The usual disclaimers apply.
xx
Their gazes had locked some moments ago. She wasn't sure why exactly she suddenly found the dark eyes intensely interesting but she understood that she had stirred something in him that she hadn't seen yet. He was afraid that someone could take his daughter away from him as well. She didn't know whether her stay with him was threatened but he was certainly thinking. Thinking deeply. And he looked at her while he thought.
And she couldn't tear her eyes away as well. Maybe she had struck a cord with what she had said as well. But yes, it was true. She knew that he had, during her years at school, never treated Muggleborns unfairly just because they were Muggleborns. Treated them unfairly because they did not grasp the concept of potions, treated them unfairly because they were there – but not because of their blood. Apart from the Slytherins, no matter whether his students had been pureblood, halfblood or Muggleborn, they were treated the same – unfairly. And the thing with Slytherin (yes, and there had been a few in that house who's blood wasn't entirely pure – according to lists she had read after she had finished school) – well, he had to do that, hadn't he? Or wanted to, no matter which.
"Do you think you could help me?" she asked quietly – her mouth speaking off its own accord. More or less.
He looked up at the ceiling briefly and she felt – she didn't know what she felt – without the dark eyes boring into hers. "I do not believe that I can help you, Miss Granger," he replied.
Her face fell. He was saying no. He was sending her away. He would be laughing at her in a second.
"Since there is nothing I know about it at all," he continued. "Wizarding Laws change, or used to change, rapidly. As such, a book that was printed a year ago might be utterly out of date."
"I know that," she replied impatiently. "I work in Magical Law Enforcement."
He arched his eyebrows sardonically. "And you do not know about laws?"
"No, I know about laws, and I know that in the last 35 years there was no law passed concerning children and where they should live in case of a divorce. But – during the two wars, a lot of the older books disappeared and hence, I do now know if there is a law older than 35 years that most people have forgotten about because in this bloody world, apparently, every couple is so happy," she huffed. "Or the spouse dies under mysterious circumstances," she added, muttering.
He smirked. "Indeed. And if you're so well informed, why come here and disturb me and my daughter and ask me for help?"
She sighed. "Because...I don't know. Because I thought you would. Because I don't want to lose my children. And because you're a good father to Ophelia."
He looked at her again, then turned his head around – and switched his gaze to what was probably the storeroom – where his daughter was.
"Miss Granger," he began, turning around again, "a law that has not been used in over 35 years will not be observed now."
"Yes?" she asked.
"And since you're in Law Enforcement," he said mockingly, "I'm sure you're well acquainted with the process of law-making in our society."
"You mean...I should...," she opened her eyes wide. "Of course. If there is no such law – I should just..."
He raised his eyebrows for a moment and then turned again as his daughter bounced into the shop again, an earthenware pot in both her hands. "Here, Daddy," she smiled. "Are we making Didn't Listen Salve again?"
Hermione frowned. Didn't Listen Salve? She had never heard of it. Had he developed something new? She certainly wouldn't put it past him. What had he sent her to get? Violet roots. She riled through her mental notes – violet roots. Were used with all kinds of Healing Potions, Salves. But that did not help with something called Didn't Listen Salve. But maybe – her children did that – called things by names they had invented.
He had noticed her frowning and thinking and smirked as he pulled a stool out from underneath the counter and his girl climbed on it, smiling at Hermione and peeking into an apparently empty cauldron.
"What is Didn't Listen Salve?" Hermione asked when all he did was smirk and all Ophelia did was waiting for her Daddy to say something.
"Daddy put it on my fingers when I touched the stove," she explained.
She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"
"Yes, it was hot and it hurt and Daddy told me not to touch it and I touched it nevertheless and it hurt and when he put it on, he said that that's what happens, when you Didn't Listen. And that's why it's called Didn't Listen Salve."
"Burning Salve," he muttered and lay his hand on Ophelia's shoulder. "And what did I tell you about talking to strangers?"
"But she's Hugo's Mummy," she cried indignantly, "and we were in her home. She's no stranger."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes."
"Would you like to come and play with Hugo again?" Hermione asked with a smirk of her own.
xx
She had apparently recovered quickly. Influencing his daughter? Thinking she could waltz in his apothecary, asking him for his opinion, for his help, interpreting what he had not said and had not meant at all. That was essential Granger. But she was scared of losing her children and rightly so. No, there were no laws but the way this society still worked, especially with Lucius Malfoy on the loose again – even without money – she as a Muggleborn mother – with halfblood children and the pureblood father with maybe a pureblood girlfriend – would have no chance against her ex-husband. She had the right idea, to be honest, to try and make new laws, get them to pass.
But the insufferable woman. Trying to influence Ophelia? No way. His daughter got many things. Her present would be delivered – but he would make the decisions who to see and who not to see.
"Or don't you want to let your child play with a potential Squib?" Granger asked defiantly.
"What's a Squib?" Ophelia asked before he could react.
A potential Squib? The child of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley a potential Squib? The outrage that would ripple through the Wizarding World – unimaginable. No – he would not mind Ophelia playing with a Squib. Or with a Muggle – though nobody would believe that, probably. But he did not want to be pressured into anything. And she was trying to do that. Would be trying to pin it on Bloodism.
"A Squib," he explained instead, "is a child born to magical parents who is not able to do magic."
She glared challengingly. "I am not sure, Miss Granger, whether my daughter is ready to go back," he said and Ophelia looked up – and he was right. She probably did want to play with Hugo, but another experience like the one she just had at the Granger's house was something she certainly did not want. Hugo was not interested in Potions – not the way his sister was – and rather clung to Ophelia instead of him.
Granger nodded slowly. "I und..."
"But can Hugo come to my birthday?" Ophelia blurted and he, once more, was ready to clip her ears. Or strangle her.
"It's your birthday soon?" Granger asked and Ophelia nodded happily.
"The day after tomorrow," she smiled.
"I'm afraid, we have other plans for the day," he said coldly. And he had.
"Daddy!" his girl cried and turned around to poke him in the stomach. "What plans?" she asked suddenly, her brows beetled.
He smirked and lifted her under her arms, turning her around to look at the cauldron again. "That, Ophelia, is a surprise."
"Really?" she asked, looking over her shoulder and, for a moment leaning against him. "Can Hugo come?"
"No, Ophelia," he said sternly.
"You know," Hermione Granger said suddenly then, her eyes fixed on him, "you're not the man I thought I knew."
And with that, she pointed her wand at her head and disillusioned herself. "Good bye, Mister Snape, Ophelia," she said gently before she disappeared from view and the door to the apothecary opened and closed and his daughter leaned against him closer.
"Where are we going on my birthday, Daddy?" she asked softly and her head was pressed against his shoulder. That stool had been a good idea. She was much more level with him.
"Can you keep a secret?" he asked, having bent down, whispering in her ear.
She nodded viciously. "You know I can."
"I can keep a secret, too," he replied with a smirk. "And where we're going is a secret."
"Daddy!" she stomped her foot on the stool. "Tell me, please!"
"No," he whispered silkily and kissed her temple. "You just have to wait two more days."
xx
She woke in a strange room and her head was pounding evilly. Bits and pieces of the day and night before came back, flashing through her head, worsening the headache.
Snape's lovely little girl Ophelia. The sweetheart who wanted her to be her grandmother – she pushed that far, far back.
Running out from Snape's house and into the next pub. Wanting to just drink one Silvergin and then go back to Snape and telling him that she could not possibly take the potion and be a test-animal because she could not bear to see her children and dear Joe when she was dreaming soberly. When she heard their voices and smelled their smell everywhere she went. Didn't he know that the Silvergin dulled that and that she only, in very rare moments, saw them even clearer?
No – better to drown it than to wallow in self-pity. She hated self-pity. And she hated pity from others. They had always looked at her so feeling-sorry-for-her when she had lost – them. She could not stand those looks. Some still did it.
And it was true – Snape never did. And Ophelia seemed to have taken even a liking to her. She lay in the strange place and remembered how good it had felt, how her chest had constricted so deliciously when that little girl had snuggled up to her – then she cracked her eyes open a little – better not think about her little arms around her – and a bit of light was enough to send a horrible white, dreadfully painful flash in her head – from the neck, up the back of her head, right through to the front and it lingered behind her forehead, dulled a bit and throbbed and she felt like her eyebrows would explode any moment. She opened her eyes a little further – and it happened again.
It was worse than the morning before when she had slept it off. The room she had been in then had been darker – this one wasn't. It almost felt as if she was outside, and yet it was warm and there was a smell lingering in the air that she had not smelled in a while. Paint. Magically applied paint. Wood. Furniture. New linen. Lavender on the pillow. A pillow.
There was a pillow underneath her head and it didn't smell like Ophelia's bed. And it didn't feel like Ophelia's bed. It felt oddly different and she tried opening her eyes enough to look around. Sitting up was impossible. Shooting pain in her head. White, dreadful flashes of pain. Brighter than white, actually, and she lifted her very heavy hand in front of her eyes and peeked through them.
This was not Ophelia's room, that much was sure. This room was bigger – and more grown up. More beautiful. White walls. White curtains and the sun was shining through them. Dark floor. Rosewood, probably but her view was hazy and dulled and generally – this felt wrong. Just because it felt so good to be lying there.
"I'm dead now. Finally," she muttered to herself and pushed herself up on her elbows. "No," she told herself quickly. If dead people felt that kind of pain, she never wanted to die.
She groaned and let herself fall down gently again – rubbing her eyes. They were gritty and hurt and she didn't want to see.
More flashes of memory in front of her eyes. Brawling with Thais Stride because that stupid girl just didn't understand that some wizards wanting her were up to now good. Then drinking with Thais Stride. And making sure she slept in the Rusty Nail since Godfrey Wooley had a good heart and a thing for Thais. And hated her. So that was alright then. But Wooley had given her another bit of Silvergin and she had taken it with her. And then there was always the rest of the money she had and Lolita Siochan always had some she sold.
Then there was a blank.
And more light. Light all around her and it was painful and she just wanted to close her eyes and forget all about it. Forget that she knew those people, forget that she now associated with people she would have usually not even looked at. Wanted to forget that Joe and Magda and James were not with her any more.
Wanted to forget that Snape had almost looked concerned and that Ophelia wanted her to stop drinking. Wanted her as a grandmother.
She closed her eyes and held her breath. But that had never worked.
Maybe, maybe Snape's potion would kill her. Maybe she ought to try. And still, the question remained where she was.
She knew she had gone down to Snape's apothecary. For the potion. Because she had to go to Borgin and Burkes. Because she couldn't miss another day. And she had never gone there. She wanted the potion and Ophelia had been against it. And Snape had said that he wouldn't give it to her.
Oh dear sweet Mother of Merlin.
Coal shed.
Her eyes flew open, she sat up and ignored the pain. She was in Snape's coal shed. And after that, after they had taken her in twice – how could she ever live down the humiliation? Twice now.
She tried to swallow, her mouth dry and looked around again. On a little table next to the bed stood a tall glass of water and she picked it up with trembling hands and sniffed it. Just water. She could smell most potions and there was none in it.
She gulped it down – and it tasted like fresh, clean water. Cold but not uncomfortably so and she felt immediately better.
Mary Kelly made a decision in that moment. The decision was quite simple. Her life – such as it was – could not go on.
At least not that way.
Thank you!