The usual disclaimers apply.
xx
Her heels made loud clattering noises on the floor. She needed to know.
No, it wasn't legal. Of course it wasn't – but she didn't care any more.
It was fine for her either way – but she knew her chances would be greater if...yes. They would be bigger. She would win – if – but on the other hand – she daren't even think about it. It wouldn't be the end of the world.
Of course not. Though people would see it that way. Probably. Most likely.
But she knew she could get in there, take a quick look – and be out again. She just needed to see a single word in a single file and she would be done. And she cursed herself for not wearing trainers. But maybe it was better this way. She could just claim she needed to see it because – oh – she could think of something.
Only, it wasn't necessary. The young woman sitting at the door smiled at her, greeted her, and let her in. Which made it a bit, just a bit suspicious. But she was, after all, known still.
She stood in a large room and there was another witch – older this time – sitting in the middle of the room on a desk, spectacles sitting low on her nose and she looked up with a curious expression.
"Hermione Granger," she said in a deep voice. "I wondered when you'd find your way up here."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Who are you?"
"Morla Bux, Miss Granger," she said with a smile. "And you will find what you are looking for."
"Erm, what...I mean, how...what do you mean?"
"It's in the third cabinet on the left. The topmost drawer under G. Or the 17th cabinet on the right, fourth drawer from the bottom under W. It does not matter."
"You know why I'm here?" she asked – confused. "But it's forb..."
"It is a common misconception that this sort of thing is forbidden, Miss Granger. Everyone has a right to know, a right to plan. But most people are afraid to look – hence the rumour that it is forbidden," the older woman said wisely and smiled gently. "Go and look."
Hermione had to admit that she was a little bit freaked out by that woman. How did she know that? But then again, Ollivander had greeted her by her name when she had first stepped into his shop to buy her wand. She nodded quickly. "Thank you, madam," she said in a hushed tone and scurried off. Third cabinet on the left.
No – she had seriously thought it was not allowed to see the files in the Registration office. But here, in that room, she could find out for sure about Hugo. But she understood why that myth had come to pass that it was forbidden. And she understood it better every second that she stepped closer to the third cabinet on the left. Her hands were shaking slightly and she even wondered briefly whether she should leave again. Leave and find out for herself if her son was a wizard or not.
For Hugo, it would probably be better if he wasn't. He wasn't in the slightest interested in anything magical – he loved his train set, he loved the dentistry and had said, more than once, that he wanted to be a dentist when he grew up.
But for Ron – it would probably be a catastrophe. And she couldn't even imagine the reaction of Molly Weasley – she never even talked about her Squib cousin. Much less talked to her. And that would give her an advantage if Ronald really pressed and wanted the children.
It had been almost two days, but Severus Snape had been right. Making laws wasn't that difficult. Yes, it would certainly look suspicious if she tried to get one to pass now – in her situation. But she had to try. And if it didn't work – she would simply pay a visit to Professor McGonagall. And that woman could make it happen. No matter what. But she wasn't ready to that. Especially since she hadn't talked to her for a while. About two years or so. But if worse came to worse, she would.
If she could manage to get a law to pass – such a law – it would be a huge step. All the purebloodedness wouldn't be so important any more. And she would make sure that, if that one came through, all the rest of the still active pro-pureblood-laws were abolished.
She stood in front of the cabinet and had the drawer pulled out. She chewed on her lip, pushed her hair back behind her ear and, breathing deeply, pulled the file out. Hers.
And there it was. Showing both her children. She was a Muggleborn. Hence, her children were marked in there as either witch, wizard, or Squib (though, it didn't really make sense to mark her children as Squibs. Weren't they rather Muggles? Well – probably they would be had she married a Muggleborn – not time to ponder that question).
Rose Augusta Weasley. Witch.
Hugo Douglas Weasley. Squib.
xx
He smirked. It was going well. Yes, it had been difficult to think of something he could do with Ophelia that he could not possibly take the little Weasley with him – but he had to say something, hadn't he? He did not want to share Ophelia on her first birthday with him. She was his and he wanted to celebrate her fifth birthday with her, and her alone.
Well, that alone, no – that had not worked. Busy in the kitchen was Mary Kelly.
That woman had surprised him. With dark shadows underneath her eyes, she had walked into the storeroom from the back – and from there into the apothecary. She had, even to his untrained eye, looked like death warmed up. But, she had been cleaner and had brushed her teeth and, though her eyes were bloodshot, and she seemed to have difficulty speaking, she had smiled at Ophelia, had glared at him, and had told him that she would take the potion.
Just that. Ophelia had grinned broadly. He had probably looked a bit stunned – and she had repeated it, had said to tell her when it was ready and had left, through the back, again. Ophelia, after getting his permission, had followed her – and had returned a few minutes later, telling him that she had fallen asleep again.
He had his work cut out for him. He thought. But he also thought that she would stay in the coal flat as his girl had dubbed it. She hadn't. She had returned in the late afternoon when he had brewed and Ophelia had watched, and had told him that she would make dinner.
She had. And breakfast the next day. And she had been sober but trembling. And lunch the next day, annoyed and mean to him and Ophelia. And dinner again.
And the potion still did not work.
And here she was now. On Ophelia's birthday, taking a freshly baked cake from the oven. Huffing and muttering to herself. But still sober. Only, he was afraid that she would not make it much longer. And today, no, today, the apothecary was closed.
He would take Ophelia somewhere he had never been, somewhere she had never been. He had done research, the owl post worked nicely, even with brochures and information material and he had read up on it. Had picked the place, had prepared everything.
The Magical Menagerie had delivered the present in time and he had not been able to hide the smirk upon seeing it. This was much better than a snake. Much better than a bloody kneazle (and yes, he was allergic to cats and kneazles), much better than a dog.
It was the perfect gift for his girl. And for him. He remembered teenage girls. They were moody and unpredictable and as much as he loved his daughter, he knew she would be the same way. This – this animal would make it simpler. Just because it was magical. Just because it showed him, and he smirked again, the mood, at least the rough direction of the mood, of the owner. And since Ophelia would be the owner, he would know by only looking at the animal. And the shifty eyes, which had made the animal a little cheaper than usual (nobody could otherwise afford it. It was rare after all. And helpful. And the best present) were merely funny. And, he had to admit, endearing.
Ophelia would be thrilled. He hoped. And he hoped she would be thrilled about the surprise. Where he was taking her. He couldn't be sure about that – but he knew that he would probably be able to convince her not to be afraid. She could cling to him all she wanted. That much – he knew. And he would not pull away, he would not pull a face, he would not push her off. He couldn't. Even if it was in public. He would show his love for his daughter. No matter how many people looked, no matter what they thought. If they had such a Slytherin girl, they would be proud as well. They would love her as well. Not that those people would understand Slytherin. No, Muggles usually didn't.
Mary Kelly appeared from the kitchen, carrying a huge carrot cake and sat down with a stifled sigh. He looked at her and arched an eyebrow.
"It's tough," she muttered and handed him a knife. "Maybe you want to put candles on there," she suggested and got up.
"Missus Kelly?" he asked.
"I'll leave you two to it," she said with a crooked smile. "Let me know when you have it. Or anything to help."
His eyes searched hers. They were – full of pain. "You should stay for breakfast," he said quietly. "We'll leave later but I'm sure my daughter would want you to stay."
"I – erm – Mister Snape, I cannot stay," she shook her head. ""Please understand, this is...," she shook her head again, viciously. "I'm only now working through it and...I'm sorry."
He nodded sharply. "I understand," he replied.
"But give Ophelia my love, please. You will not be back for dinner?"
He shook his head. "Probably not. But we will see."
She smiled weakly and with another nod, left the flat. Severus sighed. It was difficult for her to be around his Ophelia. She was a sweet girl – and she probably reminded her of everything she lost. But she was willing to stay, willing to even bake a cake for his girl (something he could have never done), willing to wait for the potion. He wasn't sure of her reason and he wasn't sure he wanted to know but...
"Daddy!" Ophelia shouted from her bedroom and ran, in her nightgown, barefoot, out of it and straight into the living room, and from there into the kitchen where he sat. Before he knew what was happening, he had his armful of little witch. "Hello Daddy," she smirked up at him – very reminiscent of his own smirk.
"Good morning, Ophelia," he replied, hiding his own amusement at his giddy daughter. "Is there a special reason why you're so – exuberant – this morning?" he asked seriously and she nodded with a broad grin.
"And what reason is that?" he asked, keeping his face straight, ignoring the cake with the five burning candles on top.
She finally caught up and turned around on his lap, straddling him, facing him, and clapped her hands on his cheeks before she pushed her head around so the cake was in full view. "That," she said, trying to give her voice a mysterious air.
"A cake. How nice."
"Oh, Daddy," she sighed, her lips pouting. "Don't be stupid."
"Stupid? My own daughter calling me stupid?" he replied scandalised and began to tickle her sides until she squealed and wriggled on his lap and begged him to stop.
"Not stupid. But did you forget my birthday?" she asked innocently after she had caught her breath again.
"Your birthday?" he asked. "Is that why Missus Kelly baked you a cake?" he asked back. "I wondered why she made a carrot cake with candles on top. I don't care much for carrot cake and I've never liked eating candles."
She frowned. "It's my fifth birthday today," she declared solemnly.
"Really?"
She nodded again – and he hadn't known that she could look so serious. "Your fifth birthday?"
"Yes, Daddy," she whispered. "It's my birthday and I even got a cake."
"Mh, I suppose so," he said pensively. "I think there's something underneath the table. Do you mind looking what it is? You're much smaller and I know you like to sit under the table."
She frowned at him, her eyes full of something he couldn't name but she scrambled off his lap and underneath the table.
"There's a box, Daddy," she answered and the realisation dawned on him that Ophelia was not used to birthday presents either. She had not been used to Christmas presents but then again, he wasn't sure which confession her mother had had. But no birthday present? She muttered something under the table and he bent down.
"Yes?"
"What's in the box?" she asked, peeking up from underneath there.
"I think to answer that question, you should push the box here and look inside," he suggested.
"Won't it be dangerous?" she asked, carefully beginning to push the box.
"No, Ophelia, it is not dangerous," he found himself smiling again. She was – amazing. Surprised him. But if she had those mood swings already – the gift was just right. It would alert him. Immediately. How he had to behave, what to do. It would make things so much easier.
xx
The box was brown and large. Well, not as large that she could fit in, but she could probably stand in it with both her feet. But only just. And it reached only up to her knees. It wasn't a large box at all. But it made strange noises. Shuffling. Maybe. Or chewing and her eyes widened. No, there couldn't be any monster in it. Definitely not. Daddy had said it wasn't dangerous. And Daddy obviously knew what was in there.
But to be honest, she wanted to blow out those candles and eat the cake. Besides, Daddy had promised her to go somewhere and that would be a great, amazing thing to do on her birthday. She knew that grown ups got presents on birthdays – but it wasn't for children. But another day somewhere with Daddy, that was always great. He always picked her up when she was afraid of something or tired and he always bought her a hot chocolate or an ice-cream.
But as she thought about those things, the box were pushed towards her Daddy's feet and she looked up expectantly.
"You should open it, little witch," he said friendly and he even smiled a little. Smiled a little? That was odd. She shrugged to herself and stood up, the floor had been a little cold, and with difficulty, she opened the top of the box and peeked inside.
All she saw was a shell. A green-brown shell. A head. Wrinkled. Four legs – moving around in the box. That had been the noise. Inside the box was a – turtle. Her frown grew and she looked at her Daddy again. Why...
"Why is there a turtle in the box?" she whispered and her Daddy suddenly – quite suddenly – smiled. A full smile. A smile she had never seen on his face before.
"Happy Birthday, my girl," he told her, still smiling and she didn't understand.
"Why is there a turtle?" she asked again.
He let out a sound that she had never heard before – not from Daddy – and it sounded almost like a laugh. Or maybe a chuckle. She could never really tell the difference and since Daddy never made those noises, she wasn't sure.
"This turtle is yours, Ophelia," he explained. "It's your present for your birthday."
She shook her head. "Only grown-ups get presents for their birthdays, Daddy," she explained. Sometimes, Daddy didn't know the simplest rules.
"Not here," he said, suddenly very sternly, "here, children get presents for their birthday as well. Especially children."
Her turtle? Daddy had given her a present? A pet? A turtle pet for her birthday? She got a pet? A turtle? Her eyes grew wide and she still looked at Daddy. "Really?"
"This is your tortoise and you should name her."
"It's a girl? Daddy, look, she's got shifty eyes," she squealed and pointed at it. "Daddy, look."
Daddy went to his knees and sat next to her on the floor, pulled her on his lap again with a muttered, "it's too cold for you down here," cuddled her, held her and, after a moment, helped her pick the turtle up and she held it and looked at it.
It looked absolutely funny with the shifty eyes and quite suddenly, surprisingly, the shell turned rainbow-coloured.
"Daddy, look," she whispered in awe and nodded towards the shell. "It's a rainbow."
He nodded and pressed a kiss on the top of her head and seemed to smile against her hair. Again! Daddy had never smiled so much. "It is a magical turtle," he whispered in her ear.
"Really?"
"Yes and it will always know when you're sad or happy," he explained in her ear and one of his fingers traced the shell of the turtle.
"I'm happy now," she whispered and carefully looked the turtle in the shifty eyes. "Your name is Skippy," she declared loudly before she – with the utmost care – set her on her feet again, turned around and threw herself in her Daddy's arms.
"Thank you, Daddy!"
"You're welcome, my little witch," he held her tightly and rocked them both gently back and forth.
"I love you, Daddy. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"I love you, Ophelia," he replied and kissed her again.
"Does this mean, we will not go somewhere later?" she asked after a moment.
"Why shouldn't we?"
"Because of Skippy. We can't leave her alone."
"Missus Kelly will look after her," he explained and loosened his grip on her. "Or don't you want to go?"
She nodded. "I want to go. But I want Skippy to be fine and not lonely."
"She won't be," he sighed. "Missus Kelly will look after her."
"Where are we going then, Daddy?"
He smirked. "You will see when we get there. But we should have a bit of your cake before and then you have to feed your Skippy."
Ophelia smiled happily. Her life had never been better. Never. And all because her Daddy loved her. How wonderful was that?