Severus Snape was a man who believed that knowledge was power. Years and years of spying had taught him the fact that really, those who knew – were powerful – and that this often used, quite worn-out adage was completely true.
Power not in the sense of, of course, ruling over people (since he did not know how much knowledge a Muggle dictator had – or how much knowledge either Grindelwald, the evil one beginning with V, or any other Dark Wizard who had, for a while, thought to rule over the Wizarding World had), but certainly in the sense of being always a step in front of others, knowing more, and, most importantly, knowledge brought one power over oneself.
Knowledge, in his books, was the only thing worth acquiring. With knowledge, all kinds of knowledge, one could achieve a great many things. And knowledge was the one thing he was adamant on giving his daughter.
During the time she had come to live with him, she had learned to read a little, had learned a little maths (though it was mostly still counting with her fingers), she had learned to brew a little, understood the bare basics of interaction between herbs and had learned to count money. Had learned how to eat properly, and had learned how to tie her shoelaces.
And yet, he knew that this was not enough. And so, after their visit to the zoo, he had made a decision. She would learn about Muggle culture. Her, the daughter of a halfblood, a halfblood herself had every right to know which customs, which traditions, her ancestors had celebrated. At least part of them – but since they were living in the Wizarding World (and Squffy Mary Kelly was teaching her how to whistle), she was slowly getting used to them anyhow.
No, it was museums, galleries, even, later, when she was a little older, maybe, the theatre, that he knew she should learn about. Just to know more than either the purebloods, or the muggleborns who were the same age. She needed to know about both worlds.
So – he had made it a point of closing his apothecary one day a week, usually Tuesday or Wednesday and took her too Muggle London. Once a week, they made a day of it (and if he was being honest, he enjoyed those days just as much as she was – probably even more) and so far, four weeks, they had been to the National Gallery, the National Portrait Gallery, the Tower, Tate Britain, and St Paul's Cathedral. He had explained all he knew, had even read up on most things, and she had listened the way she usually did – quietly, asking when necessary, inquisitive, curious, calm.
His daughter. She learned – and he enjoyed seeing her learning.
xx
It was final. It was over. It was – just the way it was. She was no longer married – now, she was single mother. 32, living with her parents. Miss Granger again.
She had made herself sick, her cold had lasted two weeks, the underlying cough was only now ebbing away and she was more than grateful that she had her two little ones. They helped. Even if they did not know they did. Those two – cuddling with her more than ever – they that their Mummy wasn't as well as she usually was and they did their best to cheer her up (though she wasn't sure how she felt about this picture, or rather the collage, they had made – it wasn't only the pasta painted with gold-colour but also the banana-peel and bits of apple that were on it).
But – it was enough. Enough wallowing, enough pitying, enough of being mollycoddled by her parents. She needed a flat for her and Rose and Hugo and she needed it soon.
And – she needed it in London. The Muggle part. She did want to choose – and her children, well, they should learn about both worlds. Understanding that their heritages were quite different, understanding that they were basically, halfbloods.
Hence – Muggle London it was. And she had pre-picked a few flats. And was quite certain she would make her move, find the right place, that day.
She had said good bye to her children, and to her parents, and had apparated away. Straight into the heart of London. Well, not quite the heart – she could not afford the heart at all.
Not that she didn't earn enough – but London was expensive. Very much so and she needed at least two bedrooms – one for each child – even if she could sleep in the living room.
Oh well, she would see. And in the meantime, she was intent on enjoying the city, the people in it, and the way to her first appointment at the first flat. Even if it was in Putney.
She strolled almost leisurely down the street, staring up the houses, into the shop windows and knew that she was nowhere near where she should be. But she had time. She would take the Tube. Or a bus. No, rather the Tube – if it was working.
And – she had her mother's mobile with her and the number of the landlord in her handbag. She would phone if she was late.
But to be truthfully, completely honest, this was the first day in months that she was completely on her own – and not thinking about Ronald and her failed marriage. No. She enjoyed the streets, enjoyed seeing the poor sods in their suits rushing past her to get to work on time, paper coffee cups in one hand, laptop bags slung over a shoulder, a tiny earpiece – from the mobiles – lodged firmly into place. And while she knew the Muggle world well (and really should be getting her own laptop and mobile), she still found it funny that people were seemingly talking to themselves, arguing with themselves.
A young man, ten years younger than herself, begging someone not to go somewhere. And then walking past quickly.
A woman quite a lot older than herself telling someone (or herself – one never knew these days) that Peaches (the names some people had...) was back in rehab.
A woman her age, explaining where the cold remedy was and that Heidi hated tea with honey.
It was – quite, quite funny.
An old man, gesturing so wildly that a bit of coffee spilt over, telling himself (or someone) that she (whoever that was) was most certainly anorexic and should be put into an institution.
No, Hermione Granger had all the time in the world and she intended to make the most of it. She spotted one of those coffee-shop-chains and, having learned from her mother how to order, walked out with a simple, black coffee only about five minutes later (and what in the name of all that's holy was a grande skinny coffee mocha two extra shots? - she had definitely spent too much time in the Wizarding World only) and sat down on one of the small tables outside.
She had not watched normal people for a long time. Had always something else to do. Had always her children to think of.
Rosie, who was getting quieter and quieter and read too much and spent time playing scrabble with her grandfather. That girl was too much like her and yet, sometimes, at night, she padded into her own bed and snuggled up to her and sometimes, Hermione caught her trying to hide her tears.
Or Hugo – who was still sometimes asking after playing with Ophelia, and more often asked to see his Daddy and...
No. Stop. This was her day. For once trying at least not to worry about them too much. They would be fine. They would see their father as often as his time and hers allowed it and oh well. No, it was just not the time to think about that.
She wanted to make fun, secretly, in her head, about those people there. Just because she could.
xx
"Daddy, may I have a hot chocolate?" she asked innocently. Well, sort of innocently anyway. He always, when they were on their days off as he called them, bought himself a cup of coffee in the mornings and her a cup of hot chocolate and they would sit for a moment and Ophelia was allowed to watch all those funny people talking to themselves and carrying their funny bags and wearing those clothes. The women, sometimes, even had nice shoes and Ophelia loved watching them as well.
He growled in response and, as she was clinging to his hand anyway, she tugged on it and pointed at one of those places, the one with the red sign, actually, not the green sign, that she knew had the kind of coffee Daddy liked. And the kind of hot chocolate she liked.
Once more, he growled but she knew how to lead him there. Daddy had gotten easier and easier to read. And once, he had even smiled at her. But that had been in his sleep, really and she had been awake and had watched him. Daddy looked quite pretty when he slept. Especially if that hair of his wasn't falling all over his face and there, only a couple of weeks ago when she had dreamt about Mummy coming back and taking her away from him, she had slipped in and in the morning, when she had been up and he was still asleep, he had smiled.
So he could do it.
And she had made it her mission to see that smile while he was awake too. To make him smile. Sooner or later, she knew, she would wear him down. She had always done it – up until now. And it had almost always worked. Almost.
But suddenly, quite suddenly, when her eyes began to focus on the place where they could get their hot drinks (it was very cold outside still), she saw someone. Someone she remembered.
Hugo's mother.
No, she had not forgotten about that. She still wanted to play with Hugo. And Daddy – oh...A smirk was playing on her lips. She knew it was like Daddy's but in that moment, she knew she also thought like Daddy – from all the things he had told her, how to behave, what to do. How to be, he had phrased it, a good Slytherin.
And she was intent on being a good girl. And if that entailed being a good Slytherin for her Daddy, then so be it.
The plan was simple. He would have to talk to Hugo's Mummy. Would have to see that she was a good person and that the two of them could be friends. And if those two were friends again (because Daddy had said they weren't), there would be no more forbidding of her playing with Hugo.
Now, she only had to distract him so he didn't notice her sitting there and drinking her coffee, smiling a little.
And that, that was very simple. "Daddy, where are we going today?"
"The Globe Theatre, Ophelia, I told you already," he grumbled. He was really no fun until he had more coffee in himself. "And the Millennium Bridge and maybe, if we have enough time, Tate Modern."
"What is The Globe Theatre? What is Tate Modern? And the Minellium Bridge?" she asked as they carefully crossed the road. He had not seen her yet. True, he would think she was dumb, since he had already explained what all those places were but, just but, he wouldn't think she was dumb when he realised that she was a good little Slytherin, distracting him and having a plan to get to her goal. And her goal was clear.
Playing with Hugo.
"Ophelia, are you pretending to be stupid on purpose," he drawled as he bent down a little. Just a few metres more. Attention on her. Not on Hugo's mother. He would turn around right away if he saw her. And she could always say hello to Hugo's mother. She was no stranger. Even if she was no friend's of Daddy's.
She shook her head slowly. "Globe Theatre is old. But Tate Modern is modern," she smiled but at him and, squeezed his hand.
Two more steps and she could look up and say hello to her.
"Yes. And they play..."
"Shipsbeer in one of them and have pictures in the other," she said happily and – looked up. "Hello," her tone was suddenly very shy.
"Oh. Hello. Ophelia. Mister Snape," Hugo's mother said. Friendly.
That was the first step done, Ophelia thought to herself – feeling very proud and very Slytherinish.