"Hush, love," Severus tried to keep his voice even as he rocked the wailing thirteen-month-old.
Since Hermione was released from St Mungo's, crying fits were few and far in between, and he hadn't recalled her crying with such intensity since she had been with the muggles. She was a baby, of course she was going to cry, but it was nearly nine, and she was crying since before her bedtime at seven.
He considered getting her looked at, but there were more obvious reasons for his infant daughter's renewed intense crying. She had four teeth coming in, and an incredibly loud thunderstorm raged overhead.
A bottle of warm milk laced with Teething Solution (which she refused to drink!), a dry nappy, pacing the length of their living quarters, two bed-time stories (reading to her normally worked!) and even a number of half-remembered lullabies, but nothing would quieten her.
Severus had a stash of sleeping draughts adjusted for infants, but he'd recently read that over reliance before a child is five could lead to an impairment of the brain's ability to produce their own sleep chemicals as they grew. So, he ignored the admittedly strong temptation to do so.
"Will nothing quieten you?" he groaned. Switching tactics again, he put her on her back to rub her little tummy.
If I were your biological father would I have some instincts here? He thought back to the seventeen-year-old boy in over his head and dismissed the thought. Perhaps all those stories he'd heard of parents instinctively knowing how to handle their children were complete bullshit. His parents certainly had no clue what the hell they were doing, and while Hermione's biological parents showed no signs of abuse, they were certainly just as clueless.
For immediate needs, he had gotten used to gleaning her thoughts after establishing eye-contact. Though it was something he relied on much less, now that he had time to link specific expressions to her desires. Changing, feedings and fatigue were the easiest to ditch his reliance on legilimency for, but things to comfort her...they were still a mystery, even with the aid of magic. And when she was inconsolable? He guessed infant minds simply didn't make sense when their worries were more abstract.
Two hours of this and every scrap of information for those damned parenting books failed him. One more night surely won't form a lifelong dependency…and it has been a couple weeks since her last dose.
"Do you want your bottle?" he offered after ensuring the temperature was correct.
"Yes", "no", "please" and "thank you" were all in her vocabulary now, and simple gestures too. However, rather than using them, she kept crying.
"You're too old for these tantrums, little girl," he groaned. "Drink. Now."
A peel of thunder echoed through their living quarters, and Hermione continued to wail. The idea occurred to him to simply leave her in her crib until she tired herself, but at two hours he doubted she would exhaust herself.
He was seconds from force-feeding her the bottle when he heard a knock on the door. Something that brought fresh tears to Hermione's eyes.
"Silence," he whispered in her ear, to no avail.
He opened the door to find Dumbledore, holding his hat in his hand and his face drawn, as if something quite dire had happened. That's when he realised that was exactly it was.
"Headmaster?" he breathed.
"Severus," Dumbledore twisted his hat in hands. "I'm afraid I have some terrible news. You might need to sit down."
A knot formed in his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. The world around him grew colder and his chest tightened. He knew by the lines on Dumbledore's face, the glistening of his eyes, and the quirk of his mouth to the side. No magic or words needed.
The information he gave his old master proved "useful" and Lily and her family were all dead.
Severus clutched his own child closer to him and she in turn silenced, likely picking up on the gravity of the moment, even if she couldn't understand the context. His knees buckled, and he took the old man's advice, sitting at the table before he fell to them.
"When did it happen?" he asked slowly.
"Perhaps an hour ago," Dumbledore said. "I just received the owl. I thought it best you knew before the news broke. I know how how close you and Lily used to be,"
Why wasn't Dumbledore blaming him? He gambled with Lily's life, knowingly signed a baby, a boy Hermione's age, up for execution. Three were dead because of him, and Dumbledore offered him sympathy?
Didn't people look for others to blame in these circumstances? And Severus was the perfect candidate. Hell, part of him wanted to blame Dumbledore for not hiding them well enough. But as the thoughts formed, he was reminded too well of his own involvement.
"How did it happen?" he asked,his voice thick and already suspecting he knew the details.
"We're working with very little information, Severus," his eyes fell to Hermione. "But we know two things. The boy survived and Voldemort vanished without a trace. Likely very 've no clue how, Harry's only Hermione's age."
"Injured?" he asked.
Severus wasn't surprised Lily and Potter put up a fight, they were both incredibly skilled in magic, but to injure him so badly that he fled before finishing the job with an infant? That had never happened, and with his horcruxes, Severus knew he wasn't dead, but could it buy them time to find them, rather than waiting for a prophesied Chosen One that couldn't even walk across the room yet. Then Lily's sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing…
"We'll know more after we examine the scene," Dumbledore said. "Minerva and I will be going to investigate. I'll let you know what we find. And, Severus?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I was young, stupid and desperate for vengeance once," he pointed to Hermione. "Think about her before you consider acting on those desires."
In truth, he did want to track Voldemort down and weaken him further, or to begin to search for the horcruxes. But even without the confused little girl in his arms, he would have known he better served the efforts, and Lily's sacrifice, by continuing to work undercover. Dangerous work, but useful.
With Hermione, he couldn't fathom leaving her an orphan for anything less than essential.
Hermione looked up at him, her olive skin pink from crying, her cheeks soaked, her large eyes examining him, biting her tiny fingers in confusion. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew the situation was grave. Just minutes before she was terrified…
A child her age, the boy's likely terrified of loud noises and he's expected to be a saviour.
"What will happen to the boy?" he asked, pulling Hermione's fingers from her mouth.
"I'm surprised you asked," Dumbledore sighed. "Here I thought you didn't give a damn if the child lives or dies."
I deserved that… "Potter had no living family, and Lily's parents died fairly young. I'm curious."
"If Sirius Black can't, then Lily's sister and her husband will," he asserted.
"Petunia?" he coughed. "I doubt that Lily would have wanted that. She was rather nasty with her."
"You might be surprised," Dumbledore sighed again.
Images flashed through his mind, a little seven-year-old Lily playing on a swing set, an eleven-year-old Lily brandishing her letter, at fourteen begging him to join karaoke night and every shared moment they had since they were small, her smile, her laugh, her cheeky comments. Every moment of fun and tenderness, then her beautiful features contorted in rage after he'd called her.. And every successive betrayal. Lily's light had been extinguished from the world, and Severus would never make things right.
We're twenty-one, I thought we had more time...She should have had more time.
And Lily's voice suddenly entered his head: And whose fault is that?
"I still can't believe she's gone.." he admitted, his voice wavering. Damn tears were already stinging his eyes.
"I'm truly sorry, Severus, I know you still—-"
"You have more important matters to attend to," he managed. "Hermione, love, can we say bye-bye to the headmaster?"
Instead the girl cuddled closer to Severus's chest. He wondered if she thought Dumbledore was the cause of his distress. The girl was insightful, but her understanding of cause and effect were limited to what was immediately in her area.
Dumbledore bent to look Hermione in the eye and gave her a weak smile. "Bye-bye, little one."
She graced the old man with a side eye and sheepish wave, but she didn't speak. That was when he left.
Severus sat there, absently clutching Hermione to him as a thousand memories of Lily swam through his head. Everything that woman touched flourished, Lily could bring laughter at the worst times, and her fiery anger at injustices demanded change. She was a good person—was—how he hated thinking of her that way. How could she be gone?
Severus's recollections were interrupted by a tiny outstretched hand patting the top of his bent head—or attempting to, at least. How many times had he set a hand on her head to comfort her? Hermione mimicking that behaviour brought upon a strange mixture of emotions, warmth at the gesture, guilt for Hermione feeling as though she needed to comfort him, shame he'd let her see him like this. All warring with his intense grief and the gnawing thought that he would get to see his child grow, while Lily had been robbed of that. Because of him.
"Daddy sad?" Hermione squeaked.
Severus rested his hand on Hermione's head and kissed her forehead. "I suppose I am," he admitted.
"Why?" she squeaked.
"You'll understand when you're older, love," he said, hoping she never truly would…at least not until she was old.
That night Hermione fell asleep on his chest, and as he stroked the toddler's hair it became clear that Hermione was truly all he had left. And he would never lose her.
"You're not already writing to the Yamato boy, are you?" Severus teased. "It's been a day."
"Actually," Hermione sighed with an eyeroll. "I'm catching up on letters to Luna, Harry and Ron. I guess I got a number of them while I was isekai'd."
Severus scoured his mind knowing that "sekai" meant world, but unsure how she meant it.
"Means I was transported to another world, it's a genre of manga," Hermione explained. "Was there something you needed, Dad?"
Thirty-one days from now and she would be fourteen, and the bushy haired little girl opposite him grew stranger to him with each passing year. Far from the baby who slept peacefully on his chest all those years ago, Hermione now occupied herself with her friends and boyfriend back in Japan and a series of miscreants she saw fit to befriend at home.
"We were going to let you sleep, jetlag and all," Severus explained, moving to rest his hand on Hermione's head. "But hearing the movement, I thought it best to tell you breakfast is ready. If you're not sleeping, the letters can wait for you to have a meal with your father and godfather."
Hermione stood and nodded with a faint smile. "Of course, Dad."
Perhaps the jetlag was still affecting Hermione, as she fell asleep over her toast and hash.
"Hermione," Remus said gently.
"Let her sleep," Severus sighed, slowly lifting her. "I'll put her—"
"Dad?" asked a groggy Hermione.
"You're such a light sleeper, love," he said, placing her back down. "Jetlag?"
"Most likely," she said, stifling a yawn and rising. "I think I'll maybe take a nap and—"
A giant ginger cat leapt down from the mantle and trotted along with his bottle-brush tail up in a question mark position. He rubbed against Hermione's legs and meowed up at her.
"Good boy, Crookshanks," Hermione cooed, bending down to pet him.
The cat snubbed her, bending his back away from her hand and putting his squashed nose into the air, much like a pouting child.
"You're still mad at me?" Hermione squeaked, incredulous.
"Welcome to my world, love," Severus smirked and placed a hand on her head.
"If that's what I've been doing, I'm sorry," Hermione rolled her eyes with a scoff.
"I'll take it," he sighed. "Go get some rest before you collapse."
The cat followed her into her little bedroom all the same and he had no doubt he was curled up in her arms after spending almost all of July waiting for the girl to return, sitting in her bed. Pathetic as it was, he knew he was equally lost without his daughter. He loathed to think of it, but he did not imagine he would handle the empty nest well. But he had ages to worry about that, didn't he?
"I'm surprised she's not still mad at you," Remus observed as Severus returned to his seat.
"Oh, she would be if her little 'fiance' didn't brush it off, I'm certain," he groaned. "And she will be when I talk to her about it. I'm not looking forward to it."
"She's turning fourteen, Severus," Remus reminded him. "I'd be surprised if it lasts the year. Kids that age don't do well with the pining from the distance thing."
Severus rolled his eyes. "Have you met my daughter? She excels at 'pining from the distance' and even if she didn't, that little girl's incredibly stubborn."
"She gets that from you."
"Perhaps," Severus admitted. "And somehow you broke through."
Remus smirked, a playful glint in his pale green eyes. "I guess I'm just that talented."
"You're lucky my child's in the next room," Severus teased in a whisper.
"Or unlucky?" his partner grinned evilly.
Dear Harry,
I'm back home from Japan. I combed through the library at Mahoutokoro, literally diving into a book (Hermione couldn't help but grin at that.), but I haven't had much help. There's an old Chinese tale about two brothers who duelled over a lover. When the lover sacrificed herself to save one of the twins, she was engulfed in stone. They say the twins would see through her eyes for the rest of their nights while they slept.
It might just be a story, but I think it matches what I've read about deep emotional bonds and curses. It's all very vague, and there aren't many examples, but it's like the emotions colour the magic and taint the curse. Dumbledore said you were shielded by your mum, right? Maybe the sacrifice forged a link between you and the Dark Lord? Just a guess.
If you're seeing through his eyes, then hovering weightless through an old manor house might be his disembodied spirit. Quirrell failed, so maybe he hasn't found anyone else yet. We know he used to be Tom Riddle. I'll see what I can dig up on him other than "orphan" in the archives.
I hate to bring this up...but my dad is an expert in curses and dark magic. He might have some insights that I couldn't find in the library. Trust me, I know this is the last thing you want, and I can't stand asking him for help…but if it's what we both suspect
Hermione shook her head and erased the last paragraph with a flick of her wand. Just because she and her father were on speaking terms again didn't mean she could trust him not to be a prat around Harry. And Harry would never consent to the help of Severus Snape. So, her father was out. And likely Remus and Dumbledore too. They would just tell her father and she would have to deal with the same issues.
I'll look into it and let you know what I find. See if you can hit the muggle library archives in your hometown. We know it was a muggle orphanage he was brought up in, so there might be some record of old manor houses being homes, or something else.
Love,
Hermione.
Hermione folded the letter over and started on Luna's letter, which she had saved for last. Unlike with Ron, Ginny and the twins whose letters mostly consisted of vague statements of doing well, and responses to their own summer adventures, Luna was told everything.
She didn't like the idea of burdening the younger girl, but imagining her smile, Hermione couldn't help but tell Luna every detail. Her whirlwind romance with Hiro, the proposal, the rogue archer, getting isekai'd and the clever way they undid the curse (or might have, where her spell and the grown-ups' went off at the same time.). She even signed the letter in a way she had never done before.
Love your best friend,
Kitty chu!
The "chu!" was too much, and Hermione erased that with her face flushed. She ended letters to Hiro with Mi-chan chu! She couldn't give Luna his sign off, that felt..wrong.
She only wanted to be with Hiro, but she hated how she noticed attractive boys and girls everywhere. O'Malley, the gangly older, ginger Slytherin boy with the hot temper and piercing eyes, Deirdre, the stunning freckled girl with turquoise eyes and a gentle, graceful nature, Luna and Ron..No, no, no! Not Luna and Ron! Definitely not those two! They're just friends! Just fucking friends…
You definitely don't deserve Hiro at this rate, you slut!
""You're not already writing to the Yamato boy, are you?" her father teased. "It's been a day."
"Actually," Hermione sighed with an eyeroll. "I'm catching up on letters to Luna, Harry and Ron. I guess I got a number of them while I was isekai'd."
She saw her father's eyebrows knit in confusion. Hermione thought for a moment about what she said and slapped her forehead before explaining it.
Hermione joined her father and Remus for breakfast, but couldn't keep herself awake. She awoke later, surprised to see Crookshanks curled up like a ginger pincushion opposite her face.
"And I thought you were mad at me," Hermione teased, petting him.
Don't disturb the sleepy boy, he seemed to say as a single yellow eye popped open. I will make an exception for scratching beneath my chin.
"Will you now?" Hermione sighed, thankful for an animagus's (or her permanently altered brain's) ability to communicate with her old, but lively ginger persian. She scratched under his chin and felt the rumble emit from his ribcage and up his throat. "You're a good boy, Crookshanks."
I know, he purred.
"And sooo humble!" she laughed.
A hoot echoed and Hermione turned her head up to see a small tawny mage-bred owl with piercing yellow eyes, demanding attention.
"I guess I missed you too, birdbrain," she grinned at Archimedes. "Or are you doing my father's bidding?"
Archimedes said nothing but flew down to her writing desk and reestablished eye contact before hooting again. Hermione liked to pretend they understood each other as the owl had been around as long as Hermione could remember, but she knew she couldn't beyond his body language. Though there were a few things she was certain he did like.
"Peanut?" Hermione offered one from a jar on her desk and began gently stroking between his eyes.
The bird greedily ate before making pleased cooing noises. He then gestured to the stack of envelopes that Hermione filled earlier that morning.
"I don't think so," she sat back down on her bed. "Need permission before sending you off, and some of those are going to Japan, that's not exactly an easy flight."
Archimedes puffed out his chest. People didn't understand him, but he seemed to understand people very well.
"You're as old as I am!" Hermione cried. "For an owl, that's not exactly a spring chicken."
At this, Archimedes flew out the window with a final vindictive hoot and an unpleasant leaving for Hermione to clean up.
I'm older than you, kitten, Crookshanks curled up on her pillow, certain to face away from her.
"Sorry," she sighed, collapsing back into her bed. "I suppose I should get to work…"
"Well I suppose my opinion doesn't matter, does it?" McGonagall folded her arms over her chest and turned her face from Dumbledore's.
The severe looking old woman had a childish streak to her, despite her tight face and black and white hair pulled back in an even tighter bun. Nothing could hide the spark in her beady eyes behind square spectacles.
"I'm certain Hermione bore the same expression when she was six and I said she was too little to play with the first years," Severus whispered to Remus.
Remus clapped a hand over his mouth and chuckled at this, perhaps picturing the woman who once taught them as a petulant child.
"Is there something you boys would like to share with the class?" McGonagall rose and her nostrils flared.
Both men remembered what she was like when they were actually boys and straightened, ready to pay attention.
"The tournament," Severus said, resuming a relaxed posture. "It's for students who've already turned seventeen, my opinions of the matter aside, legally they're considered adults. We make it clear the damage it could cause and let the little idiots make their own decisions."
"Severus!" Remus stared at him.
McGonagall glared at Severus, her nostrils flaring once more. "And if your daughter were seventeen I'm certain you'd be singing a different tune."
"Perhaps," he shrugged. Three years, is that all I have? "But my little girl would never be so stupid as to place her name in the goblet. Just be glad Potter's not seventeen, or we'd have no chance of keeping the little moron alive."
"Severus," Dumbledore warned, his blue eyes glaring above his half-moon spectacles.
"Severus didn't mean it, I'm sure," Remus was now the one glaring at him.
I must have forgotten to mark 'Everyone Hates Severus Day' in my diary. "Either way," he breathed. "I believe that this is out of our control. The powers that be resurrected this archaic ritual and we're to host it, whether or not we like it. Which, I agree, I don't like it. We'll just have to do what we can for safety measures. Do I have the measure of the situation, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore stroked his long white bead and sighed. "You put it rather indelicately, but, yes, Severus, you have the measure of it."
Hermione lost track of the hours. She had copious notes and in any other situation might have become an expert in her target. However, Thomas Marvolo Riddle Junior's records were scarce in the archives.
He was born December 31 1926, to an unnamed young woman in London England (So you don't know your mother's name either?) and custody was given to Wool's Orphanage, which was now a high-rise as muggle's moved from orphanages to foster families.
Riddle was under the custody of Wool's Orphanage his entire childhood. He started school in 1937 and excelled in school. He got all twelve OWLs, Ten NEWTs, was the Slytherin prefect and the school's Headboy, as well as top of his year every year. Disciplinary records were scant, with only two infractions over seven years, issued by the then transfiguration teacher Professor Albus Dumbledore. Once for transfiguring a young girl's nose (Armando Dippet denied the boy could do any wrong) and another time for an infraction she planned on committing tonight, breaking into the restricted section of the library. He was caught with the book Artefacts, Alchemy and Famed Wizards. Hermione found the title familiar and vowed to look at that one as well the books on necromancy.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, I am Lord Voldemort…Hermione slapped her forehead and began putting away the records. The Dark Lord was the heir to Salazar Slytherin, a well documented family. His mystery parents would be the most recent on the family tree. She only had to look—
"I thought I might find you here," a voice said and a hand landed on her head. "Are you sure you don't want to be a historian?"
"Hi, Dad," Hermione sighed, capping her inkwell. I'll have to look later. "Talking to Professor Tran?"
"I see someone else has the sense to deter you from that awful path," he sighed.
Only you would think that the truth is awful… Hermione dug her nails into her hands to prevent herself from wincing, wondering if it was his own preference for lies and secrets, or if he knew Hermione wasn't cut out for it.
"And might I ask what it is you're doing, anyway?"
"Petegrew's parents," Hermione lied, returning the forties files. She had intended that, so it wasn't a complete lie, and she hoped busying herself would pause any scrutiny from her father. "I want an idea of his background, what makes someone betray their best friends?"
"You won't find answers in those dusty old files, love" he said, his voice grew distant and his black eyes looked off into the distance instead of at her. "It's weakness and cowardice. Plain, simple and cruel. Some people are—But I'm getting away from myself," he said, tapping her head playfully. "Remus was so nice as to insist on taking us out, and if I'm not mistaken, you need to eat. Unless you like being the same height as the first years."
"I'm taller than eleven-year-olds, Dad," Hermione sighed with an eye roll.
"Not by much," he teased. "And don't roll your eyes, little girl."
"You must delight in tormenting me," Hermione groaned.
"As is my right as your father. You robbed me of the chance of scaring off your boyfriend, let me have this."
Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.
"How on earth did I raise such a petulant little girl?" he asked, pinching her cheeks.
"Dad!" she said somewhere between a whine and a giggle.
Remus now had the same record for taking Hermione out of the castle as Severus did. As they walked the streets of muggle London, he felt a pang. Severus should have been taking his daughter out long before now.
Do you think the girl would be so desperate to get up close and personal with every novelty under the sun if you had let her breathe a little as a child? McGonagall's voice from years ago asked.
A muggle father passed the three of them with a little black-haired girl around six hanging from his hand. She skipped and chittered on happily about something or other. That could have been them if Severus had known what he was doing all those years ago.
"Are you okay, Dad?" Hermione asked, blinking up at him.
How are you still nothing but eyes and hair? He placed a hand on her hand. "I was just remembering when you were that little. You used to pick up old twigs and claim they were the 'sword of Pelly-ees'. Those bloody Son of Hermes books."
Remus covered his mouth and Hermione turned a violent shade of pink.
"That's adorable," Remus remarked.
"Should have heard her when her front teeth were missing 'thord of Pelly-eeth'," Severus chuckled at the memory.
"D-D-Dad!" Hermione whined.
"He's your godfather, love," he reminded her. "If I die Remus needs to know all of the embarrassing stories to tell your little friends."
"I know where you both sleep," Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"I'm far too much of a 'paranoid prat' for that," Severus patted her head.
"She's your daughter, Severus," Remus reminded him. "I would take that very seriously."
"I heard of getting the fruit while it's still young, but damn, that's too young," a middle-aged man remarked to a friend of his.
Hermione looked around to try and find what he was talking about. Looking for maybe a sixteen-year-old with a fifty-year-old, but instead she found her father clenching and unclenching his fists, glaring daggers at the man—whose pale eyes fell on Hermione in a strange mixture of pity and disgust, while his friend…Hermione couldn't place the expression, but she knew she didn't like it.
She looked back to her father, fingers twitching for his wand and looking as if he was positively ready to commit murder. "You are talking about my thirteen-year-old daughter!" he hissed, approaching the man until they were centimetres apart. "You two are very fortunate that she just came home from abroad, or I'd be less inclined to 'not make a scene'."
"Whoa," the second man fanned his hands out in surrender. "Come on,man. We had no way of knowing, you two look nothing alike. Sorry, missy."
"I-it's fine," Hermione clasped her hands before her and wished to disappear.
"It is not fine," her father continued to glare at the men,
"She said it was," the second man said. "You don't want comments or men leering at her, you shouldn't let her leave the house wearing that."
Hermione looked down, she had been wearing an outfit her father had bought while she was away, and like every other year, she looked like a school girl in a navy pinafore and white buttoned shirt...nothing too…
It was too small, I didn't grow any taller but… Hermione folded an arm over her chest and began using her free hand to try and pull down the hem of her pleated skirt.He's a man older than my father why does he even care what I'm wearing?
Remus draped a protective arm around her and whispered, "are you okay?"
"Continue making your disgusting comments and leering at my child and you will be very sorry, indeed!" her father seethed.
Hermione inhaled deeply and counted to three before slipping away from Remus. She bit her lip and reached for her father's arm with a shaking hand and tugged on his jumper sleeve. "D-Dad?" she squeaked.
Her father turned down to face her and he stared at her in surprise for a moment, his black eyes and mouth open slightly, before softening instantly, and he brushed his free hand over her head. "Let's go, love."
They all walked away, but Hermione turned as she heard a sudden yelp from one of the men.
"My eye!"
"Severus," Remus whispered at the same time Hermione said: "Dad?" before asking what he did.
"You mean to tell me neither of you two noticed the hornet flying about?" he asked. "And this one wants to be an investigative journalist."
After gaining some distance from the men in silence, her father was the one to break it by asking "Do you want to go home?"
Hermione shook her head wondering when the next time she'd be out of the castle would be. "I-I don't think so."
"It's okay if you do," Remus said with a smile.
"I-I'm not letting that idiot ruin our evening," Hermione forced a laugh. "I'm fine."
"She sounds just like you," Remus gave a weak laugh.
Hermione's father didn't respond to this, he was too busy examining her face, his hand on her head once more. "Are you absolutely certain, love?"
Translation: you want to go home. Hermione sighed and was about to say a night in would be perfect, the crowds were easier, but still unpleasant. She would live another year shut inside the castle, it'd be fine. She just spent a whole month away. It was fine.
"Very well," Severus sighed, ruffling her hair. "You might as well lead the way, Remus."
"Of course," Remus nodded. "But I did notice.." he whispered in her father's ear, more mindful of his volume than before.
"Yes, I'll have to remedy that before the next time she leaves the castle," he said before taking off his jumper. "But for tonight, love, you should put this on."
Hermione did so, and she swam in the black wool that fell to her knees and trailed past her hands. As they walked she cuffed the sleeves and she was torn between being grateful for a way to hide and upset she probably looked like a tall ten-year-old.
Remus chose a Korean-Japanese fusion takeaway called Wok Choi, and Hermione admittedly did smile at the word play with the dish, the name (presumably) and the leafy vegetable. They sat at a window booth and Hermione traced the trilingual menu items, wondering if Inuyama Rie from Mahoukatoro was right about her having Korean heritage.
Japanese felt much more natural to her, even with the three written languages and context dependent speech, but she knew the real reason was that she had learned it, and that she was in love with Hiro. Meanwhile the written Korean might have been ancient runes without a cipher.
"Should I expect Korean to be the next language you evade me with?" her father teased, running his hand over her head. "Help me figure out what to get, love. I have no clue what anything here is."
Her father knew. They had written descriptions of each item in English, but his tone was the same as it had been any time he thought to distract her from something troubling her. But she wasn't going to ask questions in public, so she was happy to take the bait.
"I'll eventually find a language that allows me secrets," Hermione shrugged with a playful shrug. "Let's see…"
Remus covered his mouth to laugh. "How long ago was this done the other way around?"
"A lifetime," Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "I was reading English and French pretty fluently by four."
"Nine years hardly constitutes a lifetime, love," her father ruffled her hair again.
"Almost ten, Dad," she reminded him.
"And we're still more than twice your age," he tapped her nose.
Remus chuckled. "And believe it or not, Hermione, but your dad and I are still considered young."
Hermione smirked. "In what universe?"
"I'll remember that when you're our age," her father pinched her cheek. "September first 2014, vengeance will be mine."
"Ours," Remus smiled at her father.
Her father looked away, but she noticed the smile on his lips.
She rolled her eyes and whispered. "If you two wanted a date, I could have stayed at home. There are some things that nobody wants to think of grown-ups doing."
"And changing the subject," her father said. "What subjects do you wish to take this year?"
Hermione's heart fluttered. She didn't know which subject she passed the OWLs for. She vomited during her DADA OWL, and she'd been so exhausted for the others…what if she failed them all? What would she do then? She could never return to Japan—to Hiro! And her father…would he ever live down the shame?
Maybe it'd be good if she failed them all. Then she could stop getting her hopes up and everyone would know she was a failure.
A hand on her head stopped her racing thoughts and she looked up at her father, whose face softened as he sighed. "We'll consider that tit for tat. I didn't expect you to have a heart-attack, but you've given me plenty to date. Calm down, love."
"Sorry for the wait," a girl around eighteen with a long black ponytail smiled at them. "Here's some water," she then placed a colourful pamphlet before Hermione. "And for you, sweetpea."
Hermione looked down at the pamphlet and noticed it was the twelve-and-under menu. She felt her bloodrush to her cheeks and refused to look up. She wore clothing that was just a little too small and got leered at by a man, she wore something that hid her body and the waitress thought she was a little girl.
They ordered a pot of tea for the table and kenchinjiru to begin.
"I'm not living this down any time soon, am I?" she sighed.
"I don't think so, sweetpea," her father smirked.
"Twelve and under, honestly," Hermione rolled her eyes. "She a friend of yours?"
"No, love," he sighed. "I believe she just has eyes."
"Maybe we were right about your growth being stunted, sweetpea?" Remus joined in the teasing.
"Honestly," Hermione sighed. "You both are the worst!"
"Your father just named me godfather," Remus pointed out. "I have thirteen years of truly terrible dad jokes to make up for."
"As she's want to remind us," her father raised his eyebrow. "Almost fourteen."
"I think I liked it better when you two hated each other," Hermione groaned, putting her head on the table.
"Is that so?" her father teased before lifting her face and brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Though strangers might get a more accurate read on your age if they see your face.I knew there was a little girl somewhere under all that hair."
"Dad!"
"He has a point," Remus smiled. "Now you can see your pretty face."
I'm starting to feel like I have two dads...Hermione tried not to roll her eyes and sighed. "You know you don't have to worry about making a good impression any—-"
Hermione was interrupted by a sudden shattering of porcelain across the hardwood floor. They snapped their heads to the direction of the sound to see an old Japanese woman, her dark eyes staring at Hermione in shock, her face nearly white and her mouth hung slightly open.
"Nanite kotoda!" she gasped.
Hermione stared back wondering what she had done to upset the older woman so badly. Had she said something? Was there something wrong with how she sat or was it anything she had control over? The poor woman seemed terrified, and Hermione didn't know why. She clasped her hands in her lap, digging her nails into her hands and counted mentally to three.
The woman's eyes began to water and she bit her bottom lip, clasping her own hands in front of her.
"Remus," her father asked, placing a hand on Hermione's head as he stood. "Please take her home."
"Of course," Remus nodded, biting his own lip, eyebrows knitting his eyebrows in confusion. He stood and gestured to Hermione anyway. "Let's get you home."
Hermione forced herself to stand and cast a lingering look at the old woman, and finally registered that the fear was also pain, an incredible amount. Guilt struck Hermione as she wondered how she managed to hurt a woman she'd never met.
Unless it's…
Severus returned home to find his daughter madly pacing the length of their living quarters while Remus tried to comfort her. As soon as the two of them heard the door unlatch, they looked his way and Severus was once more faced with his daughter's large, tear-filled eyes begging him for answers.
"Are you okay, love?" he placed his hand on her head.
Hermione clasped her hands before her, engaging in that old habit once more and she inhaled sharply. "What was that?" she squeaked. "That woman looked terrified and—she looked as if she saw a ghost when she looked at me. Why? What happened back there, Dad?"
Severus shook his head and drew Hermione to him with a sigh. He never should have agreed to this. He cursed himself for not realising the possibility when Remus suggested taking her to muggle London. Severus should have known better…should have had an excuse.
The old woman was somewhere around seventy, old enough to be her grandmother, or given Hermione's biological parents' age, great grandmother. A theory given more support when a man of the same age came out to check on the woman, speaking Korean, staring at him with Hermione's almond shaped, large brown eyes.
"I'm sure she thought she did, love," Severus said. "That old woman lost her daughter a long time ago. By some coincidence you look like her."
"I-I do?" Hermione bit her lip, mulling over the obvious next question.
"It's just a coincidence, Hermione," he ran his hand over Hermione's head. "The girl was younger than you when she died. From what she said, I expect the girl was an only child. And I would advise not dredging up that poor old woman's pain for answers you know she doesn't have."
Hermione drove her nails further into her flesh and nodded stiffly. "Of course, sir."
"You don't look well, love," he sighed. "Perhaps you should get some rest."
"Yes, sir."
Later that night, Severus and Remus got ready for bed, each changing into their night clothes and turning down their side of the sheets.
"That woman at the restaurant," Remus ventured. "She has nothing to do with Hermione's mum, then?"
I should have expected this… Severus thought back to the young couple that he once shared a wall with. Hermione's mother—no, the girl—looked a bit like Hermione, though without her eyes and darker skin. The bushy haired Black woman was nothing like the old Japanese woman in the restaurant. "That woman is in no way related to Hermione's mother, Remus. It was a very unfortunate coincidence."
"The way she looked at Hermione—"
"Merlin, Remus," Severus groaned. "You of all people should know grief is more complicated than that. Hermione just has to look enough like her daughter for the woman to fill in those gaps herself. It was simply bad luck. Nothing more."
"Severus," Remus started.
"Can we not do this right this moment?" Severus silenced him by putting his hand up. "It's been a very long night and the last thing I want to even think about is Hermione's mother."
Remus's pale green eyes drifted to a corner before looking back up at him, his expression soft, but challenging as he held his hand. "Okay, Severus. We don't have to talk about her. But whatever she did to you, I'm not her."
Severus thought back to the underweight baby girl he rushed to the hospital thirteen years ago. "It's not about me, Remus."