The usual disclaimers apply.

xx

He didn't know what was happening. It was – not what he had expected at all. She should have been fine immediately. The effect, the stopping to feel the need for alcohol, the physical effects of the withdrawal, the symptoms should have stopped straight away. And Ophelia seemed to be very worried about Mary Kelly.

And frankly – so was he. She sat, ramrod-straight on the couch, obviously trying desperately to swallow, pale, drawn, her eyes wide and shocked and fearful.

His mind ran at triple speed. She should have felt faint, yes, or should have collapsed, yes, but this? No, he had not really thought that this could happen. And what was it, that was happening?

"Mary?" he asked and moved a little closer, seeing that Ophelia was still clutching the woman's hand, holding it tightly, and no, she wasn't shaking, she wasn't trembling. That much, at least, was gone – but the rest? It was all very strange.

"Yes?" she asked back, her eyes still wide but focused on him. She was so pale. Ghostly pale. He had made a mistake. Some horrible – horrible – mistake. He had done something to her – something he had not expected. His worst case scenario – in his head – when he had calculated and tried and thought – had been that the potion was not working at all. And now? Now he had – done something to her.

As if the woman didn't have enough on her plate already he had – probably made her sick. Or worse.

"Ophelia," he said softly, "get Missus Kelly, Mary, a glass of water, please."

Ophelia shook her head viciously. "Cannot, Daddy. She needs me. I have to..."

He groaned. Yes. It looked like it. Mary Kelly was holding on tightly to Ophelia was well and he could just as well summon a glass of water – though – he didn't want his daughter in there when something happened to Mary.

"Mary, how are you feeling? What's happening?" he asked – trying not to sound as worried as he felt. He hadn't made a mistake with a potion in years. Not like this.

"I – I – I don't know," she replied and moved her head slowly and looked at Ophelia. "Sweetheart," she said gently and squeezed her hand. Ophelia, his little witch, smiled.

"Are you okay, Mary?" she asked innocently.

"I feel – fine," she said and a bit of colour returned to her face. He didn't understand. Not at all. He always understood what effects his potions had – at least had a general idea. He knew that some people were allergic to some things but he could predict it jolly well what would be happening. Not here. Severus Snape was confused. Very, very confused.

And his confusion only grew when Mary Kelly broke out in a beaming smile. "I feel fine," she repeated, her tone very, very disbelieving and slouched a little, bent over, picked Ophelia up (who, naturally, squeaked), pulled her on her lap and cuddled the girl within an inch of her life. At least that was what it looked like. "I feel fine," she repeated. "There's nothing. I feel perfect. It's gone. It's all gone. I don't feel like I need it any more. I'm not shaking, I don't have a headache, I don't have that weird stirring in my stomach. I feel – fine," she laughed now and Ophelia was – cuddling her back, snuggling to her and still squeaking. But only a little.

No – he didn't understand. Did the potion take a moment to take effect? A shockingly long moment during which the drinker could only sit and stare wide-eyed? Was pale and not responsive? Or was it something else? Was she feeling something she shouldn't?

"Missus Kelly, are you sure you feel fine?" he asked again – softly and bent down – ignored his daughter and cupped the woman's chin in the palm of his hand – made her look up – colour had returned to her face – her eyes, while still larger than normal, not red, the pupils normal coloured, the irises – a warm brown – the colour of very strong tea, probably. Her forehead wasn't sweaty at all.

"Severus?" she asked him, her eyes – shining like he hadn't seen them before, "it still is Severus, isn't it?"

He had to blink briefly – that was the only way he could think of from making sure he was awake – other than pinching himself which was – at the moment – impossible, since he had Mary Kelly's chin in one hand – and she held his other.

"Yes," he replied voicelessly. "But – just tell me about any symptoms."

She shook her head. "Nothing. I drank it and there was nothing. I couldn't – there was nothing. I felt fine. Instantly."

"You didn't look like it," he let go off her chin and jerked his hand free off hers. Stood very, very straight.

And she – she only smiled, looked briefly at his daughter, nodded at her, and, the girl scrambled off her, and sat quietly on the couch, watching with interested eyes. And so did he. Mary Kelly smiled still – she had probably never smiled so much in the past 20 years, got up and before he knew what was happening, the woman was hugging him.

Hugging him.

Again. She was short – quite – and had to stand on her tip toes before she pressed a kiss on her cheek. "You're a good man, Severus. Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

He raised his eyebrows. Yes – this woman was happy now. But she would have to deal with what had happened. She would have to face it soberly. She would have to understand what she had lost. She would probably have to grief again. And he did not want her falling so hard. She was a good woman. Definitely a good woman. Deserved to be – with someone who did not – no.

Severus Snape was confused but looking over Mary's shoulder, he saw his little witch smiling at him and slowly, he wrapped his arms around her as well. He didn't hold her tight – no – he was not used to hugging adult people – had only done it once – had only hugged her in – decades. And Ophelia's smiled – morphing into a broad, beaming grin – told him that he was doing it right.

"Thank you," she whispered again.

"You're welcome," he replied and for only a moment, tightened his hold on her.

xx

She knew why Harry had reacted the way Harry had. He would come around – eventually. But for him the Muggle World – at that stage – was very, very far away. He had left it all behind the moment he had been allowed to leave the Dursleys for good. She knew and he had never really looked back once. He never went into the Muggle world if he could avoid it – and he and Ginny generally could. Knowing his godson would not be able to live in the World he cherished – the World that had given him a home – was, for him (and she knew he loved her Hugo) a kick in the stomach. Just because – he considered all of them, somehow, family. A large, happy family. That image of his had received the first dent when she and Ron had separated. It had split down – his two best friends were not technically his family any more. Ron – as a brother-in-law, yes. Hermione – not even that any more. She understood. And with Hugo being a Muggle – this already broken up family – would break up even further.

Because Harry knew that Hermione would definitely try to connect the Worlds. That Hermione would try to make life for both her children as good as possible.

And she certainly would. With all her might. Everything she had. She knew she would not let her own family break in two – there would no two sides in her family. There wouldn't be Rosie and her – doing magic – and Hugo and her parents – not doing magic. They were all one family. And they would all stick together.

Hermione had the certified copy safely in her pocket and was unlocking the door. Friday night – the weekend finally. Two days with her babies – and she would make sure that nothing would disturb it – unless the Weasleys got in touch with her – however – she doubted that. She wasn't sure how much. Harry would say. Though – maybe, maybe, he was right now going up to see for himself. She didn't doubt that he was curious. She was not known to be a liar. And he was not known to be incurious about a thing like that. He wanted to know those things.

No – now, she would concentrate on her children – her parents. And then see what was happening over the course of the weekend.

Snape. Snape would be coming over on Sunday. If he didn't change his mind at the last minute (though – she doubted Ophelia would allow him to change his mind. Headstrong girl). She didn't know what had made him do it – what the girl had whispered in her ear but she saw the relationship between those two – and remembered the time when she had been so young and Daddy could fix everything and nowhere on earth was safer than Daddy's embrace. Ophelia always looked exactly like that. A proprietorial air around her when Snape carried her, or just picked her up and snuggling her face into his neck – she remembered that. Such a thing was probably only possible between fathers and daughters – only – she felt for Rose. Maybe she wasn't cut out for it, maybe Ronald wasn't – but she had never seen it there. Not really. Yes, he had held her but she had not been that – possessive of her father. Not as Ophelia probably was.

She was curious. Curious to see how he behaved there. How he acted around her parents – around her children – around her. She smirked a little – it would most certainly not be a dull Sunday lunch.

xx

Of all the days of the week, she loved Saturday the most. Saturdays were those days that she would not ever take a book with her to the apothecary. So many people came in – some who looked strangely at her, some who smiled at her (the huge, hairy man always did – and never said anything besides 'Hello Snape, hello Ophelia'), some who pretended not to see her and some who just stared at her but said nothing and when they noticed that she looked back at them – blushed and turned away. Those were really silly. And sometimes, there were people who only looked at Daddy, and didn't even see her. After those were in, Daddy would usually be a little angry until she hugged him.

Today was a bit different though. Just a bit. Because Daddy and Mary had fought a little. Well, not fought, but had words (as Daddy had said) during breakfast. Mary, apparently, had wanted to go to the apothecary with them – and said something like 'needed normality' and Daddy had said that she better not since he couldn't use a teary woman in the shop. She had glared at him, had put more eggs on his plate – as if it was natural – and had pushed her hands in her sides and had stormed off.

Daddy had groaned and rolled his eyes and had eaten his breakfast and – when they had gone down to the apothecary together (there was no need to open this early since Squiffy Mary Kelly was not squiffy any more), she had been down there already, had glared at Daddy and had said that this was no way to run a successful shop and had disappeared into the back without saying another word.

And Daddy had groaned and had rolled his eyes and had sent Ophelia to see what Mary was doing. But Mary – she had seen right through that, had stomped back into the apothecary, had told Daddy to see what she did for himself and not sent the sweetheart (she liked being called sweetheart now) to spy – and had given Ophelia even a task.

A task that was very important. Mary had dragged a table from somewhere else in the back and a chair and had told Ophelia to sit down.

She had, of course – this was interesting and when Daddy had come in, and had looked for himself, he had only grumbled something and had gone to the front again. And after that, it was fun.

Mary had put papers – sticky papers, sort of, in front of her and a quill. A quill like Daddy had given her to learn how to write a bit, and then had put other papers in front of her – and Ophelia had been allowed to copy what was written on there. Cleanly. And she had done that. In her best handwriting.

And she was still doing it. It was fun. Really. The jars in the back now all got nice, clean, readable labels (Mary had said they were called labels) and she was still writing and Mary was grumbling and muttering because apparently, sometimes, she couldn't read those herself and she had to open the jar, had to guess what could be written on there and once – only once – had to ask Daddy. Those labels, those names Mary wrote out for her before she copied them.

No, really, she liked to do that. All the jars now had her handwriting on it (well, far from all, really – only one and a half of those dark wood shelves yet) and they looked pretty. Because Mary even dusted them and sometimes, ran a wet cloth over them. But she had really no time to look because this word was extraordinarily difficult to write out – there was a letter she didn't know at the beginning, something looking like a sort of triangle without one side. No, she didn't know that letter.

"Mary?" Ophelia asked in a little voice.

"Yes, sweetheart?" she turned and smiled and her eyes were a little – wet.

"I can't read that," she said but – no, that wasn't important now. Mary was crying. "Mary, why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying, sweetheart," she replied but tears were running down her cheeks. But Ophelia knew what crying looked like and she had to console her. She shook her head to herself and jumped from the chair and ran around the table to Mary. She lifted her arms – the way she always did with Daddy when she wanted to be picked up (it never failed!) and even Mary seemed to understand the gesture and, making a weird noise, she reached down and Ophelia found herself immediately smothered in a hug and she knew she would have to hug Mary back.

"Are you very sad, Mary?" she asked after a moment during which she was only held and when she had wrapped her arms around the woman's neck and had put her head on Mary's shoulder.

"Yes, I am," she whispered and even though she held up Ophelia, she stroked her hair at the same time and kissed the side of her head. Ophelia kissed her back. It was necessary when someone was sad.

"Don't be sad, Mary," she whispered in her ear. "I'll make it better and Daddy will help too. We take care of you now."

She felt the woman nod and hug her and cuddle her and heard her cry and Ophelia didn't know what to do except hugging her tightly back and strengthening her hold around her neck.

xx

"Harry doesn't believe me either," Mummy said to granddad while granny made the dinner. She had wanted to help but there was something that held her back – something that made Rose remain in the hallway and listen to what the grown ups talked about. She didn't know what it was – maybe it was Mummy's tone, maybe it was the way granddad had only made a soft cooing noise – or maybe it was that granny was completely silent.

"Why is that considered so outlandish?" granddad asked.

"Because Squibs are not – not common, Dad," Mummy said. "And Harry is, I don't know, it's probably because he felt that something like this could never happen to anyone he knows."

"I don't understand the fuss," granny said suddenly. "Hugo will be fine either way – with or without magic. I really don't understand."

"Neither do I," Mummy sighed. "And it doesn't matter to me that Hugo's a Muggle. Or Squib or whatever. I don't care. He's my son. But I'm afraid Ron won't think so any more."

Rose blinked rapidly. Her brother was not able to do magic? Mh. But that was okay, wasn't it? Even though sometimes Daddy laughed at Muggles because he could just lift his wand and they were confused but granny and granddad were Muggles as well, right? And she wasn't allowed to do magic either. Not yet.

It was fine. Equal. She could do magic and he could do the rest of the things. And if another wizard wanted to harm Hugo – she would protect him. And if she had a problem with her teeth, he could fix it for her.

She smiled to herself. This was perfect.

But – it almost sounded as if Hugo didn't know. And she would have to tell him. He should know that he did not have to be afraid not to be allowed to be a dentist, especially after Daddy had said that dentist wasn't a job for a wizard.

Oh – Hugo would be so pleased when he heard that he wouldn't have to be an auror. That he could be a dentist the way he wanted to be.

Rosie grinned and without listening to Mummy and the grandparents again, she rushed upstairs where Hugo was fixing the teeth of her dolls.

Thank you!