"I'm rather fond of those cups and saucers," granny said whisperingly to grandad as they both stood in front of their kitchen – the door ajar and granny was looking over her shoulder to grandad and frowned. "And how can you say that you wouldn't mind him as a son-in-law?"
"Because he's nice. He doesn't speak much and he pretends to be awful but he loves his daughter and he stared at Hermione," grandad hissed back.
"Stared at Her...when?"
"When I was talking about those silly roses from silly Missus Walter. He kept looking at her, as if he was trying to figure her out."
"That's not staring," granny argued.
"It was staring. Not lovey-dovey staring. It was wanting-to-get-to-know-you-staring."
"How do you know?"
"Because I have eyes and ears and have lived together long enough with you," he said – and suddenly kissed granny's nose. "And because he has manners. He was actually rather dumbstruck, I thought, when I thanked him"
"Thanked him?" granny whispered viciously. "Thanked him? Whatever for?"
"For saving her life. And ours. And for teaching her," he replied coldly. "The same thing you wanted to thank him for and she wanted to thank him for. Both of you forgot since it's so long ago and different things were happening, but there, I remembered. And I thanked him," he looked at her strangely. "And this kept him in the house."
"Sometimes, I don't understand you, John," granny huffed. "Why did you want him to stay here?"
"You women see and talk and don't even realise that you give away valuable information when you do. Now, seriously, you and Hermione – two of the brightest, smartest, wittiest girls I know. Granted, Hermione's a bit low at the moment, but usually, she's like that and both of you failed to see that he lives above an apothecary, alone, with only his daughter, and has no other social interaction other than to his customers."
"He told you that?"
"No, of course he did not tell me that," grandad groaned. "You did. And Hermione."
Granny frowned. "When? How?"
Grandad rolled his eyes. "All the time. Didn't you notice that Hermione talked about him all the time since yesterday?"
"You are matchmaking, not me."
"I'm keeping out of it."
"And it was Hugo who talked about his daughter."
"Ophelia," grandad corrected. "And he started it and she kept on going. During dinner, after dinner when she sat with us and her tea and her books, after she brought the kids to bed, this morning at breakfast."
"Hugo wondered if he would come with Ophelia," granny countered.
"And did you listen to her? Hermione's fascinated. Only she doesn't know it yet," grandad smirked. "And she's right. He's fascinating. Not talkative. But there's depth in his eyes. His eyes looked like David's."
"David? Why David?"
"When David came back from Korea, there was always that look in his eyes. I was a child, yes, but there was this look in his eyes. Knowing. And you know how he is."
"Balmy. Crackers," she replied immediately.
"Utterly unable to hurt someone. He put me in a corner for half a day when he found me keeping a billy witch in a jar and wanted to see how long it lasted without air."
"That's just cruel," granny said, disgusted.
"Yes. And David could not see it. He would not. He set it free and put me in the corner. With the same look. Just as David was, he's probably sick of what he's seen. It will never go away."
Granny shook her head. "I've never seen that in David."
"It's there," grandad replied wistfully. "Look at him next time you talk to him. Or better, talk about any of the wars now going on in the world. He will not even reply. He will just leave the room," he added. "That's David and so is he."
"I...," granny hesitated, "I don't know. I don't think I've seen it this way. Do you think he's shell shocked?"
"No, of course not," grandad groaned again. "It's about the violence. He will hate violence in any way, shape or form. Invite him for dinner tonight, tell him to stay, and when Rosie tries to read under the table, give her a slap on the fingers and watch what he does."
"Excuse me? I never slap her on the fingers," granny replied indignantly.
"Only when you see the book she's hiding," grandad smirked and fell silent.
"John but..."
"No, dear. Audience," he muttered but enough for her to hear.
"Oh, Rosie," granny said suddenly and beamed. "We thought you were reading up there."
She could only nod and try to understand what those two had been talking about. She had heard from Hugo and Mummy that they had gone to someone for Hugo to play with someone. Probably that Ophelia that now sat in the living room, cosily with Hugo and rearranged the train set. And the other person, the one they were talking about was her father then. Ophelia's father. Who had a special look in his eyes because he could not stand violence. Whatever that was.
"I was," she said quietly. "But I'm thirsty."
"Well, go in, sweetheart," granny said, stilling smiling and pointed at the door. "Your grandfather and I were just going to see if Hugo and Ophelia are alright."
"Or if the gas cylinder still does not exist in the car," grandad mumbled.
She smiled back – not letting them know that she had heard their conversation and trudged through to the kitchen – pushed the door open – and was surprised what she saw.
There was the man from the apothecary (why had nobody told her that they would be going there to play? She would have gone immediately!), bouncing tea cups on the floor and Mummy was watching him, fascinated, and he had this strange look on his face. But Rose could not possibly say if he didn't like violence (she disliked broccoli and fish fingers. Was violence something like that anyhow?). He seemed to enjoy bouncing tea cups on the floor. And even saucers.
"Rosie," Mummy said and smiled. "Finished the book?"
She nodded. "I started on the next one already," she replied solemnly and traipsed to the fridge. There was always something to drink there that she liked. Though, with Mummy around – she wouldn't be allowed Coke. Or anything (and she liked it – even though she did have to clean her teeth afterwards). It would be water. Or something equally boring.
"Can I have some Fanra, Mummy?" she asked hopefully.
Mummy smiled at the floor and then looked at her. "Only a little glass, okay? And it's 'may I', not 'can I?'," she added, shifting her eyes so she could look at this strange man. "Mister Snape, would you like something to drink apart from tea?" she asked the man.
He shook his head instantly and placed the cup on the table. Carefully. Very, very carefully. "No, thank you. Ophelia and I will be going home," he said in a voice that poured into Rose's ear. She had not paid attention to his voice when she had been to the apothecary with Mummy and pesky Hugo but now, she was. And the voice, somehow, compelled her. She stopped in her tracks and looked at him more closely. He wore black – from head to toe. And he wore robes, but of course he would be a wizard if he worked in an apothecary. And his face was far from friendly. On the contrary. He looked – almost annoyed. And the voice was very nice. Silky soft. Deeper than Daddy's, deeper than grandad's and he had a nice voice – but, she wondered, how would it be, to have someone like him tell her about...oh, of course. He could help her. He was making potions. He was selling them.
Suddenly, Rose was just trying to get to him, because, well, she had to ask, the door flung open and granny and grandad walked in. "Mister Snape, please stay for dinner," granny said sweetly. "We have enough and Hermione promised to make cottage pie. It's not much but hers is superb."
He shook his head again and Rosie knew that this was her chance since none of the grown ups spoke. She finished the rest of the way and stood just before him. Unfortunately, he did not look down and she had to cough before he noticed her and looked at her with those eyes that grandad had said had a – look. And no, she didn't see it, but she knew there was knowledge. And maybe the way to make Mummy understand. She clearly talked to him. And since he was a grown up. Oh well – she had to try.
"Erm," she began, not sure about his name. Snape? Sounded odd. She would go for the direct approach. The easy one. The one granny had explained. "Sir?"
He looked down and in this deep, lovely, voice, he said slowly, "Yes?"
"My mummy doesn't allow me to brew potions and you work in an apothecary, right?"
"I own an apothecary," he replied and she liked those eyes now they were fixed on her. He talked to her. He looked at her and not down on her. Even though, technically, he was very tall and had to look down. But he wasn't like Daddy who always pretended to listen and never did.
"Can, no, could you tell Mummy that it's not dangerous to brew potions, please? So she will buy me a set?"
He looked briefly at Mummy and raised an eyebrow. One! She had tried that – but it was difficult and somehow, she always looked like great-grandma Maude when she did it. Weirdly. "How old are you?" he asked.
"Six and a half," she explained eagerly. "I know how to write and I can do maths up until 20."
"Really?" he said slowly.
"Rose?" Mummy said and used her dangerous voice. "You know why you can't brew, or try to brew here."
She shook her head. "It's only because you don't like brewing," she said petulantly. Even though, well, she knew it wasn't true. Mummy loved brewing. But only ever alone. And that was boring. For Rose. Not for Mummy.
"Now now, Rose," grandpa said and she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe Mister Snape can answer some of your questions," the nice man was looking at grandpa and his eyes were still dark and boring. She simply did not see the look there, "And I know you have enough from all those books you snuck away from your mother."
She bit her lip. She had technically not stolen the books. They were there, in Mummy's bookbox again. Well, now. She had just taken some out and had read them. Only a few. Most of which, well, she hated to admit it, but most of the things she hadn't understood anyway.
"Do you," he said in a sort of mocking tone, "have questions?" He looked at Mummy with an odd expression. As if he had won something. A nice cup or a game of something.
But she nodded eagerly. "Yes."
"Well?" he asked.
"Why do certain herbs have to be plucked during a certain time?" she asked quietly and hoped that nobody minded that she knew so much already. Since the books were, well, not allowed.
"Rose!" Mummy exclaimed. "What have you read?"
"I believe," the man said in his nice, kind voice, deep and reassuring, "your daughter had asked a very intelligent question."
And then he smirked at Mummy before he focused on her again.
xx
"I think the train's dead now," Hugo said in a sad voice, looking at the damaged front of one of the trains. "But the people are all healthy, right?"
Ophelia nodded. She liked playing with Hugo. He understood what she wanted to play. But, for the past few minutes, or maybe a little longer, she was incredibly thirsty and didn't think she could talk. Her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth.
But it was rude to ask. At least Mummy had said that (or 'your mother' as Daddy used to say). Daddy had never explained. They had never been to anyone's house before. With Mummy, yes. Plenty of people. But never such nice people and there were never children to play with before. Oh, but she loved Hugo already.
But to ask him? She couldn't do that.
She frowned. Besides, Daddy had said that the second most important rule was (the first one was never to talk to a stranger and to listen to what Daddy said), never to take anything from strangers.
Now, Hugo wasn't a stranger, really, but she couldn't just ask him for something to drink, could she? Just a little water would be enough. Or maybe pumpkin juice. Ophelia loved pumpkin juice.
When Hugo had come to play, Daddy had just let two glasses of pumpkin juice appear and she and Hugo had been able to drink whenever.
She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated hard on seeing a glass of cold, lovely orange-coloured pumpkin juice. Daddy had explained that if she really concentrated on something, maybe she could do magic as well.
But nothing happened and she felt tears stinging in her eyes. She didn't want to cry. Not in front of Hugo. Not in the house of strangers. Mummy had said that. 'Just sit quietly,' she had said and sometimes, had given her one of those earpieces and when you put them on, music or a story came out of it. But not always. And then there were strange noises.
"I'm thirsty," Hugo said suddenly and stood in front of her. "Let's go."
She could not believe her luck! He was thirsty? Maybe she would be getting something as well. Especially when Daddy – oh...
He had not left, had he? She had been so focused on Hugo and the trains that he could just have left. Leaving her alone.
No, Daddy wouldn't do that. He would say good bye. Or would have sent his horse as he always did when she was still sleeping and she was in the apothecary.
She nodded dumbly and followed Hugo, muttering in her head, 'please let Daddy be there, please let Daddy be there,' over and over again. If he wasn't there, she probably could not stop the tears and that would be – horrible.
Hugo, instead, strode leisurely into another room. It looked like a kitchen.
And Daddy was there – but...
He sat on a chair and was talking to Hugo's sister. And he used the Sirfather-voice. He had never used it with somebody else but her. Not even with Hugo. And she listened to him so nicely and smiled and looked cute and he talked and she listened and he only paid attention to that girl and had not even seen her come in.
Oh no. He would change her. Would take this girl home and would leave her here. And as much as she liked Hugo, she didn't want to be without her daddy any more. She couldn't. No.
Panic was rising in her chest. Cold, sweaty panic that showed on her forehead and in her palms and she did not remember that she was thirsty. Daddy was leaving her behind. That was why he had taken her. That was why she had been allowed to play with Hugo. To see if there was this better girl and leave her here. With strangers.
She knew there was a sound coming from her mouth but she did not know how it sounded and she tried very hard to keep the tears from rolling into her eyes and from there down her cheeks but there was nothing she could do.
Daddy didn't want her any more. He wanted this girl because she was so nice and sat there on another floor, listening and Ophelia always dangled her legs and this girl didn't and Daddy didn't even see her standing there and she made another sound and because she could not cry in the house of strangers, she made a dash for the door and out of the kitchen.
She did not want to stay there without Daddy.
xx
"Excuse me," he said immediately after he had explained, in all detail, how various plants had various characteristics during their growth and his Ophelia had come into the kitchen and had darted out, almost immediately. Without saying a word. She was usually not that way.
"Oh dear," he heard Jonathan Granger say when he rushed into the corridor and saw his Ophelia – his girl, fighting with the front door, trying to get it open.
"Where are you going?" he asked coldly and she turned around and looked very scared and tears were running down her cheeks and she trembled and pressed herself against the door. "Ophelia," he said gentler and moved to her.
"No," she cried. "You leave me."
He shook his head. "I'm right here, Ophelia," he said and he tried to sound calming.
"No, you like this girl and I'm not even chewing liver and beans and always talk to Squiffy and you say not to and you explain to her and will leave me here with them and..."
She did not make sense. Not in the slightest but his girl was distressed – and there was only one thing to do, he had experienced, in moments like this.
In moments like this, it was best to pick her up – and to hold her. And he did. Even though she used her little hands to try and push him away and kicked him a little in the upper thigh (a close miss – that one was for sure) and he managed to get a hold of her and lifted her into his arms and looked at her closely. "What's this nonsense?" he asked gently and held her sobbing, trembling body close.