Breeding Lilacs out of Dead Land.

Chapter 3 - The River is a Strong, Brown God.


At least Aubrey had the grace to wait until they were out of the bookstore before she started interrogating her, thought Hermione, annoyed.

“So who is that bad man and why are you afraid of him?” asked Aubrey, pulling the fabric of Hermione’s coat.

“Aubrey, you don’t have to pull my coat in order to ask a question,” Hermione told her angrily.

“You’re not answering.”

Hermione sighed. “Okay, darling. But stop pulling my coat or you’ll rip it open.”

“’Kay.” The child was now observing her with curiosity.

“Well…” Hermione be “fi “first of all I think you should know this man is Professor Severus Snape. As you’ll be seeing him in the future, better give you a name to call him.”

“Severus Snape…” Aubrey tested the words. “It suits him. Like…he is very snappish. And severe.\"

Hermione agreed. “Seems like he is\"

\"What about the Professor thing?”

\"Professor Snape teaches Potions at Hogwarts, that is the British magical community’s School for-“

“Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Aubrey completed. “Sounds cool.”

“Does anything sound other than ‘cool’?”

Aubrey snorted. “Was Professor Snape your teacher?”

“Yes, he was.”

“He doesn’t look like a very nice teacher,” frowned the girl.

“No, he wasn’t. Professor Snape was my most terrifying and demanding teacher. I really liked his lessons, though. He is very clever and knowledgeable. I learned a lot from him.”

“Yep. I see what you mean. But you didn’t like him. You still don’t like him.”

“He is not very likable.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Hermione swallowed a groan of frustration. The child noticed too many things. “No, he didn’t hurt me,” she lied, hoping Aubrey would choose to play her more adult self and not insist on exposing her mother’s lie. “Well, come on, darling. Hurry up. It’s cold out here and we should really be going.”

“Going where?”

“Hogsmeade, and from there, to Hogwarts. We’ll travel there by Floo. Now tell me, what do you know of the Floo network?”

“Oh, I read about it in one of the books you gave me. It’s a wizarding implementation that was….” And on Aubrey went, all the way back to the Leaky Caldron.

As Tom, the bartender, informed Hermione after selling her some Floo powder and granting her permission to use his establishment’s fireplace, Hogsmeade was no longer as safe as it used to be. She sighed, messing her already dishevelled hair. “What should I do then? Are there any kind of safety measures I might apply?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss,” Tom said. “Unless you wish to wait for one of the Aurors going there… There might be some guy here that’s… Just gimme a moment Miss. Oi!! Ackart!! I’ve got a lady here that’s going to Hogwarts! Needs some escorting from a big bad Auror. Thought that since you’re going there yourself you could use some company.”

A dark haired man in his mid forties raised his head. He just took a sip of his ale, and lifted the tankard with a mocking, hearty toast. “Of course, Tom. Hullo, Madam. Just me fme finish my ale here and I’ll take you to Hogwarts.” The man, Ackart, emptied his tankard with one large gulp and set it on the table.

“Right.” He stood up, and approached Hermione, offering her a large hand. “John Ackart at your service.”

“It’s nio meo meet you, Mr. Ackart. I’m Hermione Granger and this is my daughter, Aubrey.”

Tom, listening to their short exchange, frowned at the mention of her name. “Granger… Sounds familiar…”

Hermione gave him a nervous smile. “It’s a common surname, really.”

Tom shrugged. “If you say so…”

“Mr. Ackart?” She turned to the Auror. “My child and I are ready. Will we be going there by Floo?”

“My original intention was to Apparate near Hogwarts grounds, but I think that with the child, we’ll have to take the Floo.”

“Well,” said Tom, “have a Happy Christmas the both of you. Ackart, see you soon.”

Hermione smiled and wished him a Merry Christmas. Even Aubrey, who spent most of the short conversation immersed in her potions text, was reminded of her manners and raised her head to wish Tom a Merry Christmas. It was fortunate enough that the child was distracted, Hermione thought. One could never know when Aubrey might decide to intervene and maybe spill out some information that her mother would rather have had Aubrey keep to herself.

To Hermione’s great discomfort, John Ackart had insisted on making conversation all the way from the Leaky Caldron’s fireplace to the broom closet on the Hogsmeade Auror Headquarters. Hermione answered his questions shortly, relieved when Aubrey manipulated the conversation by questioning Ackart about his work as an Auror.

“So how can you tell someone is a dark wizard?” She asked.

“Well,” Ackart began, “First of all, there are certain kinds of devices we Aurors use that are capable of detecting evil. It’s all very complicated, but most of these implements work by-“

“-Tracking the bad intention of a person because they are enchanted to sense evil. It uses a spell that was developed in the fourteenth century and is very complicated, because it works by identifying feelings and emotion via the chemicals, which the body produces, and then it analyses them in order to-“

“That will be enough, darling,” Hermione told her daughter. “Mr. Ackart, please continue.”

The elder man smiled. “That’s impressive knowledge, young lady. You might want to be an Auror yourself, someday.”

Aubrey looked at him with expression of self-importance. “Thank you, Mr. Ackart, but I think I’m really much more into research.”

He nodded politely. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine researcher, Miss Granger.” At that, he turned to Hermione. “So what is it you’re doing in Hogwarts?”

“I… I have some business with the headmaster,” Hermione answered reluctantly.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I must warn you there might be some problem approaching the old man. He’s been very busy lately, and of course, guarded night and day, as is the castle. In fact, I really doubt whether they’ll let you in at all. Being with me is going to help you all right, but you’ll have to get through examination and we’ll probably have to ask you to entrust your wand…”

She smiled wearily. A forced, wry smile. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Ackart. Really. But thank you for your concern. I appreciate that.”

“Ah, you’re welcome, Madam,” he said, gesturing towards the small display of flying brooms. “What will be your choice of broom? We don’t have much to offer, but I can guarantee you that they are all taken care of well.”

Hermione shrugged, picking a broom at random. She was never much of a flyer, and was glad that both Aubrey and Ackart agreed to make the short ride to Hogwarts together. She was afraid to take Aubrey on a broom herself. Hermione felt immensely awkward, seated on a broom once again. Ackart gave her a reassuring smile. She didn’t to return it.

Hermione was tired and cold, fighting to maintain her balance with the frosty winds pulling her in every direction. Wind ran through her hair. Her lips, swollen and dry from the cold, cracked at last, forming a slit of sore flesh in the middle of her lower lip. Hermione licked the thin drizzle of blood that oozed from the wound. The wind kept shrieking and shrilling in her ears, a wall of discordant sound between her and the present. She was overwhelmed by memories; lurking amidst the trees, waiting for the right moment to steal her soul, like the ancient’s well-cherished demons.

She, Harry and Ron, returning from Hogsmeade, pockets full of sweets, lips tasting of butterbeer and chocolate frogs. Holding a new book. The boys talking about Quidditch. Again. Always Quidditch. Harry had such sweet laughter, she remembered. A bit childish and nasal, pouring from his throat with soft bursts. The kind of laughter that means liquorice flavoured kisses and sweets and all sorts of childhood related things. Ron was different. He was nastier and somehow funnier and he lacked Harry’s sometimes-stupid innocence. This innocence that made Harry’s laughter so endearing. Ron- she was reminded of him whenever she met anyone with red hair.

So she found herself cataloguing everything that was Ron related- many things, indeed. Awkward snogs in the hallway. First overture into sex: thever ver actually did it, but he made her come, then at some other time she took him in her mouth and made him come, too. She never really minded the taste. Quarrels. They decided they would be much better off as friends. It was actually sweet, afterwards. Calmer. Between her and Ron, between the three of them. Snow ball fights. Summer evenings near the lake. Her hair smelling of spring and humidity and water. Looking back, she almost thought she could cry from craving this mellow simplicity. Oh, she just hated that. Hated, hated, hated. With Venom. The thin shell of her private Pandora’s box threatened to break once again.

Later. Once Aubrey is tucked into bed and the night’s crawling in Hogwarts corridors, she’ll have her emotional breakdown. Bleed her soul on the cold flagstones, and be god damn fucking sorry for herself.

Several minutes later they landed in front of Hogwarts’ grand marble staircase. Aubrey was quick to climb off the broom and snuggle against Hermione.

John Ackart nodded toward Hermione. “That’s it, Madam. Hope you enjoyed the ride.”

She answered him while stroking Aubrey’s blond mane, “I was never very fond of brooms, but at least it looks like I landed in one piece. Quite impressive on my side. Anyway…” She shifted a stray lock that was penetrating her left eye. “I am enormously grateful for your company. I can’t begin to describe how much I was relieved to have an escort to Hogwarts. Thank you so very much Mr. Ackart.”

“Oh, don’t even think of it, Mrs Granger. It was the least I could do.”

“But I’m not any less grateful.”

Aubrey joined. “Yeah, me too! And riding the broom was so-” a threatening look from Hermione made her change her mind, “-so wonderful.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it, young lady. May I walk you in, then?”

Absentmindedly, Hermione allowed Ackart to take her arm. Hogwarts, she noted, seemed to have remained the same, and wrongly so. Hermione didn’t know she could feel such anger. Ridiculous, really, as teenage-girls had already understood - awhile back, in the early sixties - that the sun will go on shining and the birds will keep singing whether they were broken hearted or not (body and soul included). Why, then, should Hermione Granger’s downfall bother anyone? She wanted to scream. It was all so damn beautifully normal. A glass universe waiting to be broken. Weren’t they all, in a way?

Hermione rebuked herself. Not the time for pseudo philosophic musings. Ackart was escorting her and Aubrey toward the Auror standing guard by the door. Aubrey’s hand was sticky and sweaty in her palm. It was supposed to be the fuckihrishristmas break. Why were there so many people? Damn. She was retreating into cursing: the incapables’ last asylum. She should think. She would be able to think if her head didn’t hurt so much. The possibility of breaking was almost a presence, haunting her. Everything came down into the metaphor of being hunted. Haunted.

“Your wand, please?” Hermione offered her wand to the Auror, managing a weak smile. Maybe her face will someday fixate in this hollow, sorrowful smile – that should at least be comfortable. The place looked like a field Auror station. Was the situation so severe that the Ministry saw fit to place Aurors at Hogwarts? Probably yes. Considering it was the Christmas break, there weren’t enough people to make the place noisy. Echoes kept floating like ghosts thorough the entrance hall, but the soft rumble of the present Aurors had infiltrated the solemn silence. Aside from Ackart and the Auror that was interrogating her this very moment, Hermione located another three Aurors. One, tall and lanky, was crowded among the shadows in the corner of the hall. Another two were playing chess on the marble staircase. A slow day, she determined mockingly.

“Very well, Madam,” said the Auror, reaching her back her wand. He gave a wry glance to the dishevelled, Muggle clothed, Hermione. “What are you doing in Hogwarts this time of the year?”

“We are here to see the Headmaster Dumbledore!” Aubrey stated in a prominent American accent.

“Is it, Madam?”

Hermione confirmed her daughter’s statement.

The Auror looked at her with disagreement. “Well, that’s quite a request, don’t you think?”

She sighed, forcing herself to relax. There really wasn’t much she should have expected, looking the way she did, Muggle and tired; an overall impression of neglect. “I’m aware of the fact that I’m asking a lot, but this meeting is very important to me, I came a great distance in order to see the Headmaster, and I certainly mean him no harm. Please, take my wand if that’ll help…-“

“Look, Madam. I don’t suspect your intentions, but Headmaster Dumbledore is a busy man-“

“You bet!” interrupted a cheery, female v. “H. “Headmaster Dumbledore is head over feet busy singing Christmas carols to his phoenix. Come on, Paddock, stop being such a tightarse. I know you’re just trying to do your job, but no point inventing danger where there isn’t any.”

Hermione lifted her eyes to meet Madam Hooch’s jolly gaze. The elder witch took Hermione’s arm, sweeping her toward a familiar staircase. “Come, dear, this way…”

Paddock followed them immediately. “I’m really sorry, Madam, but you can’t do-“

“Can’t I? For your information, it was the Headmaster’s direct order to bring this young lady and her daughter to him.”

“Really?” The Auror was astounded. “Then why didn’t he send anyone to notify me?”

Madam Hooch stopped her rapid pacing. “What do you think I am, then? A goat?”

“No, Madam, of course I don’t think’re ’re a goat, I was only saying that…”

“On your way, Paddock dear. Please remember you have a job to do.”

“But Madam…”

Aubrey, who so far was satisfied to lumber after hotheother, uttered a noisy sigh and looked at the Auror tiredly “The lady told you we are going to see the Headmaster, sir. You are delaying us.”

“AUBREY!” Why was her voice so shrill and sharp? Hermione couldn’t help but wondespdesperately, while Aubrey mumbled a reluctant apology.

“Well, here we are!” trumpeted Hooch. Hermione noted they were in fact standing in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office. “The password is skiving snacks, love. Now, come on Paddock. There is a bunch of deadly Death Eaters lurking near the entrance hall. You wouldn’t like to leave Hogwarts exposed, would you?”

Aubrey watched the couple walk away. The child’s eyes, Hermione reflected, bore a certain kind of amusement that was a little disturbing, considering her young age. Hermione fastened her grip in the girl’s hand, for reassurance. Aubrey was drifting away so quickly from the young child she was supposed to be. The girl, sensing her mother’s distress and worry, turned to look at her. Black throbbing with warmth. Hermione had never seen that other set of black eyes smiling this way. As a young girl she had sometimes doubted whether he was even capable of doing so.

She leaned to press a kiss to Aubrey’s crown, and relieved, took her daughter’s hand and stood before the stone gargoyle.

“Skiving snacks!”

With a shrill creak the statue moved aside, exposing the dimly lit shaft that lead to the headmaster’s office. They stepped in, climbing the spiral staircase. The torched light was shining in Aubrey’s hair, splashing sparkles of molten platinum. Silvery light mixed with shapeless shadows forming hallucinatory demons out of blank darkness. Up, she thought, up the spheres, confess your sins, and be welcome. Headmaster Dumbledore will take care of all you un-christened, innocent babies.

“Can I?”

Aubrey’s voice shook Hermione out of heveriverie. She blinked, seeing the child’s hand was clutched around the gryphon head knocker.

“Of course, darling.”

Aubrey knocked.

“You’re welcome, ladies,” came Dumbledore’s voice from behind the doors.

The Headmaster’s office remained unchanged, just the way Hermione remembered it. The soft buzz of dozens of silvery devices was vibrating in the air, eyes of former headmasters following her every step from their unchanged position on the office walls. Albus Dumbledore, ancient and paradoxical as ever, watched her from behind the half moons of his glasses. “Hermione.” Hee fre from behind his mahogany desk and approached the two. “And Aubrey.”

He offered a veiny hand to the child, intentionally ignoring the thunderstruck Hermione.

Aubrey shook the old wizard’s hand with confident force.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore told her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Headmaster Dumbledore,” Aubrey replied. “Mum isn’t feeling so very well,” she informed him. “I think you’d better say something to her.”

Dumbledore raised one eyebrow, obviously amused at the child’s comment. “Then I shall attend to your mother, Aubrey.”

“Good.”

“Would you like to entertain a friend of mine in the meanwhile?”

“I would be honoured.”

Dumbledore smiled, reaching his hand to his phoenix familiar. The magnificent bird napped peacefully on his regular spot on top of the clothes hanger, but rose immediately at his master’s request. “Aubrey,” said Dumbledore, “this is Fawkes, my phoenix. Fawkes, this is Aubrey Grangerbelibelieve you remember her mother, Hermione.”

The wise bird looked at the guests. Then, to both Hermione and Dumbledore’s surprised, Fawkes left the headmaster hand and landed on Aubrey’s shoulder.

Dumbledore blinked with amazement. “It seemed like my phoenix is quite taken with you, young ladytonitonishing indeed, as he rarely trusts people other than myself.”

Aubrey seemed delighted to hear that.

“Well, why don’t you two go and play near the fire while I talk to your mother? You can sing Fawkes some Christmas carols. He will adore you for that.”

“Sure, sir! I’ll sing to him every Christmas carol that I know!”

“Very good.”

Hermione watched Aubrey settle herself near the fire, Fawkes happily nestled in her lap as a cat might enjoy doing, joyfully talking to the phoenix. Hermione looked at Dumbledore.

The headmaster sighed. “I believe I now have a competitor. Never seen the bird so taken before.”

“Aubrey is a special child.”

“She is yours, dear. I doubt she can turn out differently.”

Hermione closed her eyes. A single tear escaped her shut eyelids, rolling down her cheeks. After all she has been through, these few words of kindness had the power to break her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “It’s just… it’s just…”

“Hush child,” Dumbledore’s arms enclosed her, pulling her head against his shoulder. “You have every t tot to cry.”

“But… but Aubrey-“

“I believe she’ll understand, Come,” he told her, conjuring a plush armchair with a flick of his wand. “Sit.”

Having set an example, Dumbledore took his seat behind the mahogany desk. “A Lemon Drop?”

“No, thank you, headmaster.”

“Call me Albus, please.”

She nodded. “Albus, then.”

“Some tea?”

“Please.”

At Dumbledore’s silent request, a tray loaded with a steaming kettle, three china mugs and some biscuits, appeared on the table. He poured the tea, offering Hermione a mug, then forced some tea and biscuits on Aubrey’s usually lacking appetite. Dumbledore promised her she could feed some biscuits to Fawkes, not forgetting to mention the bird disliked eating alone. That seemed to do the trick. Hermione smiled. It was an exhausted smile, but genuine nonetheless.

Dumbledore retuned the gesture, and then gave Aubrey a quick glance. “Shall I cast a silencing sphere? Her Hermione nodded. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

He cast the sphere, verifying that Aubrey wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation. Then, focusing his attention in Hermione, Dumbledore sighed. “Should I, Hermione, ask you what is it that you have been through that you see fit to thank me for a simple act of practicality? No,” he added, observing her response. “I rather thought not.”

“I’m…” she began. “I’m so very tired.”

“I know, dear. I can see.”

“Am I so transparent?”

“I would have been worried of you weren’t.”

She frowned for a moment, attempting to compose herself. “Where should I begin, then?”

“You owe me no anatanation, Hermione.”

“Yes, I do!” she protested. Selt elt so weak, so defenceless under his merciful gaze, and fought to maintain her last shreds of dignity. It didn’t matter that Dumbledore hadn’t found it necessary. It was Hermione who needed to preserve a certain image of herself if she were to be able to go on. “I was seventeen,” she said quietly, “under your care, and I chose to run away, forcing you to accept my choices. Now I’ve come back, grateful that you will take me in, as if nothing had happened. I owe you an explanation, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, child… you didn’t force me to accept any of your choices. I merely acknowledged the fact that you were mature enough to make your own decisions. Though I must admit that had I known you were expecting a baby, I might have made anothecisicision…” his voice trailed off, while his gaze rested on the child that was sitting near the fireplace. “I wonder- did you know of… Aubrey, when you left?”

Hermione frowned. “No, no. I didn’t.”

“Could the knowledge have caused you to change your mind?”

“I don’t know… Maybe yes… maybe not. I was seventeen. The thought of facing- everything so shortly after… was terrifying. I was terrified. All I wanted was to run away... to disappear. I thought maybe if I wasn’t recognized then it would be like it never happened. If nobody recognized me as myself, then I wouldn’t be… her. Me. I still feel that way, sometimes.”

“I see. It should have been very difficult to come back.”

“It is. Everything is so… wrong. So much the same, and yet so different. I feel as if I grew out of Hogwarts while here, time didn’t move at all.”

Dumbledore eyes were sad and dim. “I’m afraid it did, my dear child. You’ve witnessed the changes yourself.”

“Yes, I have.” She looked at him determinedly, taking a steadying breath. “That’s the reason I’m here, Head- Albus. There is a war going on. I… had to go, then. I turned my back on the cause nine years ago. Now I’m strong enough to face what happened, so I have come back to fight. I know I probably don’t have much to offer... I’m not a graduate and I’m rusty from not using magic for almost a decade. I have a s dau daughter to take care of, but there surely is something I can do. I can… do research, or help one of the teachers, in order to make one more available to the fight, or I could… clean up the old Headquarters or do some secretarial job-“ She knew she was babbling and was grateful to Dumbledore when he stopped her.

-“It’s all right Hermione. I promise you I won’t let a mind such as yours be wasted on cleaning.”

“So… so it’s all right?”

Dumbledore looked at her, somewhat amused. “Your lack of confidence surprises me, Hermione.”

“Oh.” She was crushing the fabric of her shirt between her fingers, but stopped immediately when she realized Dumbledore was following her nervous movements. “I’m not…. It’s… Look, it’s hard. I’m, my magic… Gosh…” Hermione buried her face in her palms.

“I’m sure you’ll have all the time you need to muster your magic once again.”

“Thank you… Albus.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Now, I believe there is something you can do- if’re ’re willing, of course-“

“Oh, I’ll do anything as long as I can be of any help to you!”

Dumbledore chuckled softly. “Why don’t you listen to my offer before you agree to it?”

Hermione blushed. Always the over-eager Gryffindor, she mused quietly. “Of course, Albus.” His private name still tasted strange on her lips.

The old wizard silently approved. “Well, as you are… probably e, Pe, Professor Snape is doing a very important job for the order.”

Cold sweat was emerging from her pores, slowly soaking the thick layers of fabric covering her body. Hermione nodded. “Please, continue.”

“Severus is still a comparatively young man, but I’m afraid his efforts for the cause have cost him a great deal. I’ve often found myself wishing there could be someone… to take some of his burden. As I remember, you were an outstanding student. I understand you have probably rusted a bit, but I believe that taking over the younger potions classes won’t be too difficult a mission? You could stay here at the castle, and there is a good pre-school program for younger children like Aubrey at Hogsmeade.”

Hermione blinked once, and then twice. She did suppose that upon returning she\'d have no choice but seeing Severus Snape this time or another. Today\'s encounter was proof enough. But working side by side with the man who’d haunted her dreams was more than she could digest. Cold, phantom fingers sneaked to envelop hearteart and push it upward until she could almost vomit her memories. This was sick. She couldn\'t possibly do it. But she had too. Or wanted too. She had forgiven him, after all, for both of their sakes. Meeting him was one thing- she could push the horror aside and let it, momentarily, be. The thought of a long-term professional relationship, however, made her guts clench in protest. Hermione swallowed, raising her eyes to look at Dumbledore. \"I honestly don\'t know if I can do it.\"

The old wizard sighed. \"I was afraid you’d say that. Is there a chance you might let me try to convince you?\"

\"You may try.\"

He smiled gently. \"First of all, I’d tell you that the young man who raped you and the Severus I know today is not the same person. I hope you do remember our conversation on the eve of your departure, when I told you of Professor Snape\'s reaction to your… act of forgiveness-\"

Tears wallowed in her eyes. \"How could I forget?\"

\"Indeed. And he’d been repenting for the iniquity he’d caused you, and others, ever since.\"

Hermione gave the Hogwarts Headmaster a quizzical look. \"He definitely isn\'t showing it.\"

\"Well, Severus is not one… to demonstrate feelings easily. Emotional communication comes with great difficulty to him. And do not forget, my dear child, that for him, as important as you were, you were none-the-less faceless. He had no name to give you at the time, nor could he connect between you, Hermione, his student, and the girl he’d raped and caused him, post factum, to switch sides and loyalties.\"

\"You are defending him.\"

Dumbledore agreed, after some thought. \"Yes, I appear to be. And I\'m sorry. It was not my intention to underrate the horror you must’ve been through. What I\'m trying to say, Hermione, is that the Severus I know is safe for you to work with, and there is no reason you should be afraid of him.\"

\"I wish I could,\" she said quietly. \"I do wonder whether the exposure would numb the pain or the fear- I hesitate to put a name to my feelings. And I do trust your opinion.\" Hermione sighed loudly. \"Very well. Does Professor Snape…? Do you think he’ll agree?”

“He will if I tell him to. That should be none of your concern, my dear. All that matters is- do you agree?”

“Well, I seem to have just done so.” She knew Snape was important to the cause. If their morning encounter was any evidence, then she could tell for sure his state was deteriorating. He looked older, sicker. More tired and spent than the last time she’d seen him- as his student. Pale and hollow-eyed, as no man of his mid-forties should look. Maybe, just as much as she wanted to run away from him, she also wanted to save him – maybe it was some automatic mechanism imprinted upon her bare soul that made her want to reach for this lost kitten of a man (well, lost rottweiler perhaps) and redeem him. Stupid woman, she thought. Stupid mother. Go back to your un-christened demon babies and bring them salvation.

She was supposed to hate him, wasn’t she? Maybe she did hate him. Despised the man he’d been and perhaps remained, the man who’d taken her so brutally. And she’d forgiven him, for the sake of her own sanity, she’d had to forgive him. Because she could see he’d needed forgiveness –because somebody had to forgive him. It wasn’t fatalism that made her think so. Hermione Granger was many things, but had never been a fatalist. It was… sometimes she’d lain awake at night, listening to Aubrey’s low breathing in the next room, with the city several stories below them, making soft, guttural noises, like a big satiated canine, and the world made sense. So she could continue to forgive Severus Snape, could even wish him well, or offer him her help. Because some things were right, even though so many others weren’t.

Dumbledore watched her carefully. “I must admit that I didn’t expect you to agree at all.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve come to you empty-handed. Maybe it’s my strict sense of pride that forces me to accept… whatever route to redemption you might offer. Maybe I’m simply masochistic. And don’t forget that this is a very comfortable arrangement for me. I’ve had to make many compromises in the last nine years. This can very well be one of them.”

“I remember that back thou wou were determined to forgive him. I thought it might be the shock. Don’t get me wrong, Hermione, I believe that the Severus we know now is a good, honourable man, but he did rape you – in this time or another – you had every right to feel... whatever it is women might experience in these cases.”

“I never said I did not hate him…” She sighed. “Oh, it’s just so complicated… I hated the man who did that to me, and for a while, I hated the man he became. Maybe I still do. But, you see, I believe people change, and maybe he needed me, my forgiveness, in order to change, and I… I was left with so little. Forgiving him was somehow the only form of defiance I had left at the time. I don’t pretend to make sense, or say you should turn the other cheek or tell anybody what to do… but it was the right choice for me. I didn’t have the power, nor did I have the time to hate anyone. Hate is so consuming… I found out soon enough that I needed to preserve my power.”

“Which brings us back to Aubrey.” Again, they both looked at the child. She was now sprawled on the thick carpet in front of the fire, managing a one-sided conversation with Fawkes. The bird nodded, nibbled the biscuits the child offered him and made voices suspiciously close to a purr when Aubrey stroked his feathers. Dumbledore groaned sadly. “I seem to have lost my bird’s favours to an eight year old.”

Hermione laughed. “I seem to have lost my daughter’s heart to your bird.”

“Well, look like we’re in this together. Hermione,” Dumbledore told her, sobering at once. “Forgive me for my prying, but- am I right assuming Aubrey is Professor Snape’s child?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re right. I was never able to say for sure- there were… there were… several of them, though he was the first and… Well, all during the pregnancy I hoped it would turn out to be him- someone that I knew and respected- at least… before, and he was on our side. It seemed the lesser of all possible evils. Then Aubrey was born, and she had his eyes- even in the first days, you know, her eyes never wore the infants’ shade of blue. The nurse put her in my lap, a red and wrinkled newborn, and she opened her eyes to look at me, and that was that. They were Professor Snape’s eyes. I noticed other things as well, as she grew up. She has his hands, for example, and his frame. I even think she’s got his skin colour, though I have no idea where the blond hair came from. She has his brilliance. Professor Snape is the cleverest man I ever met. I think Aubrey has the potential to best him. And she always liked to concoct things out of our food storage, if that means anything.”

“Well, I do happen to remember that the Snapes have a special skill for potions…”

Hermione smiled knowingly. “So, to your question: yes. I believe Aubrey is Professor Snape’s daughter.”

“And do you mean to tell Severus he is a father to a child?”

She sighed. “Honestly, Head- Albus, I don’t know. In one way, I feel I am obligated to tell him. On the other hand, I find myself asking, what for? Him, knowing about Aubrey. He didn’t ask for that. He didn’t even know we ever… He surely won’t be happy to find out he has a daughter; I hardly think he’s qualified to be a father…”

“Were you qualified to be a mother when giving birth to Aubrey?”

“It’s not the point,” she answered exhaustedly. “What I mean is thlooklook, ever since Aubrey was old enough to express herself, she has asked me about her father. I tried to tell her as much of the truth as I could… I told her he didn’t know of her, and that he is a very clever man, and she got his eyes and his intellect… Don’t you see, Albus? Aubrey longs for a father. And what do I have to give her? Severus Snape, a man who takes pleasure intimidating little children, a man who’d probably despise the idea he has a child!”

“I can see what you mean, Hermione, but don’t you think that at least he has a right to know?”

She cried in exasperation. “I do, Albus, but what for?”

“I will risk sounding Gryffindor and clichéd, but I think you should do it simply because it’s the right thing to do. Severus might not be pleased, but we can’t prevent him from knowing because we feel we can foresee his reaction.”

She sat quietly for several moments, nestling her mug between her palms, as if drawing strength and calm from its warm presence between her hands. From its empirical quality. “Yes, you are right,” Hermione said at last. “I will tell him.”

“Do you want my assistance?”

“No,” she said fiercely. “It’s my duty and I will see to it.”

“Very well, Hermione.” The Headmaster’s eyes were soft and comforting beyond the half moons of his spectacles. The lowering sun, a splash of vivid colour upon the fraying sky, shone softly in his silver-white mane. Clever, ancient Dumbledore. She wanted to crawl into his chocolate-frog card and live forever in the cellophane world it promised.

“It seems to me that you two had a very long day,” he told her.

“Yes,” Hermione answered quietly. “We have.”

“There’s a set of free rooms in the teacher’s quarters. I believe it will do for the night –and if you are indeed interested in my suggestion, even longer. I hope you will forgive me my little meddling- but I sent over the house elves, to see it’s ready for your usage.”

She laughed unhappily. “I am much more likely to be angry with you for using house elves to prepare my lodging. Thank you, Albus. You can’t imagine how grateful I am.”

“As I already told you Hermione, you are most welcome. Don’t even think of it. Shall I see you to your rooms, now?\"

* The chapter\'s title is taken from T. S. Eliot\'s poem, \"The Dry Salvages\".