Miriam Hamish Eileen Snape, named after Severus and Hermione’s absent parents, began jumping up and down as soon as they exited the apothecary. “I was good, Da, I was weally, weally good, wight? We’s done shoppin’, okay? Can me an’…,” she paused, bottom lip sucked in from the look, before restarting, “May Sams an’ me have some BeGood, Da? Pe-e-eaz?”
A small sigh escaped before Severus replied, “Sam and I, Miri, and yes, you may.”
“Whe-e-e-e! T’ank you, Da! Sammy-Sam! We gets BeGood!” Miri screamed, wriggling about like a crazed flobberworm, “I’m SO e’cited. Can we run, Da? Can we, can we?” Miri begged.
Severus surreptitiously scouted the area for dangers, eyeing the distance to Fortescue’s shop. “Yes, you may, but do not let go of Sam’s hand until you are inside, alright?”
“Yes, yes! C’mon, Sammy,” Miri crowed triumphantly, attempting to drag her brother away.
“Nope,” Sam replied stubbornly, pulling her back, “You forgot the very mostimportant thing, Mir; pro-teck-shun, sheesh.”
“Good man, Sam,” his father replied, ruffling his curls, which gifted him a gap-toothed grin.
“Oops; sowwy, Daddy, I was SO e’cited, I forgetted.”
“Understood, love. Now, stand very still…” As Severus’ wand tapped each head and swirled, he murmured, “Tactum malum, ignis amoris defendit. Now…ready, set, GO!”
Samuel Harron Colin Snape, being the kind older brother he was, let his little sister set the pace as they raced toward Fortesque's. After almost bowling over an older woman with a cane, “Sorry, Mrs F!”, Sam insisted Miri slow down or Da would make them go home with no treat. “Your face is getting all red anyway, Mir, so we’re walking the rest of the way.” Scowling, Miri began stomping in protest as Sam looked back at his father talking to Mrs F. He gave his son a nod, and Sam knew he’d done the right thing, even if Miri wouldn’t stop tramping down the pavement.
“I apologise, Arabella, for my monsters running you down…”
“Ah, Severus, it’s just a joy to see exuberant children acting like children—I will never tire of that,” Mrs Figg replied with a smile. “Though I do think I’ll sit down for a mo’,” she waved at the bench in front of the Corvus Draconis Apothecary, “It’s been a disappointing day of shopping, and this shop will be my last stop.”
“Are you still brewing your own potions?” Severus asked, bouncing the now fussing babe strapped to his chest.
Arabella Figg snorted. “When I realised that Old Man Jigger’s arthritis formula worked no better than what I can make myself, then yes. Just been a bit of trouble doing my own shopping—owl order never gets me the freshest ingredients.”
“This is true…unless you shop here,” Severus smiled, nodding at Corvus’ black door. “And if you don’t have a problem with the two best Potions Masters in the UK being reformed Death Eaters, I could recommend a new arthritis blend or its ingredients—they will always be guaranteed the freshest you can buy when you shop here.”
Mrs Figg’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yours?” At his nod, she smiled. “Then I’ll happily tender you my custom, Severus.”
“Let me get you started then,” he replied, sending a patronus through the black door. A moment later, a clerk stepped out and handed a bag to Arabella with a smile. “Now, let me know how these work for you. Though it's only been released since Monday last, it’s been thoroughly tested by Mungo’s and the Potions Guild. I’d be interested in your thoughts. One vial will be good for seven to ten days—no need to take it every day—though don’t forget to read the included instructions.”
“Thank you so much, Severus, it’s very appreciated,” she replied, patting his hand. “And only once a week; that’s a wonderful improvement!”
He grinned as he stood, still bouncing little Sevastyn, “I’ll let Draco know that you approve—he’ll be especially interested in how it works for you. Now, I’m afraid I’ve got to run before my spawn try to order one of every flavour that Fortie Jr has on offer.”
As Severus approached Fortescue’s, the view through the little bow window stopped him in his tracks—his children were eating ice cream with Rita fecking Skeeter. “Shite.”
The man who’d had to pull up short behind him when he suddenly halted stepped to his side and asked, “Trouble, Severus?”
“What? Oh, Mr Creevey, my apologies. Yes, it could be a problem,” Severus replied, motioning toward the window.
“Ah, yes—I see the issue,” Dennis Creevey said thoughtfully. “Well, maybe we can get the better of a certain nosey bug; what say you? I’m here to pick up Nina’s current craving—melon-caramel-radish swirl, gack,” he shuddered, “And I'm sure that The Vox wouldn’t mind me capturing a possible human interest story on the side whilst I wait.”
“Well, how could I deny The Londinium Vox Veritatis, my favourite newspaper, a little human interest? How would you like to handle this?”
“Well, Miss Miri? Have you made up your mind yet?” Fortie Jr asked, handing Sam his DoubleDarkChoco and VeryCherry double cone.
“I fink I want the purpliest ice cream on the bottom, and the prettiest one on da top, k?”
“Will do, love…I’ll even add some extra sparklies, too.”
“Oh, boy,” Miri breathed, big brown eyes wide as she watched her cone being built, “It looks SO ‘alicious!”
“C’mon, Mir—look!” he cried, pointing to the three empty spaces at the front, “The window seat’s are empty!” Sam jogged over to save their favourite table as Miri followed more carefully, unaware that the magic cone would have to be jostled pretty hard before her ice cream would fall. As they sat down, a grownup slid into the last chair, and Sammy frowned. Ugh—the BugLady was here. He hoped his Da would show up soon, and he ignored her as he looked out the window. As the BugLady began to chatter at Miri—who’d talk to anybody—the bell over the door rang, and Sammy smiled when a tall, brown-haired man walked in with a camera around his neck. When Dennis Creevey noticed the boy about to greet him, he raised a finger to his lips, then waved and disillusioned himself. Sam shrugged, waved back, and returned to his treat and people-watching—sometimes, grownups were just weird.
Severus, already disillusioned, slid through the door behind Dennis and found a convenient place to eavesdrop on Rita’s conversation.
“…and, you know, it’s really impolite to call people names,” Rita Skeeter said snootily.
“Well, dats jus’ silly! You always s’pose to call people dere names, an’ at my house, dat’s you name—BugLady.”
“Yes, well, your mummy does hate me,” Rita smirked.
Miri shook her head in reply. “Ow’n’t fink so, BugLady; Mummy’s not a hater—she jus’ pickys you.”
“She what?”
Her brother leaned over then and stage-whispered, ”Not picky, Mir, pity…pit-ty.”
“Ooh, das righ’… Mummy pit-ties you, BugLady. She say you have nuffin’, nuffin’ ‘cept dat ugly, floaty pen. Mummy has me, an’ Sam, an’ Bast, an’ Crooksy, an’ Da who lubs her an’ likes to dance wif her inna kitchen an’ kiss her alla time. An’ she have the…,” Miri paused, thinking hard while catching a drip of ice cream with the tip of her tongue, unaware of the colour of Rita’s face or her burgeoning scowl. “She have the we-pect of her pears,” she finished, nodding seriously. “Is bery ‘mportant, we-pect of your pears, but I dunno why…” Miri shrugged. “You just a BugLady who finks she’s ‘portant. And sometimes you dang’russ, but I’m not ‘fraid of bugs. Da says to squish icky bugs ‘cause I’m da boss o’ dem, so I squishes them inta puddin’,” she chirped cheerily, “Mummy say puddin’ bugs is ‘gusting, but I fink it’s fun,” she giggled. “I hopes you’re neber by my shoes, BugLady, cuz I be squishin’ you into puddin’. Bet Mummy would love dat,” she grinned, licking some more purple drips off the side of her cone.
Indignant, Rita Skeeter shoved herself away from the table, jostling Miri, who watched her scoop of pretty, sparkly ice cream roll from its cone and go splat in the BugLady’s lap. Unseen, her Daddy’s wand hand rose, as Miri’s bottom lip trembled when she watched her BeGood treat smash into the pavement as the Buglady shot to her feet. “Why, you little brat!” Rita screeched, grabbing Miri’s arm.
Sam watched as the mean lady let go of Miri really fast and started screaming at her smoking hands. At the same time, Mr Creevey and his Da reappeared. Wide-eyed, Sam dropped his cone and wrapped his arms around Miri’s middle, pulling her away as fast as he could as the BugLady became wrapped in ropes and hung upside down with a gag over her mouth. Flash! Flash! Flash! went Mr Creevey’s camera while Rita Skeeter was spun around to face his Da. Sammy had never seen his Da with SUCH a mad face before—he was really scary. And scary faces meant trouble. Sam dragged Miri over to Mr Creevey, who tucked them behind him, and when he began retaking photos, he and Miri peeked out from either side of him. Da’s patronus disappeared out the door, and Sam was happy to see the shimmer of a shield over Bast, sleeping against Da’s chest. “You will be very sorry for accosting one of my children, Miss Skeeter,” Severus Snape murmured in a deadly, low voice, “Very. Sorry.Indeed.”
Supervisor Harry Potter looked up from the report in his hand as a large glowing raven appeared in his office, speaking in Severus’ voice. “Requesting auror assistance at Fortescue’s, Diagon. I wish to press charges against Rita Skeeter for grabbing Miri. Oh, and it’s possible she may have run afoul of a tactus protection charm and require medical assistance. Or not”
Harry’s evil grin surprised the aurors nearby as his patronus sped out of the office with a message: “Draco, if you’re not busy brewing, grab the medi-kit under the counter and meet me at Fortescue’s, Diagon. Apparently, Skeeter has learned what happens if you mess with Severus Snape’s kids. I’ll check if Hermione’s nearby, and bring her with—this is gonna be FUN!”