"Hi, Dad," Hermione greeted him as she hung the last of the monkshood from the drying lines.
"Someone's been busy this morning," he noted. "And I see you've addressed the newt eyes too. How are they sorted?"
"Left to right, newest in back and three years or older in the bin for the thestrals," she sighed.
"And so she listens!" Severus teased. "It's a miracle."
"Love you too, Dad," she laughed descending the ladder. "I already sorted the snake skins by breed and age, extracted and stored the toad stones and separated the mistletoe leaves and berries."
Hermione stood opposite him, leaning against the long work table to cross something off her list. Nearly eleven, she stood close to half his height now but was still all hair and eyes. Her easiest identifier was her bushy brown hair nearly reaching her waist, adding to what he considered a doll-like appearance when she bothered to move it out of her large almond-shaped eyes. Despite what his colleagues said, he still saw the four-year-old who used to hang herbs to dry from his shoulders. Though she had since then re-grown her front teeth. Which sadly were long enough to draw attention whenever she opened her mouth. He suspected they would earn her a hard time.
"And all before noon," he said, placing a hand on her head. "Why?"
"Can't I do something nice for my poor overworked father?" She offered.
"Historically?" he raised an eyebrow at her. "You normally wait for me to start. Ah, yes, I remember you saying something to the effect of me 'not having an intuitive system' and that you 'still have no chance of remembering it all unless I drew you a map'."
"Which you never did," she scanned the list. "But I did, so I have it down."
A reference book lay open to illustrate her point. It was very well drawn with extremely detailed calligraphy noting how and why things were situated in the still room. The number of details made him imagine an old textbook or map. The black ink was already dried, meaning she had done it before this morning. Isolation might have been hard on the child, but she had developed a wide range of skills and languages he imagined she wouldn't have if he had sent her away during her early childhood.
Another book caught his eye. A thin and short red volume with the word Carrie written on the cover. He picked it up to flip through it. "What on earth are you reading?"
"Muggle novel that I found while cleaning the library," she said. "It's written kind of like police files to be more immersive. It's about a seventeen-year-old girl who develops telekinesis. I've finished it if you want to read it."
"You've finished a novel you picked up yesterday and did most of the day's work all before noon? And when did you draw this?"
"Last night," she said.
"I know you didn't eat and should I even ask if you slept?" he asked looking up from the book.
"I'm still young," she shrugged. "Was there anything else that we needed to do today?"
"You need to sleep," he gently ushered her away from the table.
"But it's eleven, what if I sleep all day?"
"I'll wake you later," he assured her.
"But-"
"But nothing," he said. "You can either go to bed or I can carry you."
"And I'm on my way."
Hermione woke up with a yelp and shudder. Relieved to find herself in her own bed, she tried to banish the images of teachers and students laughing from her mind. Covered in pig's blood and plastered with failing papers all over her body, the entire school pointed and laughed at her. A familiar pretty blonde student muttered to another that she was a "social retard" and the Weasley twins teased her for thinking they could ever be friends. Amidst it all her father stood before her smirking and said:
"I told you so."
"I'm sorry?" she gasped and rubbed her eyes.
"I told you that if you read trash before bed you would have nightmares," her father said sitting next to her with a cup of tea. "I never wanted to censor what you read, but this seems hardly appropriate for a ten-year-old. No wonder you didn't sleep last night."
Hermione examined the tea he handed her, watching for some inconsistency in the steam or liquid. Not that she expected him to poison her, but some part of her never trusted drinks she herself didn't make.
"It's just tea, Hermione Elizabeth," he groaned. "I gave you one sleeping draught three years ago and you scrutinize everything I give you."
"Why do I feel like you gave me three impossibly long names so you can relish each syllable?"
He smirked and ruffled her hair. "I gave you impossibly long names to give myself time to cool down when you're in trouble. It may have saved your life once or twice."
Hermione smiled back at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I suppose I should thank you for that."
"I imagine you should," he laughed.
There was a moment of silence, she could tell that he wanted to say something. He opened his mouth once or twice before his face flushed pink. He rose to his feet and folded his arms over his chest. "Did you need to talk about... anything?"
"Any...Dad, what are you-" she gulped before she felt her own face flush. "No, no, I already know about all that! We're good!"
He sighed in relief and his face returned to its usual pale tone. "I'm not going to ask how you know."
Hermione rose to her feet and looked at the rays of sun coming in from the high-up window. "What time is it?"
"Three," he replied.
"Three!" Hermione hit her forehead before muttering a swear in Elvish. "I told Hagrid I would-"
"He's perfectly capable of looking after the hippogriffs himself," he informed her. "Madam Pince also easily saw to surveying the library on her own and I finished everything I needed to get done today."
Hermione mentally counted promises she made. The first and last few days of summer vacation were always so busy. She had in one way or another promised to help everyone to help get the castle back in order. She turned to the bedside table to find her list before she remembered she left it in the still room.
"Professor Sprout cared for the mandrake seedlings," he now held her list. "Professor McGonagall's summer homework is sorted, and the headmaster filed away applications himself. You shouldn't promise so much. Not when you have so much to do."
"I had a plan to get it all done," she promised. "I had written a timeline on the list."
"Oh, yes," he reviewed the list. "Are you in possession of a time-turner I was unaware of?"
"I doubt that that could escape your notice," she rolled her eyes while making the bed.
"We parents love being told the only reason our children behave is the risk of being caught."
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes and turned to face him. His ever-watchful eye was not her only deterrent from misbehaving, but she wouldn't correct him. How was she both a chronic miscreant and something precious to be protected in his mind was beyond her. "Wait, if everything's done then what's the 'so much I have to do'?"
"You were supposed to paint over the graduating class's graffiti, " he counted.
Guess that means they couldn't break through the enchantment...she thought. Last time I volunteer for something like that!
"The eye-rolling, Hermione Elizabeth, it stops now," he instructed. "I'm not the little idiot who foolishly accepted the headmaster's challenge."
"Yes, sir," she nodded.
"Then I believe I asked you to copy the 1970's disciplinary papers," he continued. "That will take some time, but we have all summer. And I still want to see those French worksheets."
"Yes, sir," she nodded, grabbing her bag and presenting him with the finished papers.
"Done already?" he mused. "How can you do calligraphy and still have such messy hand-writing? Perhaps next time prioritize legible hand-writing over speed. You'll have to do it again."
"Yes, sir," she nodded again, taking the papers.
She recalled seeing him mark much messier writing than what she had done there. Much, much messier. Hermione fancied it was a ploy to keep her away from working with Hagrid. He never liked the idea of her going with him to look after the animals. No, he never liked her being out of his sight. Now that she was older he had less of a leg to stand on, but she could see he was trying. He believed the world was a cruel and wicked place, and that it would tear her apart the moment she entered it. An idiot could see that.
"I know this is frustrating, love," he placed a hand on the top of her head. "But once you start school, you'll have to do much more on very strict deadlines. You'll thank me when you're older."
"I completely understand, Dad," she smiled and tilted her head. "You know best, after all."
"You know, my dear, you are a terrible liar," he sighed. "But I do know best."
"Where do you want me to start?"
"See if you can finish copying those French sheets before supper and we'll see where you are after."
She grabbed a hard-covered notebook quill and inkwell placing it in her bag. She then threw it over her shoulder before getting ready to leave the room before her father took her arm.
"Where are you going?"
"I work better in the library," she explained. "I'll see you at supper, Dad. Love you."
"Forgetting something?" he said pointing at the tea and toast on the bedside table.
"Yes, thank you, Dad," Hermione picked up a slice, taking a single bite, and downed the rest of the tea in one motion. "Okay, I'm off!"
"Don't be late!" he called after her.
"I have her busy enough that she'll be far from the third floor the whole summer," Severus assured Dumbledore.
"Poor child," he mused, stroking his white beard. "But it's better she doesn't figure anything out."
"Poor child?" he rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one who has her painting a pointless mural on the entrance hall."
"She volunteered," Dumbledore chuckled.
"We both know how apt that child is at saying 'no' to tasks."
"Touche, Severus," he chuckled. "How far are you in your preparations?"
He summoned three bottles with different coloured liquids. "Two will enable the drinker to walk through the barrier. One will lead back to Minerva's task. The other will lead forward to whatever the next step in your elaborate puzzle is. I'm brewing more as we speak."
"Your girl isn't the least bit curious?" McGonagall asked.
"Completely clueless," he assured her. "I'm more worried about the transport of Hagrid's newest acquisition."
"Fluffy's completely harmless!" Hagrid huffed.
"Harmless, perhaps," he said. "But I don't think the transit of a cerebus will be an easy task."
"We'll have him safely and discreetly transported tonight," Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon glasses. "He'll be brought in at two o'clock."
"We'll meet at the edge of the forest," McGonagall said. "Are we sure we have everything to move it, Albus?"
"Everything is in place, Minerva," Dumbledore smiled. "I'm certain this will go smoothly."
He was certain things would move smoothly, but Severus was not. He didn't like the idea of keeping a three-headed monster in a single room indefinitely. He saw a disaster where they saw a flawless defence plan. He returned to the entrance hall to find Hermione staring at the graffitied wall holding a paintbrush and presumably shrinking before the task. He crept up behind her and leaned over her shoulder.
"This must be your best work yet," he said.
"Gaaah!" she yelped with a jump before spinning around. The brush fell from her hand while she kicked a bucket of paint over, splattering ivory over the wall and floor before falling into it. She rolled her eyes and slapped her forehead. "Honestly, Dad?"
"At least you now have paint on the wall," he smirked, helping her off the ground. "Are you-"
He was interrupted by a grave meow from a skeletal grey cat. Mrs Norris stared at the two of them with her lamp yellow eyes with an air of disapproval, her paws tracking ivory paint as she approached them.
"Great," Hermione sighed. "Filch is going to hang me by my entrails!"
"Mr Filch will do no such thing," he reprimanded, taking out his wand. "And watch your tone, little girl."
"What have we done?!" Filch stared at Hermione after picking up his now white-pawed cat. He did look like he wanted to hang her by her entrails.
"It's handled, Mr Filch," Severus said, illustrating his point by disappearing the paint. "You'll find everything is in order."
"Just keep your brat in order!" he spat before crooning over Mrs Norris's paws.
"My daughter is just fine," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Though I do understand your frustration, Mr. Filch. You must be exhausted. It's not as if a child is fulfilling criteria that falls within your job description."
"Come along, precious," he said to his cat. "We're not wanted here."
Filch continued on his way grumbling about how he would have to clean her paws. Watching the grumbling caretaker marching off away from him reminded him of his own schooling. Though he was rarely the cause back in those days.
"Did he really threaten to hang you by your entrails?" he muttered in her ear.
"Do you really have to ask?" she muttered back from the corner of her mouth.
"I suppose not," he sighed. "You should get cleaned up before the ghosts accuse you of a hate crime."
Hermione stifled a giggle with a paint-covered hand. "And track footprints through Mr Filch's clean corridors?"
"Indeed," he smirked. "It is truly a pity."
"Do you think he knows just how much blood he'd have to clean up if he made good on his threat?" she said.
"Not to mention cleaning the instruments afterwards."
"That alone could take hours!" Hermione gasped. "Why, Dad, that would be torture!"
The two of them made eye contact before simultaneously bursting into laughter. The half of Hermione's face that wasn't covered in paint flushed pink before she shook her head and picked up her bucket. Despite the ribbing the two engaged in, he couldn't remember the last time the two laughed together so hard. He was aware how bizarre the scene was. Hermione stood covered in paint laughing with him. Perhaps he should feel shame at it being at Filch's expense, but this was one of those moments he wished he could freeze.
"I should go," she said, picking up the empty can. "I'll see you tonight!"
Watching her walk away he became painfully aware he couldn't freeze the moment. Nor any other. Hermione would grow up, and it was happening faster than he was prepared for. He never fancied himself sentimental, but now he was one of those parents who desperately wished his child would be little forever. His job was to forge her into a good human being. Not to coddle her. Severus hated it. The years marched on and he couldn't seem to catch up. He couldn't help but wonder if they would take her from him too.
"Hermione, wait!" he called after her, too late. She had already vanished. "Damn," he sighed looking at his own paint-covered hand.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked her father.
Dark rings circled his eyes and he slumped over his desk at times he scanned through files. He rubbed his eyes and looked up from his papers at her. "Just not as young as I used to be."
"Not as young as you used to be?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're thirty-one, Dad."
"Don't roll your eyes!" he snapped. "I swear if I have to tell you that one more time I'll switch your eyes with the damn owl's."
"Sorry, sir," she set her quill down. "You've been a bit off the past few days. Is everything okay?"
He sighed and set his own quill down before closing the file before rubbing his neck. "I'm fine. You have work to do."
Hermione examined his face. The past week she had seen the changes: his usually pale skin further blanched, his eyes once intent now drooped closed, and his already volatile mood sat on a razor's edge. The mid-July heat didn't help, even Archimedes over preened from his perch to cope. Hermione and her father weren't at each other's throats, but the behaviours that annoyed them about each other seemed all the more grating. Though she attributed his recent changes to the late nights. She wished she knew why he entered their living quarters at 3 am most mornings recently. She had noticed it the past three weeks, but she wasn't about to let him know.
"Yes, sir," she said, returning to yet another file detailing the misadventures of James Potter and company.
An hour passed in silence, both of them copying the files verbatim onto newer parchment. She felt that she would lose her damn mind if she had to read one more write-up on James Potter and company pranking students and faculty. Her father had hand-picked the files she copied and she couldn't help but feel there was a reason James Potter made up an unhealthy majority of them. When he was in a more favourable mood she would ask him what his damn point was.
"I have to go," he said, closing the file and pointing to the basket. "I want everything in that basket done when I come back."
Hermione bit her lip to prevent herself from frowning at the tower of paper sitting in the 'to be copied' paper. "Yes, sir."
"Archimedes," he whistled.
The tawny eastern screech owl flew to his arm and peered at him with yellow eyes. He then turned to her, narrowing his eyes with an uncomfortable intelligence. Archimedes was nearly her age, but the small bird showed no signs of slowing down. She managed to placate him at times, but Archimedes's loyalty lay with her father.
"I might be the rest of the night," he explained, placing his other hand on her head. "Keep the window open and send him out when you've finished and when you leave for any reason."
She didn't know whether to be frustrated with him enlisting an owl to mind her or if she was relieved he didn't grab a house-elf or other staff member. She wondered why he didn't enlist Libby, but hoped it meant he knew she was old enough not to inconvenience the poor house-elf.
"Yes, sir," she nodded.
He sent the owl to perch opposite Hermione before moving a lock of hair out of her face. "I'll see you when I get back. Don't wait up."
"See you then," she said. "And, Dad?"
"Yes, love?"
"Whatever you're doing... just be careful," she sighed. "It's stupid, but I worry."
"And here I thought it was my job to worry about you," he smiled. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Don't stay up too late."
You're a terrible liar... "Understood," she nodded before hugging him. "Night, Dad."
"I'm tired, not dying, little girl," he sighed, lifting her face. "I repeat, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Now get those finished and don't forget to feed yourself."
"Yes, sir."
After he left she turned to Archimedes. Under his black eyebrow-like ears he peered at her with cold judgement in his large yellow eyes.
"Guess it's just us, huh?" she asked, offering him a whole peanut.
The owl greedily pecked at her palm, eating the peanut shell and all.
"Are you sure you're not a crow?" she teased.
He narrowed his eyes in a rather human-like fashion and craned his face closer to hers.
"Sorry to have insulted your grace!" she rolled her eyes.
Archimedes pointed his wing at the mountain of paperwork in front of her.
Another eye roll and a peace offering later Hermione set to work. Hours passed in silence or with her whistling bits of tunes she didn't fully know. Archimedes seemed to judge her, glaring at her. She stopped whistling and continued in silence. She copied the files without processing what she was copying, but simply recorded it accurately and legibly. By the time she got to the last two files her hand cramped so badly that she had to release her quill and stretch out her fingers with her other hand.
"Wait," she said to herself. "1977-1978, where's 1975-1976?"
Hermione stood up to go to the archives only to be met with a screeching as she reached the door. She turned to the owl, his beak and eyes opening to the size of dessert plates. The screech echoed through the dungeons and she yelled at him begging him to stop.
"Archimedes, come on! Please shut up!" she begged. "I have a peanut! Don't you want this? Mmmm, yummy!"
The damn owl would not be sated until she sat back down and took out the file from the basket. Once she opened the '77/78 file and began copying it the bird smugly stared at her. "Are you happy?" she hissed.
"Is Miss Hermione harmed?" asked a squeaky voice from behind her.
"Libby?" she choked spinning around.
Libby shrank, her large brown eyes turning to the ground as she fiddled with the hem of her patch-work pillowcase. "Miss Hermione looks angry."
"Miss Hermione is startled," Hermione sighed, clutching her chest. "Are you okay, Libby?"
"Libby is very well," she assured her.
Hermione knelt to Libby looking in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Professor Snape told Libby to clean the dungeons and if she hears an owl scream to come to his office immediately and check on Miss Hermione!"
Of course he did! Hermione glared at Archimedes. "You see," she hissed at the owl. "This is precisely why I'm a cat person!"
"Libby is sorry," she said meekly.
"No," Hermione softened her voice. "Libby, I'm not mad at you. You're just doing your job. I'm mad at the damn owl."
The two glared at each other. Mage-Bred owls were the absolute worst. So human in so many ways, but so difficult to appease. Sure, her father could threaten to switch their eyes and Archimedes would do nothing, but if she dared to call him a "damn owl" she received a death glare.
"Libby understands Archimedes is a very particular owl," she nodded. "But Miss is unharmed?"
"Yeah," she replied smiling. "I was just about to leave the room when he started screaming bloody murder. I simply went to fetch a file so I could finish my task and he was having none of it."
Archimedes hooted and bristled with pride. He felt more like an arrogant nanny than a family pet at times.
"Yes, you've done a very good job, bird-brain," she grumbled. "Sentry of the century!"
"What file?" Libby asked. "Libby can fetch it without angering Archimedes."
"I don't want you going out of your way for me, Libby," she said, taking her hands. "Honestly, I don't mind one less mammoth file to copy. It might enable me to actually do something else tonight."
Libby smiled mischievously, her eyes gleaming. "Miss Hermione is a sly child."
Hermione finished copying the final file to fresh parchment and placed it in the completed basket for her father to review at his leisure. The completionist in her wondered about the missing year. Her father had the same detail-oriented, completionist streak in him. She was certain it wasn't a mistake he could make, even in his harried state. But he did hand pick which of the files in each year she would copy. Maybe 1975/1976 simply didn't fit his narrative of "James Potter and his whole lot were rotten to the core." Something that now that she thought of it, had to have something to do with Harry Potter attending his first year. Was he trying to tell her that because his father was a real jerk, Harry would be too? Yes, that had to be it...
"Okay, Archimedes," she said, handing him a folded letter with her update. "Here you go."
The owl flew off and Hermione waited for his return pacing the length of her father's office. Occasionally she would tidy here or there, keeping to her father's strict system of things. She had finished dusting the shelves by the time Archimedes returned to the room with a rolled piece of parchment tied to his leg. She thanked him with yet another whole peanut and unfurled the message.
Hermione,
By the time you receive this, it'll be late. If you haven't already tidied, do that. Though, knowing you, I imagine you had. Go to our living quarters and stay there! I had better not hear another report from Libby saying you tried to leave.
And for the love of all that is holy don't stay up all night!
LIBBY WILL BE CHECKING ON YOU!
Your exasperated father
"Wow," she told the bird. "I can just feel the paternal love oozing from this!" Hermione grabbed her quill and wrote her own letter.
Exasperated Father,
Reporting to living quarters at 2100 hours for the duration of 15, July 1991 until 0600hours on 16, July 1991.
Awaiting further instruction, sir!
Your obedient daughter
Hermione sighed knowing exactly what would come of her sending Archimedes with that letter. She imagined him ranting endlessly about her cheek and how she appreciated nothing. She simply had no idea of what he had to endure for her benefit! Though how could she? She was just a silly little girl, but she certainly would appreciate everything he's done once she was older. Hermione rolled her eyes and wrote a new letter.
She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, counting to three before setting quill to paper.
Dad,
Not to worry! You've correctly predicted I would have things already sorted, you know me too well. I'm heading to our living-quarters at nine o'clock. I hope the night runs smoothly for you.
Love,
Hermione.
"You're going to get fat!" she scolded the owl.
Archimedes demanded another peanut before he let her tie the note to his leg and again before he left. She was now out of peanuts and out of patience as the owl left her arm and fled from the high window. She did another tidy of the office, ensuring everything was in order before she left. She marked her place in her book with the unused note and snuffed the lit candles around the room.
She entered the dark hall with a lit taper and quietly padded her way down the corridor that led to their living quarters. She felt as though she shouldn't be in the corridor at night. A remnant of her father's presence or one of his agents everywhere she turned. Sure, she sounded paranoid, but nearly eleven years of his watchful eye made her suspect everything. She truly loved her father, but she wished she could simply walk down a corridor without fearing she had somehow displeased him.
She entered the room she had spent the last ten years in. The fireplace had already been lit and glow globes at each corner of the entrance alcove. Rice paper dividers stood dividing where they slept from what had become a living area as well as separating the makeshift bedrooms from each other. Ten years of rice paper and hiding in the library were the key to her own privacy. How could she have been so isolated but never alone? She rolled her eyes at the thought and sat herself at the round wooden table in front of the fireplace.
She hunched over her book and began the chapter on immutable physical and metaphysical properties of metals. Hermione hadn't received her letter yet, but when she did she wanted to be ready. Some of what she read was beyond her level, but she cross-referenced all she could to make sense of it. She felt like if she understood the fundamental laws of magic she would know what she was doing. A complete understanding of the properties of potions ingredients and tools allowed her to make calls while preparing them, knowing the parts of speech made learning French, Latin, Elvish and Goblin easier and knowing individual constellations allowed her to map the sky more easily. Details made her see the whole. Though she wished she had the talent of some of the students she spied on. So many seemed to intuitively get it without the hard work. Perhaps she wasn't as smart as she fancied.
Hermione finished the chapter, scrawling notes on the back of her unsent message to help her memorize the finer points. She had at least three points per paragraph, anything less than that and...she didn't know, but was certain it would mean she failed to understand what she read. Somehow.
She moved to the next chapter on branching spells. The idea was that individual spells were new branches on a great existing tree with roots deep into the ground, all feeding from the same source and-
"Shit!" Hermione exclaimed, grabbing her sketchbook.
Four weeks and all she had accomplished on that damn mural was to paint over the wall in ivory. She started sketching out a tree with a tangle of roots reaching into a rippling water source. Burrowing amongst the roots was the humble badger. She began on the serpent coiling up the trunk when a snap broke the silence. She looked up and Libby stood beside Archimedes at the door. The owl flew to his perch, dropping a note on her sketchbook on the way.
Hermione,
There's a sleeping draught on the mantle if you need it. I'll be back in the morning.
Dad
P.S: I almost forgot. Don't read by the light of the glow globe. You'll ruin your eyes!
"Libby apologizes, Miss Hermione," Libby squeaked.
"Why?" Hermione asked, setting aside the note. "You're not the one that's sending nagging notes. Even when I'm alone he sends an owl to yell at me." Is that unfair for me to say?
Libby gently smiled and sat on the table. "Please don't be mad at Professor Snape, Miss Hermione. He only wants what's best for Miss Hermione."
"I know, Libby," she sighed. "I'm sorry you have to mind me."
"Would Miss Hermione like Libby to tell her a secret?" she asked, taking her hand.
Curiosity burned at her brain. Maybe Libby knew where she came from. Maybe she wasn't bound to keep her father's secrets. She wondered which she would rather know. On one hand, she desperately wanted to know what the teachers were all up to this summer. They had all been acting strangely. But to know where she came from…
Hermione looked nothing like her father, to the point that some new DADA professors over the years have casually asked if she were an international adoptee. Students have called her "Snape's foundling" under their breath, meaning he found her. Where did he find her? What about the rumours she was actually a year younger than he told everyone to hide a sordid affair with a student? That didn't seem likely. Did he adopt her? Find her? Did she have a mother out there somewhere...that most likely abandoned the two of them?
"What is it?" she asked, leaning in.
"Minding Miss Hermione is Libby's favourite duty!" she smiled.
Hermione forced a smile hoping to hide her disappointment. "You're so sweet, Libby. Thank you."
"Oh!" she said, snapping her fingers and presenting a sandwich cut into corners and cup of tea. "Libby almost forgot!"
So did Hermione. She neglected her gurgling stomach in the interest of getting everything done. She took a quarter of the sandwich (though wished it had been cut into thirds) and gestured to the plate to the skinny house-elf. "Thanks, Libby. You know, I feel weird about eating by myself, any chance you could take some? I know it's not appropriate, but I would feel better about it."
Libby took a quarter and nibbled gingerly on it, though her expression told Hermione she had also neglected to feed herself. The two ate their very late supper and Libby admired Hermione's initial sketch.
Hermione felt her cheeks flush as Libby complimented her. She wondered how much of it was pity or duty but broke from her own self-pity long enough to see the tiny house-elf shivering.
"Are blankets clothes, Libby?" Hermione asked on her way to her room.
"No, Miss Hermione, why?"
Hermione dug out her multi-coloured poorly knitted blanket. It was not quite as tall as Libby as she gave up and cast off when she couldn't replicate the pattern exactly. She was now thankful for it, it was the right size for Libby to wear like a cloak or shawl without being shamed or scorned. She presented it to Libby. "You look cold. I tried to make a blanket earlier this year. I have no use for it."
"It's so sweet, Miss Hermione!" she said, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Libby thanks Miss Hermione!"
Libby left and Hermione wished she could free the indentured house-elves without shaming them. It was so unfair, and the ones that hadn't been brainwashed by centuries of slavery were afraid to advocate for their own freedom. She sighed and returned to her sketch wondering if she could ever help them.
The last of the potions were finally brewed and Severus handed them along with the plans and riddle to Dumbledore around three that morning. The Devil's Snare had been relocated successfully to the chamber beneath the trapdoor. That took more time and effort on his part and Sprout's than either had accounted for. The forty-foot drop was about as easy to navigate as a damn labyrinth. He pushed the thought from his mind as he entered their living-quarters.
Why was he not surprised? Hermione sat at the table with her face buried in an open book. One of three open books that sat on the table. He approached her and Archimedes flew to perch himself on the back of her chair, staring intently at him.
"You'll wake her!" he hissed.
Archimedes narrowed his yellow eyes with an arrogant judgement he once had only imagined humans capable of.
"I get it," he whispered. "I'm a terrible father!"
Severus gently lifted her from the chair, careful not to wake her. He wondered how long she had been sleeping at the table as he carried her into her bedroom. Archimedes followed him and cast another judgemental glare at him as he tucked her into bed. Hermione seemed so vulnerable and tiny. She was not greatly smaller than others her age, but he couldn't help but remember the baby girl sleeping in his arms. The damn owl was right, he left her alone too often. He never thought he could love another person as long as he lived, but this little girl, his little girl, changed that. And he repaid her with the very negligence he accused her birth parents of.
Why did she have to start school this year? Why in the year they moved the stone to the school? The ear he kept to the ground and news reports on the continent all but confirmed dark magic was afoot. If Voldemort could somehow return, he would want the stone. Hence the late nights creating mythological tasks to guard the damn thing. If their fears were true, how much danger was she in? Would Lily's son bring a host of danger as well? Why did they have to be in the same year? He should have lied about her age. Maybe then the only person he still cared about would be safe.
Or you could send her away, but you're too selfish for that... He thought as he turned to leave.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" Hermione gasped, bolting upright.
Hermione looked around the darkened room in a fury before noticing she was in bed. Four weeks of these nightmares, he felt if he wasn't losing sleep over the stone he would be losing sleep over her. At least more than he usually did.
"Dad?" she knitted her eyebrows in confusion.
"You were having a nightmare," he explained. "Again."
Hermione drew her knees up to her chest and shrank into a tight upright fetal position. He could barely make out her eyes between the blankets and her hair. "Sorry," she mumbled.
At this rate, he could dismiss any fears of her befriending the Potter boy. There was no way the timid girl would land in Gryffindor, and there was no way a son of Lily and James Potter would land anywhere else.
"Four weeks of this," he sighed sitting on the foot of her bed. "Do you remember anything?"
"No, sir," she shook her head.
When did she start lying to me? It was a while ago... "Why do I doubt that?"
Hermione lifted her head and sighed. "I'll get over it. It's stupid anyway...Pathetic really."
Did I do this to you? he wondered, but couldn't bring himself to say the words. "Try me," he said, moving a strand of hair from her face.
Long minutes of silence passed between them. Severus's own shitty parents made him incapable of navigating moments like these. Was it better to let it be? Was it better to urge her to speak? He had no clue what she needed. He longed for a time when he knew exactly what she wanted and he could dispel any fears she had with a well-placed distraction.
"Nobody is going to like me," she sighed, scratching between Archimedes's eyes. "I'm an idiot for letting it bother me as much as it is."
He was about as equipped to advise her in that as the owl on her arm. It also just occurred to him then that his attempts to deter her from befriending the Potter boy were in part responsible. How many entries had she read of students transfiguring their unsuspecting peers? Amplifying features the victims were self-conscious of? Or any other assortment of public humiliations that landed their victims in the hospital? Some of the things he had her copy made the teenagers in Carrie seem kind.
"See?" she said not taking her eyes off the owl. "Pathetic. Don't feel like you have to waste your time on this. I just have to grow up."
What the hell kind of ten-year-old spoke like that? How could she think he saw her concerns as a waste of time? Was this the future? Was he doomed to watch her suffer in silence with nothing to do about it? Sure, it was nightmares now, but soon enough she would be facing much larger problems. And if she was right about nobody liking her the issues would be even worse.
And that was assuming worse problems don't rear their head...He could only hope that the goings-on on the continent didn't mean the end of peace-time. Should that happen the temptation to make like the Godmother in a certain muggle fairy-tale was particularly strong.
"Are you okay, Dad?" she asked, at last, making eye contact with him.
That was when he noticed the white-knuckled grip on Hermione's hand. He loosened his grip but wasn't willing to let go. Not yet, not until he could make things right for her. But...he had no clue how to do that. He cursed Hermione's insightfulness. She knew something was wrong, and what was he to tell her? That he was terrified of the idea she could be lost? That he couldn't help her? No, he had to be immovable.
"I'm fine," he sighed, placing his other hand on her head. "I'm not the one who's unable to sleep through the night." That was true about twelve years ago...
"And still I worry," she gave him a weak smile and tilted her head.
"And I keep telling you not to," he sighed.
Another silence passed and the two stared at each other, both worried with no clue how to express it. He realized that there was nothing he could do and that she would talk to him when she was ready. It was all up to her and he hated it! Severus might have been able to play the long game, but he was not a patient man, and he hated the idea that he would be useless again.
"It's late," he summoned a sleeping potion and handed it to her. "Drink this and get some sleep. Will you need me to stay with you?"
Hermione smiled gently and shook her head. "That's sweet, Dad. But we both know I'm far too old for that. I appreciate the offer."
"Of course, love," he said less gently than he had wished to. She is right about that...don't get upset... You literally told her that two years ago...
She might have outgrown him staying with her, but he didn't outgrow listening for the sound of disturbances in her breathing or yelps. So he cleared the table until he was satisfied the potion took. He picked up her sketchbook and examined the half-done sketch. At ten the girl out-classed some of his better students in technical skill, was it talent or isolation? Either way, he felt a surge of paternal pride at the work.
Archimedes glared at him from the top of the sketchbook.
"No, I'm not going to tell her!" he hissed, shooing the bird. "Hermione can do things without showing off. I don't see how heaping praise on the girl is going to in any way make her a better person. It'll only make her arrogant."
I'm accusing a damn bird of judging me... He picked up the other books. As he closed Laws and Principles of Magic Vol. 1 he saw a piece of parchment with Hermione's writing marking the page. Very tiny writing detailed properties of different metals. This girl is going to read the whole damn library before her first day. He flipped the paper to find a rather cheeky note. Of course she drafted notes to him, that child was always so careful in writing. And now he wondered if Hermione truly felt he was some unreasonable taskmaster. Severus was torn between wanting to prove her right by adding to her plate and just telling her what all of this was about. He sighed and placed the marker back in place before heading to bed.
Sunlight barely entered the dungeon window and filtered through the rice paper dividers when Hermione woke. The damn roosters would start their crowing in an hour or so, and Hermione felt the two hours of sleep weigh on her like a stone. She urged her body out of bed, her mind sluggish as well from the potion. It gave her a deep, solid sleep, but she didn't wake as refreshed as she might have had she waited even just a couple hours more.
However her body cried for more sleep, she had shit to do. She would start by stealing some coffee from the kitchens. After she was-no, she was already dressed. She simply splashed cold water on her face from the basin before grabbing her things on the table. She found the books, charcoal, ink and quill neatly stacked and cleaned. She would get an earful when her father woke, but she probably deserved it. She looked to Archimedes who slept peacefully on his perch. Perhaps she could leave before six without his screeching. She placed her things in her bag and neglected her shoes. She padded out and quietly left their living quarters.
"Good morning, Miss Hermione," Libby smiled over a pot of coffee.
"Does Miss need anything?" asked Bitsy, another female house-elf.
Many of the house-elves greeted her with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but all wanted to ensure that the human in the room did not need anything. Hermione felt so gross, being doted on by creatures that felt bound to her. Her stomach churned as she moved to a magic icebox removing sausage, bacon and eggs. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd make myself and my father something," she shrugged.
"Does Miss not like our cooking?" Bitsy asked between her teeth, a strained smile broke Hermione's heart.
This was a conversation she had several times with the house-elves over the past two years. "Your cooking is beautiful, Bitsy," she assured her. "But I was raised to do things for myself. I feel wrong with others doing things for me."
"Miss Hermione is a peculiar human, Bitsy," Libby sighed, rubbing her back. "But she also told Libby that she has to learn so she can take care of herself when she grows up. Perhaps Bitsy can help me show her things?"
"But Bitsy is making pies, Libby!" she whispered looking up at Hermione.
"Libby will teach me, Bitsy," Hermione smiled, kneeling to the elf's eye-level. "Continue on with the pies. You're doing beautifully."
Libby supervised Hermione cooking breakfast while offering her coffee with a few remarks on how it was going to stunt her growth. She arranged the breakfast attractively on her father's plate and chopped sausage for Archimedes, sitting it on the side of her own plate, not touching her fruit or bread. She had to do some rather disgusting things to prepare for potions and the idea of eating animals on top of it churned her stomach. She covered the plates with towels, set the mugs upside down on the tray with one of the percolators.
"Does Miss Hermione need help?" Libby asked.
"No, Libby," she said carrying the tray out. "I got this. Thanks."
Hermione padded back down to their living-quarters and began setting the table. The roosters began crowing as Hermione poured coffee into the mugs waking the damn castle before the first bell rang. It was something that irked her without any real reason. She ignored it and began offering bits of sausage to the now awake Archimedes.
"Keep that up and he'll weigh more than you," her father said, emerging from his room already dressed.
"Morning, Dad."
"Either the house-elves are early today or you raided the kitchens again," he posited sitting down.
"I was raised to do things for myself," she shrugged before offering another piece to Archimedes. "I swear you only like me when I feed you."
"That owl is more fond of you than you give him credit for," he leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "And I may have wanted you to be independent, but I know I didn't teach you to do others' work for them. I swear if the Ministry found out Hogwarts would be facing child labour accusations."
"I only have a month and a bit before I have to sustain myself on slave labour, and besides," Hermione faced Archimedes to hide an eye roll and offered his last bit of sausage. "It's not child labour if it's only us. Is it wrong for me to want to be of some use to our family?"
"Sit down, little girl," he gestured across the table. "I'm tired of explaining why my owl is better fed than my daughter."
Hermione obliged and drank her coffee opposite him and picked at her fruit, carefully divvying them into thirds. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better than you, it seems," he said, pouring himself another cup. "What the hell kind of ten-year-old has a diet that consists of black coffee and fruit? You're going to look like a child until you're my age."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and poured herself water. "I'll use it to my advantage. Depending on what I choose to do with the rest of my life I'll get an advantage from being underestimated."
"It's not an underestimation if you're as fragile as you look," he said.
"I need to take Archimedes out, work on the mural, and return the books to the library," she counted after a period of uncomfortable silence. "Anything you need help with, Dad?"
"Let's see," he mused. "I can never seem to keep up with the demand or pickled rat brains and spleens, so that will have to be done. The unicorn horn powder needs to be sifted, I can see to the milking of scorpion, spider and snake venom. That will take all day, so you'll need to do the rest. Oh, and I need the tools sorted by metal type. Feel free to use your little cheat sheet."
Hermione's day of raiding the archives vanished before it began. She rose and moved beside him to kiss his cheek. She then tilted her head and smiled at him."I'll see to it immediately." she whistled and Archimedes flew to her arm for the price of a whole peanut.
"Oh, and Hermione?" he said, rising as well.
"Yes?"
"The military uses numbers to indicate the month."
Little cheat sheet, military...crap! You're so careless! Stupid, stupid little girl!
Hermione sighed and turned from the door. "I am so sorry, Dad. I was angry when I wrote that, but I didn't send it because I didn't mean it."
"You got through a whole note using muggle military lingo you're unfamiliar with before your impulse control kicked in?" he scoffed.
Hermione slapped her forehead with her free hand. "J-," she sighed. "Yes. I'm a child, I've read somewhere we don't really develop impulse control until we're twenty-five."
"That makes so much sense," he groaned. "Let's go."
"Let's?"
"A contraction of 'let' and 'us'," he said, banishing the used plates. "You've certainly read enough to know that."
Oh dear god! Hermione forced a smile and nodded. "Of course, Dad. I suppose I was just curious when you said you'd be spending when you said you would be spending the day milking venom."
"And leave you alone when you have no impulse control? I don't think so; I'm coming with you."
Hermione raised her arm and watched Archimedes take to the clear blue sky. The owl circled before flying to a far tower in the school. She turned to her father leaning against a massive oak eyeing the owl with a stoic expression she couldn't interpret. He seemed uneasy, but she bet he was just still angry about the note she never sent.
She imagined Archimedes was picking up a letter from the Headmaster. He would be there for a while. Were her father not with her she would lay in the grass and read for an hour before taking on the mural. But basking in the shade and sun on the dewy grass would only earn her snide comments about how the damn mural wasn't going to paint itself. Does thinking that make me an ingrate?
"Well," he started as she mixed paints on a palette. "It's very white."
"It's a base, Dad," she explained.
"After three weeks?"
"It has to dry between each layer," she sighed. "And when I started I was certain the graffiti enchantment would bleed through whatever I did."
He placed his hand on her head and looked at her. "If you thought the Headmaster was proposing a Sisyphean task, why the hell did you agree?"
"I guess I just wanted to be useful," she shrugged, mixing an intense navy. "You've all been so busy all summer, and breaking the enchantment was one less thing for you to do. I have no clue what you lot are doing, but I know it's important."
"How much do you know?" he asked, lifting her chin.
"Just that it's been keeping you all hours of the night," she said, ignoring the chills running down her spine. Whatever it was, she was not supposed to know and it was this that unsettled her father. "I know it's very serious...nothing else, I swear."
"Very well," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "I advise you to keep your head down. It doesn't concern you and I'm not above ensuring you remain ignorant."
"I know to mind my own business," Hermione turned back to her palette, dismissing his vague threat. "If it affected me at all you would tell me."
"If it affected you at all I would do anything in my power," he said.
Even to my dismay... she thought before smiling gently at him. "I know, Dad."
Hours passed and Hermione had painted the entire wall navy. Her father's presence had allowed her to apply two coats over the ivory by magically drying the paint, and drying it before Hermione returned to the floor.
"And here I thought you would wait until you were sorted before you started showing favouritism-or at least chose to favour your poor old dad's house?"
Hermione smirked and grandly gestured across the wall. "Yes, I have this artistic vision! A great silver raven majestically soaring high in a field of navy representing all of Hogwarts!"
"Ravenclaw's sigil is an eagle, and bronze. If you're going to spite me, be accurate about it."
Hermione shook her head. "I've decided to take artistic license. If I'm painting a single mascot everybody's going to be disappointed."
"At least you have aspirations."
Hermione laughed and knelt to gingerly retrieve the book on star charts from her bag. She flipped through it with a clean kerchief.
"Madam Pince would kill you if you got paint on a single one of her books."
"Which is why I'm only referencing it to ensure I copied it right," Hermione again resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Honestly, Dad, do you think I'm so careless? Marking up a book is just heretical."
"I should have never let you near that woman," he smirked. "I swear the minute she was convinced you were old enough not to be 'a sticky-fingered menace' she saw to indoctrinating you!"
"Just because I would rather drive knives into my eyeballs than harm our hard and paperbound brethren doesn't mean I've been indoctrinated," she said dramatically.
"Well, you'd certainly roll them less if you did that," he shrugged. "Did you accurately follow the instructions of your hardbound brethren?"
"Praiseth be the pages bound!" Hermione chanted crossing herself.
"And you just got paint in your hair," he smiled with an eye roll before kneeling to take the library book with his clean hands and poked her forehead. "And here."
"It might be an improvement," she shrugged, running a hand through her hair before rummaging through her bag. "I can't possibly make it worse. I know I've got some moonstone pigment in here somewhere..."
"Damn girl forgot to lock the door again," Severus grumbled to himself before opening the door.
Upon the sight of his living quarters, he dropped his armload of books and grabbed his wand pointing it at the intruder holding an unconscious Hermione in her lap.
"What is it with you and claiming pet mudbloods?"
"How the hell did you get out of Azkaban?"
"Shh," Bellatrix grinned merrily pointing a wand at Hermione's temple. "Baby's sleeping. And I'd listen if you ever want her to wake again. Let go of the wand."
All he had to do was disarm her, there'd be no risk of that harming Hermione, but his fingers froze around his wand, a tight lump formed in his throat and a chill ran down his spine. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak. His chest tightened and stomach churned. He had to move. To do something. All he could do was watch as Bellatrix cupped Hermione's face to turn it to face him.
"Pwease, you don't want to huwt me, Daddy!" she squeaked, moving Hermione's jaw.
He wanted to tell her to get the hell away from his daughter. He wanted to disarm her, get Hermione somewhere safe and ensure that Bellatrix would never be a problem again. Something that should have been easy, yet his frozen muscles refused to move. This must have been what petrification was like. If he couldn't attack Bellatrix without risking Hermione could he at least do as she said.
"Don't you wub me, Daddy?" Bellatrix cackled.
Move! Move, you stupid piece of shit! Save your baby!
"Drop it, Snape," Bellatrix sang. "Or Daddy's pwecious widdle giwl won't live to see her eleventh birthday!"
Severus sank to his knees and dropped his wand. "Please let her go."
"Tell me how to get the stone."
"Second door on the left-hand third floor corridor... there's a trapdoor...now let her go!"
Bellatrix threw Hermione across the room, she landed at his knees unmoving.
"Hermione!" he held her to him, feeling her cold face. "Don't do this to me! No, no, no, no!"
Bellatrix smirked evilly. "I'm not going to suffer a mudblood to live. She was dead long before you got here!"
"You bitch!" he cried.
"But is it really her fault, Sev?"
Only one person ever called him that. He turned around to see a beautiful auburn-haired woman with bright green eyes standing before him. How...Lily stood before him, her beautiful features contorted in anger. "She would still be alive if you left her with her real parents!"
"You don't understand, Lily! She was so sick..."
"The doctors would have saved her and you know it!" she hissed. "She would have simply been asthmatic and unathletic. But alive!"
"Lily, I-"
"Save it, Severus!" she snapped. "You couldn't save me and you can't protect her! You gave up the stone because you're weak. I've died for nothing!"
"I just wanted to protect my baby!" he cried.
"And so did I!" she screamed. "And because of you, my baby is an orphan!"
"I know," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Lily!"
"'Sorry' doesn't bring her back, now does it, Daddy?" Hermione was no longer dead in his arms, but kneeling at his side. "'Sorry' fixes nothing!"
"We're both dead because of you!" Lily screamed in his other ear. "You gave Voldemort the prophecy that led to mine and my husband's deaths!"
"You tricked my real parents into giving me up!"
"You orphaned my son!"
"You raised me to trust no one but you!"
"You became a Death Eater because your schoolboy crush didn't return your feelings!"
"You will give up the stone to your old master!"
"You couldn't save me!"
"You couldn't protect me!"
The two converged on his ears and screamed: "And you can't protect Harry!"
Severus woke that morning gasping for air, but in his own bed. He looked around before noticing Hermione's silhouette leaning against Archimedes's perch, feeding him something to be sure. He silently sighed and thanked whatever higher power might exist before getting dressed and putting on his shoes.
He entered the living area to find Hermione feeding bits of sausage to Archimedes.
"Keep that up and he'll weigh more than you," he teased.
"Morning, Dad."
I can protect you.