The usual disclaimers apply.
xx
On the dot. She leaned heavily, her eyes closed against his front door and he could smell her bad breath from inside. And Ophelia was with him to see her this way. And he wasn't sure whether that was good or bad.
He knew addiction. He knew what it did to people, what it did to family. He had seen it first hand. And it wasn't – nice. Neither for the addict, nor for the people around them. And as a matter of fact, his daughter was around it now. And he disliked that. Strongly. Ophelia should be protected. Should not know such things. Should not even know that such things existed. Yet, living in Knockturn Alley, and growing up there in the future, she would be confronted with the realities of life quickly. And he would not leave the Alley – this was where he knew he could make a living.
And he could still try and shelter his daughter. In any way he could.
He had taken her hand just as soon as he had spotted Squiffy Mary Kelly but Ophelia had been quicker and before he could hold her back, she had pulled free and opened the door for the drunk witch.
"Mary!" she said angrily – and he had never seen his little witch quite so aggravated.
"If that isn't the little sweetheart Ophelia," the woman slurred. "D'you think I could get some potion? Missed work already once."
His little witch stood, her fists clenched and pressed in her sides and her glare, he saw from her side, was fierce. "You're not allowed to drink any more," she said – her anger still radiating off. It had, apparently, helped, that she realised that this woman was only worse when she had drunk and that her running away had not been solely Ophelia's fault. Had taken him long enough to comfort his sad girl and explain that it had not been her but circumstances. And apparently, Ophelia was convinced that the Silvergin made things only worse for her. She had obviously grasped that during their brewing (when he had explained that addiction of any kind was bad and that it only made problems bigger – and that that was why Mary Kelly had reacted the way she had when she had been sober).
Ophelia had understood – and seemed to be on a mission now. And even though he had never experienced his girl on a mission – he could just about imagine what that would look like and he kept quiet and watched.
Daddy had said that alcohol was bad. And she saw it now. Mary had been nice and kind the day before. She had cuddled her and had made breakfast and had been clean. Now she looked as if she had slept in the dustbin and smelled the same way. And this was not right.
She could be sad – and she didn't have to be her grandma if she didn't want to be – but she would not drink any more. And if Ophelia had to follow her around.
No – Mary would not drink any more. It was just wrong. She liked Sober Mary Kelly much better. A word she had learned from Daddy. Sober. Sounded much better than Squiffy anyway.
"Sweetheart, I have to go to work," she said drunkenly and stumbled forward a bit but Ophelia shook her head.
"No," she said and suddenly felt her Daddy next to her, his hand on her neck underneath her hair, his fingers moving ever so gently and she knew he was on her side. They had to help Mary. Just had to. Mary Kelly was so nice and she would be even nicer when she wasn't drinking. She had seen it! She had seen how she could be and while her Daddy's hugs were the best hugs in the world, Mary's came in definitely second. It was softer than Daddy – somehow. But she didn't want to hug that woman. That woman was dirty and stinking!
"No alcohol any more," Ophelia said sternly. "And Daddy and I did the coal flat yesterday. It's pretty and large and has a bathroom and a little kitchen and curtains and a large bed and you have to live there. Did you sleep in the dustbin?"
The fingers on her neck twitched and she knew her Daddy was silently laughing. But it was true – and she stared up at him for a moment to let him know that he should not be laughing. That it was true.
"Missus Kelly," she suddenly heard him next to her and it was the kind voice. Not quite the Sirfather-voice but kinder than usual. She loved how different his voice could sound. "I cannot with clean conscience give you any more Sober Up Potion," he continued and Ophelia looked up at him, surprised. They had brewed a few vials before Daddy had waved his wand over the coal flat and had made it into a nice, clean flat for Mary and he had said yesterday that she would get it.
Then he had tried something else and that had failed and Daddy had only not been angry any more, after she had hugged him long and hard and had snuggled up on his lap and had asked him to sleep in his bed again. Then he had not been angry any more.
She would have to remember that.
But, but, but, Mary was getting angry now and her eyes were twinkling madly. "Fine," she said and swayed as she wanted to turn around.
"Don't be daft, woman," Daddy said and took his hand from her neck, letting his fingers glide through her hair before he stepped forward and grabbed Mary's arm just as she seemed about to fall on the floor.
xx
She knew she had to be careful. The books she had consulted said absolutely nothing about custody, about divorces, about who got children in case there were some in a case like theirs. She was afraid – even so many years after the war – but with prejudices still running high, and with the things that had already been written in the paper, she would not take any risks. No, she was currently under a Disillusionment Charm, sneaking through Knockturn Alley. It was still early and hopefully, there weren't too many customers already there.
She would just ask him for help. Would ask if he knew about laws. If he knew anything. Anything that would help her in case worse came to worse. Easy. Simple.
The door to the apothecary was wide open and there was nobody around outside and she cancelled the charm just before she slipped in and she couldn't believe her eyes.
Again.
It was one thing to see him cuddling his daughter.
It was quite another to see him holding a woman. She only saw the back of both him and the distinctly female back with the long hair in a plait, the long, flowing skirt with dirty specks on it – dirty specks?
He did not hug her – but held her, his arm around her back, as if he was trying to keep her upright and she noticed, now, that Ophelia was looking at her and them, her eyes flicking back and forth. Apparently, the girl did not know what to say, what to do and she tried hard to catch her father's attention without having to clearly state that Hermione was there.
"Good morning," she said suddenly to spare the little one to say something.
Snape spun around and the woman in his arm was dragged along with him. She was completely out of it, apparently.
"Oh my God," Hermione spluttered, "what's wrong with her?"
"Good morning, Miss Granger," he replied coldly, "in case you came to ask, yes, I did get your owl."
"What's wrong with her?" she nodded towards the woman.
"She's drunk," Ophelia piped up.
"What?" Hermione cried. "You have to give her Sober Up."
"But she has to...," Ophelia began but was cut off by her father – he glared at her and said her name sharply. The girl was quiet immediately.
"Who is she?" Hermione asked and moved towards them. "And why don't you give her Sober Up?"
"Miss Granger, this is truly none of your business."
"She's your mother," she suspected and briskly, she was on the other side of the woman, taking her other arm and helping her stand.
"She's not Daddy's mother," Ophelia sounded scandalised. "She's Mary."
"Ophelia!" he said again, louder this time.
"Do you want to put her to bed somewhere?" Hermione asked – knowing that she had to keep calm and – most importantly – her trap shut. She needed to let him talk. It was who wanted something from him, not the other way round. It was her who had questions and wanted to ask him for help. And as such, she had to behave accordingly. And her outburst, her questions – those had probably been too much already. Well, she would try and behave better now.
And he looked at her – seemed to try to make up his mind whether to say anything, yes, or no, or bugger off. But he said nothing and instead merely raised his eyebrows.
"We have to bring her to the coal flat," Ophelia said suddenly and it was her who raised her eyebrows.
He helped someone? Let someone live in something called the coal flat? Someone called Mary? Who was obviously so drunk that she couldn't stand on her own feet any more? Loving his daughter was one thing – but helping this woman, whoever she was? She didn't know him. Not at all.
xx
He would strangle his girl. One of these days, he would most certainly strangle her. Telling that Granger woman everything? Making Granger help him put Mary Kelly into bed, sleeping it off instead of chucking a potion. Damn Ophelia.
And damn Granger. She was still there and stared expectantly at him, even though they had returned to the apothecary and he had – missed by both Ophelia and Granger – made sure there were wards on the former coal shed that would alert him should she wake up. If she waited for him to explain what was happening, she was very much mistaken. What he did and why he did it was solely his own business. Was none of hers. And he would certainly not tell her anything.
"Erm, Mister Snape, eh, I have, erm, I came here for a reason," she stuttered suddenly and blushed ever so slightly when she looked at him. He tried hard to hide his smirk. Granted – something like this, the usually so together Granger blushing and stuttering was probably worth letting her in on the secret that he gave Mary Kelly a home. Not that he had any choice about this. It had just happened – and he would have to have a few well-chosen words with his girl. Later.
"Yes?" he drawled.
"I...you know that I got a divorce," she began slowly, "and my ex-hus..."
"Is Hugo alright?" Ophelia asked suddenly from the chair she had climbed up and he turned to look at his daughter. Her speaking up – made it clear that this entire thing was very absurd. Granger coming to his apothecary at seven thirty in the morning? Dragging Mary Kelly to the former coal shed with him? And now obviously wanting to talk to him?
"Absurd," he muttered.
Granger nodded. "Yes. Yes, it is, and trust me, if I had known another solution, I wouldn't be here now but I checked every book and every article I knew about, well, almost, and you know the Wizarding World and I – I don't know who else to ask."
"Is there a point?" he asked snarkily.
"It was a mistake coming here," she huffed. "But I still have to ask."
"Ask what, Miss Granger?" he asked and looked sternly at his daughter. "Ophelia, do you remember the little pot full of violet-roots in the back?"
The little one nodded and smiled. "Shall I get it, Daddy?"
"Yes, please," he answered and waited until she had disappeared. He had no intention of helping Granger. Absolutely none but he could always use a bit of gossip. It made all of those weapons he had against the decent Wizarding World complete. And dirt on Granger and Weasley – the post-bellum dream-couple – that was something he wanted to hear. "And?"
"My ex-husband wants the children," she choked out and she was probably full with emotions. He could see it. And he disliked emotional women. They were annoying and a nuisance. Hence the birthday-present for his daughter. All women should have...oh well.
"And I can't let him have those. He still believes that the Wizarding World is better than the Muggle one and I saw you showing your daughter around. The Globe Theatre. I don't think Ronald even knows there is such a thing. But you show your daughter all those sights and, I don't know, I mean, back to the topic, he wants to make sure that they are raised amongst wizards but he's absolutely unsuitable for raising my children and he has this new girlfriend that he calls a good girl – a good girl! - and I don't even know her. By all I know, she could be 15. Or maybe 55. I don't know. I've never met this woman and he wants her to raise my children. And I don't think there is anything wrong with living as Muggles. As far as I know my Hugo could be a Squib. I don't care but he wants them around magic and I wondered really, if you know anything about laws or precedents in such cases," she took a deep breath – had not taken one during her entire speech and her cheeks were even pinker than before.
xx
Really – Granger had just blurted her entire private life to him. Everything that she feared. And despite everything – and especially despite the fact that he would never admit this to anyone – he could sympathise. He would be afraid – very afraid – if someone threatened to take his Ophelia away. He wouldn't probably go so far as to ask her for help in this case – but he would certainly use any other means he knew to fight to keep her. And he had only had his girl a few months. She had her children ever since they were born.
No – honestly – he would probably act the same way. If he knew it helped.
But – no – he had never even thought about those happenings. He had never even imagined something like this to happen in their World. There – the children stayed with their mother. For as long as there was a non-abusive, non-dangerous mother.
"I can't lose them," she said suddenly and looked at him – helplessly – and her eyes full of love for her children, full of fear, full of trepidation and full of – hope.
He nodded sharply. "I do not known about any such laws, Miss Granger, but that does not mean there are none."
"Those are still just so – so – full of prejudice still and I don't know, I mean, he's a pureblood, I'm a Muggleborn. I don't know if there are courts and – I can't believe I know so little about this," she bit her lip.
"What makes you think I know more?" he snarled, "and what brings you here to ask me?"
She looked at him for a moment – and a moment longer. She held his gaze for quite a while before she answered. "You're the only one I trust not to be prejudiced against me as a Muggleborn. In this matter, I mean. Who knows enough."
He sneered. "Miss Granger, are you aware of where you are and who you are talking to?"
She nodded. "Yes. Very much so. But you never treated us any worse because of our parents. Because we were in Gryffindor, yes – but not because of our status. And you take your daughter to Muggle sights."
xx
Her eyes shone. She wanted him to help. She wanted him to help her keep her children should that idiot Weasley try to get her children.
He wanted to shake his head. He wanted to tell her to get out but it had shaken him to the core – what she had said.
You're the only one I trust not to be prejudiced against me as a Muggleborn.