His steps quickened. The way Squiffy Mary Kelly lay on his doorstep did not seem natural. She had never passed out before his apothecary before. Close – yes, but had always managed long enough to get the Sober Up potion, had always managed long enough, swaying, and her eyes rolling and unfocused, for him to tip it into her mouth.

And maybe she would have – if he hadn't been away. He cursed the Grangers inside his head once more. They had kept him there and Mary Kelly was suffering because of it. Or maybe...he needed to finish developing this potion.

Ophelia wriggled out of his arms and as soon as her little feet touched the ground, she ran towards Mary Kelly and knelt down. "Daddy, she's cold," she said alarmingly, fear in her eyes. "She needs to be warmed."

Severus was by her side and pressed his finger against her neck – there was a pulse but the smell coming from her was enough to make anyone drunk. He pulled Ophelia to her feet and when she looked at him angrily, and told him that "We have to help her," he raised his wand and pointed it at her.

"What are you doing?" Ophelia poked his side angrily. "Don't hex her."

He grimaced. "I will not hex her."

"Do you bring her inside? She's cold."

He nodded. "Yes," he replied and opened the door first, before he levitated her inside.

"What does she have?" Ophelia asked as she followed him and Mary Kelly's floating form. He locked and warded his door and put the drunk, passed out woman with the dirty face, fingers, nails, long matted hair, scruffy clothes on the counter. He couldn't put her on the floor – Ophelia would be too close and would probably really get drunk from the stench. Or sick.

"That, Ophelia," he said slowly, "is what happens when you drink too much alcohol."

"She dead, Daddy?" she asked – afraid, evidently, and ran around the counter, pulling her stool out and standing on it immediately.

"No, she's not dead," he replied darkly.

"Does she need a potion?" Ophelia asked curiously.

"Yes," he pushed Mary Kelly's eyelids apart and looked at her eyes for a moment. "Sober Up and Strengthening Solution and a Fever-Reducer."

"Is she sick, Daddy?"

"She has a fever, Ophelia," he replied, conjuring a thermometer and with a little force, put it into the unconscious woman's mouth and when he looked up again, his daughter had a vial of Sober Up Potion in her hand. It was on the top shelf and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. "How did you get that?"

She shrugged. "I wanted it and it fell into my hand," she explained, pointing at the place where he stored the vials for Mary Kelly.

'My little witch,' he thought with a smirk. She was quite talented, had, without being very afraid, only to help someone else, used accidental magic – only it wasn't that accidental. She had wanted the vial – and had probably concentrated on it, the way he had taught her to do, and she had it now. Rushing towards him – handing it to him.

"Here," she said and smiled before she stepped onto her stool again. "Don't know the other two what they look like."

He nodded quickly and summoned the other two vials, almost missing that Ophelia had taken Mary Kelly's hand and was stroking it quickly. He would not be able to put that woman back onto the street if Ophelia, traumatised by this day as she was, bonded even more with her. No, now, she kept the hand in one of her hands and stroked with the other, as he tipped one potion after the next into her mouth and made sure she swallowed.

"Will she be alright?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes," he growled and put a smile on her face again. If it was simply a case of drunken stupor and fever from hypothermia and being outside too long, he could sober her up, keep her warm, give her the right potions and she would be right as rain again.

If she still had a place to live. If not, and his daughter found that out – he didn't even want to finish that thought. She would probably insist on...

A coughing, sounding not quite healthy, pulled him out of his thoughts and made him look at the woman lying on his counter. He would have to disinfect that – as well as disinfect his little witch. His compassionate little witch.

"M-m-master Snape," she stuttered and tried to sit up.

"No," he said and Ophelia was still clinging to her hand.

"Wh-what happened?" she asked.

"That's what I'd like to know."

"Are you cold, Squiffy?" Ophelia asked and continued her stroking.

"No, sweetheart. Warm and cold at the same time," Mary replied, lying back down heavily. "Master Snape, how did I come here?"

"You were passed out in front of my apothecary," he replied icily. "I had hoped you could fill in the gaps."

She shook her head. "What time is it?"

"Around 5," he answered quickly. "And I suggest as soon as the dizziness stops, you go home."

She chuckled suddenly. Wildly, her eyes turned upwards and he could almost only see the white. "Home is outside," she laughed.

"You had a place, did you not?" he asked, carefully eyeing his daughter but Ophelia was still stroking the hand and looking at her – as if she knew that she was close to being insane. Or just desperate. He wasn't sure which.

"Had being the operative word, Master Snape. Now, I only have, well, this," she pointed at herself and sat up slower now and managed upright even. Slowly, she smiled at Ophelia, and disentangled the little hands from her own. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Ophelia smiled but said nothing and he looked at her, standing next to his child.

"How much do I owe you?" Squiffy Mary Kelly asked.

"Do you want to go?" Ophelia asked. "But you can't go. You're dirty and you need a bath."

He had to hide his grin this time. Yes, his little witch was telling the truth but on the other hand – Ophelia was doing exactly what he had not wanted her to do. And then, he could not let Mary Kelly go. Not back outside. Hypothermia would turn into pneumonia with the melting snow and the cold outside.

"Oh sweetheart," Mary said, sighing. "Master Snape? I still have some money, I could..."

He shook his head. "My daughter is correct, you cannot go out. Especially with those potions in your system. You'd be unconscious after even one sip of whatever alcoholic beverage it is you prefer. The Sober Up in combination with the Strengthening Potion is difficult enough as it is."

"But...," she paled under the specks of dirt on her face. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

"St Mungo's has a..."

She laughed. Hysterically so. She laughed so hard, so much, that even Ophelia turned to him, grasping a bit of his coat and holding on to it.

"Silence," he said authoritatively and the sobered up woman stopped almost immediately, looking as Ophelia had done earlier – frightened. Like a frightened child.

"Excuse me, Master Snape," she said as soon as she could, "I will go."

"No," Ophelia grabbed her hand. "I wanted to sleep in Daddy's bed anyway and if you don't want to go home, you can stay in my bed."

All the things he had taught her – about cunning, about sneakiness – all out of the window in the face of a poor, suffering woman. Granted, a woman she had taken a liking too, but a strange woman nevertheless.

"I cannot let you go outside again," he said gruffly. "And since you do not have the money nor inclination to go somewhere else...but trust me, there will be protection charms on all our valuables."

The woman shook her head and her expression turned from frightened and a little grateful – to angry. "That's what everyone thinks," she spat and swung her legs over the counter and slid down on the floor, her legs, obviously still shaky. "Thank you and I will pay you back."

He rolled his eyes and felt the persistent tugging on his coat but for a moment, he just stood rooted to the spot, not able to decide whether he should really go after her and drag her back inside.

He had absolutely no duty towards this person. Absolutely none whatsoever.

xx

"Mum? Dad? This is Henrietta," Ronald Weasley had the hand of his new sort of steady girlfriend tightly grasped in his and she stood next to him in the kitchen of the Burrow, a sweet blush on her face, her palms ever so slightly sweaty. Of course she was nervous about meeting Ronald's parents. She had heard so much about them, had even known Molly from when she had been a child, but this was only once or twice that she had seen her at all.

Ronald knew that she was afraid and he had to admit that he feared his mother's outrage and anger as well, but there were rumours in the Ministry as well – and if he had heard them, and Harry, so would his father. And his father was not known for keeping secrets from his mother. In fact, he did not doubt for a moment that his parents even had secrets.

And she would be even more angry when she found out from someone else. No, he would get this over with, would bring Henrietta back to Godric's Hallow and make love to her in his bed the rest of the day. She was a sweet girl, kept his robes ironed, and knew all the perfect little household spells that made life simpler. Henrietta, for instance, let her magic do the cooking and the washing up and in the meantime, talked to him, or did something else when she was with him.

Hermione had never done that. She had always cooked, had always been busy, had wanted to tell him all about her work or what the children had done.

And still, he missed her. In a sense. He missed her in the sense that he had been able to always be himself. She merely raised a mocking eyebrow when his bodily functions overtook him (and well, better out than in) but had said nothing and he knew he did not have to hide anything. Henrietta was different there – it was new, and he had the feeling that he had to, sort of, impress her. Make a good impression whereas with Hermione – well, she had known him forever. He could be Ron.

Besides, he was not sure whether he loved Henrietta. She was good in bed and well, those household spells were something else. And she was beautiful. More beautiful than Hermione could have ever been but something was missing. He wasn't sure what.

Maybe he wasn't missing Hermione but his children. He saw them all too seldom, and maybe, if he did love Henrietta, he could maybe take them. Hermione was busy with her career in any case and letting his children grow up with Muggles? He liked Muggles, but they were so different. And his children were witch and wizard. They had to learn all about the Wizarding World in order to understand him and his family. They had to grow up with spells and hexes and jinxes since, well, they would use them all their life long.

He smiled at his girlfriend. And hoped that this would last. With her, he could give his children the education, the bringing up they needed before entering Hogwarts – Muggles were really great but a visit or two a year to Hermione's parents would be sufficient. Who needed to know what a rubber duck was for anyhow.

His mother, suddenly, huffed, and brushed past him, out of the kitchen and he heard her stomping on the stairs while his father smiled at his new girlfriend. "I have to apologise for my wife's behaviour," he said gently. "She did not expect that."

Henrietta nodded. "I suppose it would come as a sort of surprise but Ronald thought that.."

"I heard it already," he still smiled and moved towards them. "However, I did not tell your mother," he fixed him with his gaze. "And she was talking about her grandchildren all day today."

"Why?" Ron asked and his father arched his brows.

"It's your wedding anniversary tomorrow," he said and, with another apology, followed his wife and Henrietta stared at him – shock written all over her face.

xx

Daddy simply did not do anything. He just stood there and didn't he understand that Squiffy couldn't sleep outside? That she needed a bed? And a bath? And food? And a hug, maybe? After she was clean, of course. Holding her hand had been okay, but her clothes were very, very dirty.

"Daddy!" she huffed indignantly when he still stood there, staring at the door and when he didn't react after she had counted to three, she let go of his coat and bolted. He would be angry with her, yes, but she had to save Squiffy, didn't she? Daddy said that Squiffy was sad – and Ophelia had decided that nobody should be sad alone.

She had been sad just earlier because she thought Daddy didn't want her any more and she knew that it had felt horrible and that there had been this stabbing pain in her chest and stomach when she had stood alone in front of the door of Hugo and wanted to run away because she had been scared alone. Ophelia did not want Squiffy to feel this kind of pain alone. She did not. Squiffy had to be with them if she didn't have any other family. And Daddy had said that all of her family was dead.

She almost fell down the one step leading to the apothecary and had a moment to look around as she caught her footing.

"Squiffy!" she shouted when she saw the woman staggering around the corner. "Squiffy!" she shouted again and ran, as fast as she could, towards her.

She finally turned around and looked at Ophelia. "You should be inside without your robes, sweetheart."

"My name is not sweetheart but Ophelia and you should be inside without your robes as well," she replied petulantly. "And Daddy said that you cannot drink alcohol to be less sad because of the potions and I was sad earlier but Daddy made it better because he was there and you have to be with someone."

Squiffy Mary Kelly knelt down to be on the same level with her and Ophelia saw that her eyes were shining – wetly. "Are you crying?" she asked in a tiny voice and the older woman shook her head – just as a tear trickled down her dirty cheek.

"You are crying," she said when she felt a heavy hand descend on her shoulder and she turned around rapidly to look into the thunderous face of her father. "Daddy, look," she said and pointed at Squiffy. She had to explain. She had to make Daddy take her inside. Make her take a bath, make her eat and tuck her in. Just as he did with her. That would make her less sad, she was sure of it. "Please?" she said and grasped Mary Kelly's hand. "I wanted to sleep in your bed anyway. Please?"

xx

Of course she would have slept in his bed and she looked at him so hopefully, so beseechingly, that he could only sigh.

"Missus Kelly, come with me," he said gruffly – knowing that he could not let her sleep on the streets. No matter how much he thought this woman was not his duty, his responsibility. Ophelia had just turned it into just his. Ophelia had made that woman his responsibility. By liking her. By caring for her.

And he would slip this woman a sleeping draught (after, of course, as Ophelia had said, she had taken a bath and he had would make her use spells to clean her clothes) and the next morning, she would be gone. And that day had already been insane enough – letting a strange woman sleep in his daughter's room wouldn't make it more insane.

Though he would make sure than nothing could be taken out from his flat by her. "I don't have all day," he said snarkily and grabbed Ophelia's hand, who in turn, had taken Mary Kelly's hand and he pulled both of them inside.

It would not do for anyone to see that he took the drunk in. Just because he had gone soft because of his daughter.