – he would have to love her.
And, he groaned inwardly, it was too late for that anyway. He loved that girl already. He knew. Just knew. And that was – not as bad as he had imagined.
"I'm not angry with you, Daddy," she said gently and snuggled closer and he had his arms tightly around her and held her.
"Would you like to go to the zoo tomorrow?" he asked suddenly.
She looked up. "What's zoo?"
He smirked and kissed her forehead gently – the second kiss within two minutes and he did not mind. No. He didn't. "We will go to the zoo tomorrow and see some real animals," he replied – not answering her question. He would make it a surprise. A, he hoped, nice surprise.