He actually had to transfigure clothes. While he had ventured into the Muggle World on a more or less regular basis before (every other month, probably) Ophelia had come to live with him (he did not now), he had never seen the need to wear any special clothes. There really was no need – since he had always gone at night. And people roaming those streets he had during those nights when he had been there as well, did not pay attention to what was on his back. And those people who should have paid more attention to it – well, they probably thought him eccentric. And that he could jolly well live with. And them too. Since he had money.
But going to the zoo with his daughter – no, he would have to at least look normal. The trousers and shirt were alright – but not the robes and not the frock coat. As well as Ophelia's. Her skirts and jumpers were alright but the robes had already been transfigured into a neat, little black coat.
That left his clothes. He shortened the frock coat, turned it almost into a jacket and turned his robes into a coat, double-breasted, with silver buttons and deep pockets and long sleeves that reached over his knuckles. He stored his wand into the sleeve and risked a last glimpse into the mirror. It almost looked – military with the long, heavy, woollen double-breasted coat that hung to his knees. And not that different from his frock coat – just a little less dramatic.
It would have to do, he thought to himself and made his way to her room.
"Are you ready?" he looked inside where she sat on her bed, dangling her legs.
"Can't close buttons," she said softly and stared at her shoes. The silver-buckled snake-shoes again. She loved those but it was raining, it was cold. And those were probably not the right ones. He himself wore heavy dragonhide-boots, charmed to look like normal leather.
"Please change your shoes, it's cold outside," he said and moved to her wardrobe.
"You use wand and keep shoes dry," she replied with a sort of disarming logic. Only, he wasn't sure how well he could use charms in a zoo. Even if it was drizzly and probably a lot of people just stayed indoors. He had even even found an old umbrella, had fixed it and had transfigured another, smaller one for her.
"We can't Ophelia," he explained slowly after he had found her boots in her cupboard. "We're going to Muggle London to the zoo. There are no Wizarding zoos."
"And they can't do magic and we have to hide that we can," she repeated what he had told her.
"Exactly," he looked at her and felt – pride. She was truly bright and listened to him when he spoke. How many people had done that in the past?
She nodded and with a sigh, slipped out of her favourite shoes and, when he put the boots in front of her bed, into them.
"Can you tie your shoes?" he asked, towering over her and when she shook her head, with a pitiful expression, he knelt down on the carpet that he had put in that room when she had moved into it, a warm, thick, beige carpet, and looked up at her for a moment. "Watch," he said and when she focused on him with the laces in his hand, he began to tie them, explaining with few words what he was doing. There would be another time to teach her but he would – definitely – enjoy this day with her. The whole day. He had given Squiffy Mary Kelly her dose, then had closed up the shop and had breakfast with Ophelia – and now, he was ready to go. Almost.
"Stand up," he said softly and when she stood straight in front of him, he straightened on his knees and helped her into the coat, incidentally, almost a mini-copy of what he was wearing, double-breasted with silver buttons. She looked, he had to admit quite sweet. Not a word he would have ever used. Before he had his daughter with him. But she did. Sweet. Nice. Freshly bathed from the night before, her hair, even a little wavy, falling over her shoulders and her eyes – he was always amazed by those eyes. As dark as his, shaped like his, but so trusting and full of love for him. He could see that.
Plain as day.
"How do I look?" she asked with a little grin playing on her lips and he arched his eyebrows.
"Adequate," he said – his tone gentle and she understood, and while he was still kneeling, pressed a kiss on his cheek.
"What is zoo?"
"Patience, Ophelia," he admonished and, picking her up, apparated both of them away.
xx
If there was one thing she utterly disliked about living with her Daddy, it was the way how he brought her somewhere. They never used the bus or the Tube but instead, they apparated (she had practised until she could say it) and that always made her tummy ache and feel weird. And she always had to breath in the lovely scent of his neck for a while before she could stand on her own. And now, that she didn't know where she was, she certainly did not want to walk on her own.
No, she wanted to feel his arms around her and hold him tight and wanted to wrap herself around him. At least until she knew where they were and what exactly a zoo was.
She did not for the life of her remember if anyone had ever talked about it before. Until Daddy had mentioned it. And yes, she was curious but also, a tiny bit afraid.
She felt him walking and slowly, looked up. And stared straight into a strange face of someone sitting in a little booth.
"Hiya," the strange man said. "A child and an adult?"
"Yes," her daddy said in his mean voice and gave the strange man some notes.
"Here's your plan. Enjoy!"
Daddy only nodded and – walked off.
"This the zoo?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," he replied and sounded gentler. "And look, over there, there are some gorillas."
"Gorillas?" she asked.
"Apes, Ophelia," he explained gently and set her on her feet and she took his hand immediately. She still did not quite understand what a zoo was but if there were apes – that was wonderful. She liked apes. She liked snakes more, and she liked giraffes and kangaroos and turtles and she loved her three-headed dog but apes were quite interesting, too.
"Are there more animals here?" she asked, tugging on his hand, looking up at him.
"Yes. A zoo is full of animals. That's the purpose of a zoo," he explained.
"Really?" she asked and because she wanted to, and because she knew that it would magic that fourth face on his face, she bounced and skipped and jumped. And she was happy. Full of animals? Wow. Some, most, she had only ever seen in books. Apes! Maybe even snakes. Maybe even kangaroos. Maybe even giraffes!
"Are there snakes?" she asked innocently and suddenly, his face was quite dark.
"Yes," he grumbled.
"Daddy, you don't like snakes?" she asked and did not notice that he kept on walking, with her glued to his hand.
xx
She sneezed. And she disliked sneezing. She disliked her clogged up nose, she disliked the raspy feeling in her throat, she disliked the fact that she wheezed when she breathed and she disliked most that her mother had threatened with the doctor. She did like the fact that her mother mothered her.
She had not had that since – since she had left for Hogwarts. No, really. During Hogwarts, Poppy Pomfrey had taken care of all her sicknesses and for the breaks, she had taken the right potions with her, if she had spent them with her parents. If she didn't – well, her two best friends back then had been boys. One of them ignored all his sicknesses and was mothered by Hermione because she couldn't stand the sight of Harry sniffing and the other was a true man when it came to profane sicknesses like colds. He whined, he complained, he almost lay dying, every time a cough hit him. And if he had a fever – he requested parchment to write his last will.
No, true, Ron had since she had known him, been a baby when it came to sickness. And it had been worse when they had been married. He was used to his mother. And Molly Weasley was someone who mothered even worse than Judith Granger. Everything was done for a sick child of hers. No matter how old it was. And it had been even more so after Fred had died. Even though – she wasn't so sure about that.
Molly Weasley did everything for her young.
And Hermione? She had taken to being pregnant badly. Morning sickness had been All-Day-Sickness. She had discovered that being green in the face could really mean being green in the face. Not only a figure of speech. And what had Ron done?
Nothing.
No, that wasn't true.
He had told her that it would be over after nine months.
Fat load of good that was.
Once, once, she had been even sicker than she was now. She had not been able to talk at all.
Hugo had been two and Rosie three and a half. Both not in nusery school yet. And she had not been able to do anything. Except lie on her couch. Ronald Weasley had gone to work and Molly, oddly enough, had told her that if she could not manage her household, she should get an house elf. She had chucked potion after potion until she had been at least able to cook meals for her children.
She did not want to remember. Did not want to remember the pain that Ron had brought her then. Did not want to remember Molly's mean-spirited rebuff. Did not want to remember how rotten she had felt.
Now – that was completely different.
Maybe, maybe her mother felt the same way she did at the moment. That she missed the mothering, that she missed the loving embrace and the tender kissed on the feverish foreheads. She had, painfully, listened to Ron when it had come to their respective parents and, despite the fights, going back to her parents had been the best, the sanest decision of her life. The one that made her feel loved again.
What had that been? You're important, you're strong, Hermione. No matter what your last name might be. You're our daughter. You will always remain my little girl.
And her father – I love you, my girl. You can stay here as long as you like and your mother will cancel some appointments. You concentrate on getting better.
And – she knew – this was not only about her flu. It was about her. About her working too much because she could not forget about Ron, about working too much because Hugo had let it slip that Ron said that he missed her a lot. Because she worked too much because Rosie had cried the other night because she missed her father.
"You think too much," a gentle, so familiar voice came from the door. She had put up camp on the large, comfy couch in the living room. She had always, even as a child, disliked being cooped up in her room when she was sick. She still did, she found. Looking up, she looked into the smiling face of her father. It was Daddy. No matter how old she was, or he was, it would always be Daddy. The one who always listened. The one who was always there. The one who was so patient.
"I know," she rasped and coughed and he moved quickly to her side.
"We didn't have the time and the opportunity to care for you for a long time," he said gently, sitting on the edge of the couch and pulled the blanket that covered her up to her chin. The way he had done it when she had been little.
"I know," she replied back.
"You have to allow your mother to fuss over you."
"I will," she smiled and lifted her arms, stretched them out, towards her father. Wanted to be hugged. Wanted to be taken into his arms. He bent down with a smirk and wrapped her into his arms.
"You'll always be my little Hermione," he whispered into her ear. "You'll always be my girl, and I'll always love you."
She sighed and had to blink to keep the tears at bay. This was her family. The family that would never let her down.
xx
He watched her in, more or less, astonishment. She tugged on his hand constantly, never letting go, stared in wonder at the animals and he had to admit to himself that he did the same.
Her question whether he liked snakes – she had understood his answer.
"Not any more," he had said, without any further explanation. And she had nodded and didn't ask any more. This was his little girl. She was happy with that answer.
Actually, she usually was satisfied – as long as she did get an answer. But probably, she already knew him. She already understood, and saw, that he did not want to answer more precisely. Maybe she had learned to read his face – something that everyone else failed at.
She tugged on his hand again, staring at a herd of meerkats. "Look, there's the daddy," she said pointing at a special one, standing close to a baby-meerkat. "And that's the daughter-meerkat. He takes care of his girl like you are."
He bit his lip. Yes. Oh, yes, he loved that girl.
This day had shown it. Her inquisitiveness, the quiet curiosity, the quiet asking, the soft noises she made when she saw an animal she liked (and he had noted them all), the huge eyes she had, the wonder, the surprise, the happiness. The wonderful happiness.
He knew he was responsible. And he was only responsible because he loved that girl. Because he loved his daughter above anything.
He loved her more than brewing potions, more than his apothecary, more than his flat, more than any book in the world.
She had shown him.
That day at the zoo – it had opened something inside of him. Something he did not understand but something that he knew would make a difference in their lives.
She had stared so curiously and had asked questions and had trusted him and hadn't once let go of his hand. She believed what he was saying. Without a doubt.
And Ophelia Snape did manage to make him go into the Reptile House of London Zoo – and, with her hand firmly in his, she had said, "You don't have to be afraid, Daddy, they're behind glass," and he had seen snakes. For the first time, since Nagini, he had seen a live snake.
And those were beautiful creatures.
He would tell her – eventually – that he had almost lost his life because of one of those animals. He would tell her all about his life. Well – most of it anyway. But in that moment, he had not been afraid, not stiff, nor had felt anything else but wonder at the sight of a Burmese Python. It was indeed a beautiful creature. And he wondered, briefly, whether a pet snake wouldn't be the right gift for Ophelia. For her fifth birthday.
It would help him. And she would be over the moon.
And making her feel over the moon – apart from clothing her, feeding her, and caring for her, was his job now.
The realization hit him hard.
She loved him.
And if he wasn't as stupid as his own parents, she would love him until the day he died.
Love.
Love him.
Love him, Severus Snape.
And he loved her. Above anything else. More than anything else.
No, he acted on impulse and he knew that nobody knew him. Nobody would ever know.
He picked his Ophelia up, just picked her up and held her close and kissed her forehead, then her hair.
"Thank you for bringing me," she said softly. "It's wonderful."
"Thank you, Ophelia," he whispered. "I love you."
She grinned broadly at him, kissed his cheek wetly and spoke, then, into his ear. "I love you, too, Daddy."