Breeding Lilacs out of Dead Land.

Chapter 7 – To See a World in a Grain of Sand.


“Aubrey darling, what do you think of Professor Snape?”

The girl looked at her mistrustfully.

Hermione groaned. This was going to difficult.

“Why are you asking?” Aubrey’s huge eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

“Well, maybe I’m just curious.”

“And maybe you’re not.”

“Maybe I am.” This was sheer idiocy.

The girl watched her with accusation written all over her elfin face. “You’re hiding something from me.” Her fingers were curled in Fawkes’ features and she stroked the bird slowly, allowing his heat to soak through her skin.

Hermione moistened her lips. “You know how it goes, darling. You’ll answer my question then I’ll throw you a carrot.”

“I don’t like carrots.”

“I meant metaphorically.”

“I know. And I don’t like metaphorical carrots either. I’m not a donkey.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

“I have small ears and donkeys haven’t. Maybe you are a donkey. You have big ears.”

“No, I don’t!” Hermione protested.

“Yes, you do!”

“My ears are perfectly normal! Tell her, Fawkes!”

They sat in the small living room, sharing the striped couch in front of the fireplace. Fawkes showed up several hours after they returned from breakfast. The bird had been treated to some of the chocolate-chip cookies, which Hermione had baked earlier, after which Aubrey had picked him up carried him to the living room, to be nested in her lap.

“He is not a cat, you know,” Hermione commented, putting her book aside.

“Well, I do know that,” Aubrey answered carefully, “but perhaps Fawkes doesn’t.”

Hermione sniggered. “If you say so, darling.”

She stretched out her hand, to stroke Aubrey’s soft blond hair. The child was mellow and responsive, curling into her touch like an overgrown kitten. Her breath smelled of milk and cookies. Once again, Hermione found herself pondering at children’s amazing ability to flex themselves into every possible situation. The myth, she decided, was true to a point. Children did indeed possess a surprising ability to heal their own souls. The rest was autosuggestion, or simply, ignorance. Aubrey, for instance. The child seemed to be under the impression she was participating some reality-TV show, designed to present an alternative, magical reality. In a way, it was the same for all Muggle born. One unfortunate encounter with Professor Snape was enough to cure most of them of their misgivings, but actual sobriety came only with the knowledge that their powers came with a price tag. Yes, Hermione thought, someday, when Voldemort is finally jinxed into Friday the thirteenth, it might even be fun to frighten little children into eating their food by threatening the Dark Lord would come after them if they didn’t. Aubrey, too, would be forced to work that out soon enough. My poor child… I wanted to give you a normal life and here I’m dragging you back, an unknowing Sancho Panza, my beloved Dulcinea.

“Mummy?” Aubrey’s voice tugged at the end of her consciousness. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, darling. Everything is just fine.”

“’Kay. What’re you reading?”

Hermione breathed, handed the tome to Aubrey. “It’s a Charms textbook… I thought I better pick up from where I left off. No use being a witch and living in the Wizarding World without using magic, isn’t it?”

Aubrey frowned. “I’d say there’s no use being a witch without using magic. But that what you did, right?”

“Right.” She shifted a blond strand out of Aubrey’s eyes. “You know, sometimes there are many factors involved in choosing the most accurate, logical course of action. And sometimes it’s not the logical course of action one wishes to take. You see, doing the logical thing… is not always the logical thing to do.”

The child was very quiet. “So leaving here was not… a logical decision?”

“Not from some ways of looking at it… but from others… yes, it was.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You’re saying that because you think I’m just a child.”

Hermione smiled gently. “No, not at all. I’m saying it because… what seemed logical for me, at a specific time, in specific circumstances, might not seem logical to you. It might not even seem logical to me, when I’m thinking about it today. But it was logical to me back then, and that was the important thing.”

“So… now you regret… leaving?”

“No, no. I didn’t say so. Leaving was right to me then. The only thing that seemed right to me then. It’s not actually possible to regret it, you see, because I’m a different person now. The person who decided to leave does no longer exist.”

“Metaphorically speaking…” Aubrey added with a grin.

Hermione confirmed, “That’s right, darling.” For several minutes they sat side by side, absorbing the domestic tranquility of their surroundings. The suite Dumbledore had given them was small and simple: two bedrooms, one, fairly large bathroom, a modest kitchen, though properly equipped, and a cozy space that was their living room. It contained long shelves, stretching along the walls, where Hermione planned to house her personal collection of books; a pair of mis-matched sofas, one big, velvety and forest-green, and the other smaller, covered with striped chintz. A low, battered coffee table stood in front of the fire, and a little glass fronted cabinet, which seemed like an appropriate home for African artifacts, china miniatures and all sorts of dust-catchers that were supposed to add decorative touches, was placed in the corner. It wasn’t a pretty room, but it was homely, and undemanding. Hermione had grown up in a house that was more like a show-house; she had never been sure whether she was the one who was supposed to add the last, artistic touch to the perfect picture, or was it the other way around, and the furnishing was meant to highlight her and her parents? The small flat she had in New York and so the accommodation Dumbledore had provided her with, were different. It was designed to serve its inhabitants, and was, therefore, inviting and comfortable.

In a way, Hermione thought, maturity was nothing but the wisdom to recognize a cozy spot and be pleased to inhabit it. This room, this moment, with the warm sweetness that was Aubrey tucked against her side and the Scottish winter buffeting the castle’s protecting walls, was a piece of reality Hermione was ready to be locked in. That ought to be possible someday. Some other time. But not today.

“Aubrey,” she asked quietly, “what do you think of Professor Snape?”

The short exchange that followed ended with the fizzy taste of laughter, but also with a hollow note of uncertainty.

Aubrey was watching her under hooded eyes. The darkness of the irises made it almost impossible to read her expression. “Mother,” she said with a guarded tone, “why are you asking me about Professor Snape?”

“Because…”Hermione retorted carefully, “there’s something I need to tell you… that concerns him. Now, would you please answer my question, darling?”

Aubrey folded her knees, curling into a little ball around Fawkes. “I think he is… unpleasant. He is not very nice… and I don’t think he likes me… though it looks like he doesn’t like anybody and not just me… I think he is… unhappy, you know… he is… an unhappy man.” She stared at her knees, fingers softly caressing the bird’s down. “You’re going to tell me that he is my father, aren’t you?”

Hermione blinked. “Not, I’m --I-- Aubrey…”

“You’re telling me Professor Snape is my father,” Aubrey repeated. “I know when I’m right.”

“Well,” she moistened her lips one more time, “I suppose that is what I’m trying to tell you, but…”

“You didn’t expect me to guess,” Aubrey completed. Her voice was faint and remote.

“What made you… think that?”

“Well, you see, like… growing up without a father… I’ve been always… like, wondering? Who my father could be?” Aubrey glanced at her, looking for assurance.

Hermione nodded.

“So… like, every time I walked in the street, and I saw a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes, I was thinking… maybe it’s him, that’s my father. Always, I mean, since I was very little I’ve been doing that, and…” She shrugged, “and then you told me we were moving here, leaving the US, and I knew my dad was British… I kept looking, everywhere we went. I thought… when we first met Professor Snape, that it might be him. Like… he seemed to be qualified for the job. He looked smart, and he’s very tall and brooding and his eyes are like mine. But then, well, he was your teacher and stuff and he wasn’t being very nice to me so I thought, maybe it’s not him. Well, can’t always have what you want, right?”

“Aubrey, love…” Hermione was worrying her lower lip. “Professor Snape doesn’t dislike you-“

“I didn’t say he dislikes me. He just… well, doesn’t like anyone, I suppose.” The girl’s index finger was tracing a path along Fawkes’ head.

“Do you… Do you dislike Professor Snape?”

Aubrey blinked with surprise. “Why, no. Why should I dislike him? He didn’t do anything bad to me.”

“So… Are you okay with that? With Professor Snape being your father?”

“I… well, I don’t know. I don’t really know him…”

“Do you wish to get to know him, then?”

Aubrey looked at her with sort of quiet desperation. “Look, Mum… I know you want everything to be fine for me and that… But I don’t think Professor Snape really wants to know me.”

“He didn’t know you were his daughter until very recently.”

Aubrey moaned. “But don’t you see? He didn’t even like me before. I don’t really think he wants me to be his daughter… or anything else, to him.”

“Sometimes we don’t really have a choice in these matters,” Hermione tried to explain.

Aubrey sniffed. “Well, I don’t want a father who doesn’t want me in return.”

Sensing her daughter’s insecurity, Hermione reached for Aubrey, pulling the child against her. Fawkes, a bit ruffled, seemed to glare at Hermione, and then resettled himself in Aubrey’s lap.

“Oh, darling…” She kissed Aubrey’s golden crown, smoothing the soft locks out of the girl’s face. “You see, child, in some issues… we are not always given a choice. You didn’t choose to be Professor Snape’s daughter, nor he your father. You don’t have to want to be related to each other in order to be bound to each other – you already are. However, the way this relationship is going to develop is completely up to the two of you to decide. I won’t tell you Professor Snape is overjoyed by the idea he has a daughter, but I talked to him, and he is willing to get to know you. And yes, he might be reluctant, but it doesn’t mean you should be too. I do believe that a relationship must maintain a certain level of… reciprocity, but reciprocity doesn’t mean that both sides should feel the same or get the same thing out of their relationship. I think what I’m trying to say is that you should take what you want to take out of this relationship, and give what you’re willing to give, without considering Professor Snape’s reaction.”

She curled her arms around Aubrey, pulling her into tighter embrace. The child shifted, reshaping her position to fit more closely against Hermione. Their entangled bodies produced a golden, slow heat, which melted into the sofa. “I think…” Aubrey started, “I think I understand what you mean, though… you can’t expect me to simply go around and start playing daddy’s little girl.”

Hermione stifled a babbling laughter. Snape put it almost precisely the same. The two had no way of knowing each other a week before, and yet were so much alike. “Of course I don’t expect you to do that, darling. The only thing I’d like you to do is- probably not to let Snape scare you out of being yourself. Just remember that his bark is worse than his bite.”

“I will,” Aubrey promised solemnly. “It’s just… well, why him?”

“That’s… that’s,” she stammered, “that’s complicated.”

“And you’d explain to me everything once I’m old enough to understand,” Aubrey mocked.

“True, true.”

“I am not a baby, you know,” Aubrey snuggled closer.

Hermione frowned, considering her next words. “Well,” she began, “you’re right, and indeed, you are no longer a baby. And even so, you are eight years old, and that’s young… very young, to me, if not to you. I know you feel you’re ready to be exposed to whatever information I might come with, and perhaps, it’s even true. No, I don’t think you’re ready to face certain things, but it seems like you disagree with me, and since I’m not going to share some things with you, I won’t argue that point. Who knows, maybe you’re even right and I’m wrong. But another important thing is, that I am not ready to share this with you, because I feel that you are too young, and this feeling has… a very emotional, irrational edge to it. So, I might be wrong, but this is how I feel, and there is no point trying to convince me otherwise.”

“You’re saying that to make me feel better,” Aubrey accused her.

“That’s correct,” Hermione admitted, “but it doesn’t mean I’m making it up.”

Aubrey twisted her face. “Being adult is so complicated,” she said, half scoffing, half serious.

“Be careful with your expression, precious,” Hermione warned her, “or else you might end up looking like something pickled.”

“Ewww,” was Aubrey’s response. “Fawkes thinks your imagery is disgusting.”

“Fawkes may think whatever he like, but just remind him these were my chocolate chips cookies he was eating so enthusiastically.”

“Mummy-“ she began after some intense thinking, “What am I supposed to do, I mean, how am I supposed to behave around Professor Snape?”

“First of all, you supposed to get that thumb out of your mouth.” Hermione took the girl’s hand in hers, inspecting the damage. She noted some raw skin, and Aubrey had managed to tear out the external edge of her fingernail, but luckily, there was no bleeding. Apparently, the thought about Professor Snape and his new role in her life made the girl nervous. Hermione continued. “Secondly, and more to the point, I think that when meeting Professor Snape, you should simply be… yourself. Though it might be wise to consider being a little more respectful,” she added with a grin.

“That’s what they always tell you when you meet new people,” Aubrey protested, “and what happens if those new people don’t like your real self? Nobody ever has an answer for that.”

“Oh, Aubrey…” Hermione sighed, “you know what, if somebody doesn’t like your real self, he can simply go to a place I am not supposed to mention in front of little girls, okay?”

“You mean ‘hell’?”

“Aubrey Granger, please watch your language, and yes, that what I meant.”

“Not saying a word I already know just because I’m little is a silly thing to do. But, Mum… it’s-“

“-Thumb out of mouth.”

Aubrey groaned, letting her hand drop. “Sorry. I just… it’s just… Dunno. I don’t even know… like, how am I supposed to call him? And… well, should I buy him a Christmas present, or should I say hi and good morning and stuff whenever I meet him… and would he be taking care of me when you’re at work or something or I don’t even spend time with him at all? That’s just… dunno. Really confusing.”

“Right…” Hermione bit her lower lip, chewing on it nervously. “I can’t tell you I have answers to all of your questions, not immediately, that’s for sure, but I can promise you they will all be answered in time. This is one of these situations when you simply have to… go on with, and see what happens. I believe that addressing Professor Snape by his title will be the simplest thing to do right now. I also believe we should give him something for Christmas, so ideas for a present will be most welcome… Greeting him is up to you. Will he be taking care of you when I’m busy? Well, that’s up to him. At the moment, he’d probably refuse, but that shouldn’t worry you. Will you be spending time with him? Yes, I think you should, though I wouldn’t like to force you into it.”

Aubrey frowned. “Well, I don’t think we should get him any sort of food,” she said. “He doesn’t really like to eat. By the way, who is on our Christmas list this year?”

Hermione made a little cry of frustration. “What makes you think we already have a list?”

Aubrey blinked. “Probably the fact that it’s four days to Christmas and we usually make a list a month before?”

“Remind me to let you read David Yum. As to the list-“ she reached her hand to her wand, and quickly summoned parchment, quill and an inkwell. “We still don’t have one, but soon we will, and you’ll get to practice using a quill. Come on,” she added, moving off the sofa and seating herself at the coffee table, “right here –Fawkes can sit on the table.”

Three hours and an obscene amount of stained parchment rolls later, Hermione and Aubrey produced a readable, relatively clean Christmas Presents list.

Aubrey looked at the list, her face twisted into very Snape-like expression of grim annoyance. She lifted the quill with ink-stained fingers and gave it a look of utter disgust. “This is stupid.”

“Language.”

“Sorry Mum,” she answered determinedly, “but there isn’t a better word that can describe how stupid is using this.”

“Well, I never said that being a witch has only advantages.”

“Yes, but this is…”

“Sheer idiocy,” Hermione finished the sentence. “I’m afraid I have to agree with you.”

“Mum?”

“Yes, darling?”

“You have a black spot on your nose.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Now you smeared it. It’s on your left cheek too.”

“Great.”

“When are we doing our Christmas shopping?”

“I don’t know. Probably as soon as I manage to find someone who would go with us to Hogsmeade.”

“Why do we need an accompaniment?”

“Because it’s not safe to go there alone.”

“Because of Voldemort?”

Hermione nodded. “Yeah, because of him.”

“Maybe we can ask Professor Snape?”

She was going to decline the idea immediately, then stopped, and gave it some further consideration. Her first notion was to ask some of the castle’s temporary inhabitants to accompany her, perhaps even arrange a small expedition of people who wished to go to Hogsmead in order to do their Christmas shopping. Nowadays Hogwarts was populated with a fair amount of capable witches and wizards. However, it was now reasonable to assume that most people had already done their Christmas shopping. They would now be busy with some actual preparations rather than Christmas shopping. Aside from that, asking Snape to join them at Hogsmeade had its own benefits. First of all, it would enable all three of them to be together in a neutral environment. Secondly, they would have the advantage of an actual purpose to their gathering. This kind of meeting, Hermione knew, was usually awkward because none of the participants had any idea what to do with themselves. Calling it a shopping trip gave meaning to the time they would spend together.

On the other hand, Snape’s presence might turn their traditional Christmas shopping into something very awkward.

She turned to Aubrey. “Would you like me to ask Professor Snape to come with us? I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but I must warn you it might not be... fun as we used to. That is, if he actually agrees.”

“Oh, well,” the child looked thoughtful. “I think we should give it a try. If we don’t like it, we simply won’t invite him next year.”

“Oh. Well, okay then. Would you like to come with me to ask him to join us? I would prefer to use the Floo, but I’m afraid his hearth is Floo proof and won’t allow us to contact him.”

Aubrey shrugged. “I’ll go with you, no problem. Do you think Fawkes can come with us?”

* * *

“You knock,” Aubrey whispered.

Hermione laughed quietly. “Come on, darling,” she whispered in return. “He’s just an over-grown pet bat. He won’t eat you.”

Fawkes, seated on Aubrey’s shoulder, seemed to agree with that.

“I wouldn’t like to have a pet bat that size. But there-“ the child raised her hand, and determinedly, knocked on the heavy oak door of Professor Snape’s chambers.

It was Professor MacGonagall who had directed them to Snape’s private quarters, after they failed to find him in his office. As with the other Heads of Houses, Professor Snape’s rooms were located near his Slytherins. The mother and daughter had to roam deep into the dank dungeons, where the smiling ghosts of long forgotten victims were shrieking joyfully. Hermione uncovered the hidden tunnel that led underneath Serpents Tower and partially under the lake, and the two had stepped into this forsaken realm of wavering shadows and trickling lamplight. The ancient door, behind which Professor Snape’s residence was located, was almost lost among the shadows.

“No answer,” Aubrey said silently.

“Try again.”

She did.

A soft mutter was coming from behind the door, then they heard Snape’s baritone – low, vibrating, and obviously irritated.

“No Potions aids are given during Christmas, if you were stupid enough to fail your end of term exams it is strictly your problem, and honestly, I am hardly surprised! Go and bother somebody else, before I sober up and Obliviate you out of existence!”

Aubrey flinched. “He’s scary!”

“He just wants people to think so.”

Hermione knocked again. “Professor?” She called, “it’s me and Aubrey. We would like a word with you.”

They heard another stream of obscenities, after which, the wards were finally lowered. “Enter!”

Cautiously, Hermione pushed the door open, hearing the locks give in with a murmured click. Clutching Aubrey small hand, they walked inside, into a warm, darkened living room.

The dim light given by the swirling fire exposed the back of two armchairs, both leather-covered and comfortable looking. The flagstones of the floor were covered by thick carpet an unusual shade of green. The carpet seemed old, and extraordinarily fine. Its lush, rich thickness contrasted with the ascetic quality of the room. Books, Hermione noted, hundreds of books covered the walls, some secured behind glass doors, some standing on open shelves. The only thing, which broke the monotony of the bookshelves, was the shape of the drinks cabinet, what probably explained the alcohol stench that encompassed the room. Blinking, she watched Snape’s gaunt figure materialize out of moving darkness, overwhelmed by the potent image of a black panther waiting to attack its prey. Then the impression was gone and there was only an almost skeletally thin man, too tall and too pale, with shadowed eyes and beaky nose, smelling of sweat and whiskey.

It was Aubrey voice that broke the silence. “You stink.”

Professor Snape snorted. Hermione’s pupils widened with disbelief.

“I look hideous as well,” he noted with a sneer, “and I’m nursing a hellish hangover. Now, you impudent whelp, after stating the obvious, is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

“In fact, there is.”

“Well, out with it!” Snape barked.

Hermione gritted her teeth. “Don’t you speak like that to your daughter,” she demanded coolly, “it’s not her fault you’re drunk and suffering a hangover.”

Snape gave her a cruel smile, exposing yellow, crooked teeth. “No,” he said, “it’s your fault for deciding to keep her.”

“How dare you??”

“Hangover,” he reasoned shortly.

Hermione swallowed. For a moment, it all seemed pointless. There was no way this horrible man could ever adjust into anything remotely resembling a parent figure. An uncle. A friend. She was just wasting her time, unable to control her temper, and dragging her innocent child along with her, all in the name of some ridiculous, false hope. She was stupid, totally and utterly stupid. Stupid for approaching him, stupid for coming back, stupid for leaving the shelter she had so carefully built to herself and her child over the years. A noble, honourable Gryffindor stupidity.

“All right,” Hermione began, “if that’s all you have to say-“ Then she felt a small tug to her left sleeve.

“Mum,” Aubrey pleaded quietly.

She shut her eyes, and then opened them. The warm, sickening darkness of Snape’s chambers was like a liquid shifting around her. “Okay, darling,” she sighed. “Let’s see if you can do it your way.”

Aubrey nodded and smiled at her, then turned to Professor Snape. “Well, like you were saying, there is something else we wish to tell you.”

The girl’s expression, Hermione observed, settled into grave seriousness. “As you know, it’s four days to Christmas. I don’t expect you to understand this because you are an unhappy, angry man, who probably hates Christmas and doesn’t give presents to anyone…-,\" At that, both Snape and Hermione shot her a deadly glare. “But mother and I,” Aubrey continued, “didn’t manage to do our Christmas shopping on time, and so we have no presents to give. Therefore, we should do our Christmas shopping really soon, meaning something like tomorrow. So you see, we’ve decided to go to Hogsmeade to do our shopping. But…-” and then she gave Snape a severe look. “It is dangerous for us to go alone to Hogsmeade!”

Snape coughed at her melodramatic exclamation. “And what does it have to do with me?” he inquired snidely.

Aubrey smiled. “Well, you see,” she told him, ”because going alone to Hogsmeade is so dangerous, we thought the best solution will be to have a strong, smart wizard to come with us! That,” she added, eying him a bit doubtfully, “will be you. Now you’re going to ask me why should this bother you? I have an answer to that too. First of all, by accompanying us, you get to be very important and stuff. Secondly, you get to do a good deed, which will help you get to heaven after you die. And thirdly, I am your daughter and you have responsibility to me and it will be immoral even of you to say you don’t mind if I’m slaughtered by evil Death Eaters. Mum, stop laughing! You’re ruining the impression!”

“Well,” Hermione managed between laughs. “That was just…” She held her abdomen, stifling another laugh. “That was just a superb performance.”

“If that is so,” responded an irritated Aubrey, “why are you laughing?”

“She is laughing,” Snape interrupted, “because your over melodramatic act has given your show… quite a parodical quality. Which some people find amusing.”

“Well.” Aubrey folded her arms grimly. “That wasn’t very supportive of her.”

“I’m sure your mother didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Aubrey sighed, watching Hermione with a kind of amused hopelessness. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted. “Well, so are you coming with us tomorrow or not?”

“Well,” Severus Snape chuckled, “As you put it yourself, it will be immoral even of the likes of me to present calmness towards the vile notion of… you being slaughtered by evil Death Eaters.\"

“Good. So we will expect you at – Mum!” Once again, Hermione felt her sleeve being tugged. “Professor Snape says he is coming with us. We should tell him when are we leaving!”

“Oh.” Hermione composed herself, still astounded at Snape and Aubrey’s short conversation. “I believe ten o’clock will be fine? Meet us at the entrance hall, after breakfast?”

“Ten o’clock will be perfectly fine, Miss Granger.”

Snape’s voice, Hermione noticed, lowered into a mixture of formality and tenderness. Suddenly nervous, she found herself twisting a stray lock of hair around her finger. Then she became aware of her actions, and stopped abruptly. Hermione forced herself to smile; it felt fractured and so girlishly, stupidly unsure. “That will be all, then,” she somehow managed to say. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” He nodded, giving her and Aubrey a courtly smile. “Goodbye, Miss Granger, young lady-“

“It’s Aubrey,” the girl told him, “you should call me Aubrey.”

Snape pursed lips. His expression was grim and enigmatic, and his gaze never left the girl’s identical eyes.

Hermione placed her arms around Aubrey’s shoulders.

“Well… Aubrey,” he said at last. “Right. Aubrey. So I believe you should call me Severus.”

Aubrey nodded in agreement. “Goodbye, Severus. Have a beautiful day.”

* The chapter\'s title is taken from W. Blake\'s poem, \"Auguries of Innocence\".