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Breeding Lilacs out of Dead Land.	By : mbassan Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 17891 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 9 � Thousand Christmas Trees.

Snape Disapparated without further ado. His briefness, it seemed, blended quite authentically with his intimidating, almost Dickensian air of old-fashioned darkness, which was rather deliberately narrated. A supposed contradiction, Hermione assumed, as a character of Snape�s stature could only be expected to prolong his or hers departure, but nonetheless probable.

Somewhat disappointed, Hermione watched him leave, realizing that she would miss his conversation. Snape was far from being pleasant company, but he had provided her with something she had missed for almost nine years now � an intellectual challenge. Being able to use her sharp wit, experimentally stretching the limits of her mind in order to understand a complex idea, was a pleasure Hermione had been denied of for God knew how long. Books were excellent stimulants, but they teased her intellect only to a certain degree, in a certain way that was linear and coherent but not elastic and capable of holding a substance at more than one edge.

One of the reasons Hermione had always preferred reading Plato to other philosophers was his superb use of dialogues in order to convey an idea; thus allowing him to jump backward and forward through the text�s inner narrative in order to view his themes more carefully and thoroughly. Snape, she observed, was a compelling Socrates. She could not yet hope to beat him in an argument, at least not right away, but not for one moment had he tried to override her intellectually in their conversation. He was a teacher, not a dictator.

There should have been someone in his life to bring this side of him out more. Knowing there was no one like that made Hermione clench her fists in frustration. Then it occurred to her she was thinking of Snape as another Eustace to be pilled out of his thick dragon hide. Snape wasn�t a lost kitten, he wasn�t hers to save and she�d be damned if she was going to treat him as� how did he put it? A pet project. No, he deserved better than her pity.

Reluctantly, locked inside the storming train of her own thoughts, she bade him farewell, arranging to meet him in the Three Broomsticks in four hours. Aubrey, sensing her mother�s distress, remained quiet, seizing the opportunity to make Hermione go where she wanted in the small wizarding village.

They had spent long hour at Zonko�s before moving along to Honeydukes, where Aubrey stuffed too many sweets into a paper bag, eager to try each new, bizarre thing. In the meant Her Hermione found herself toying with a sugar quill, unconsciously summoning the taste of lips sticky from sucking on one, sweet and wet and hot on her mouth. The other day, she had seriously debated with herself whether she should send Christmas gifts to Harry and Ron. Creating the impression she wish reintroduce herself into their lives as if nothing had happened, was something Hermione meant to avoid at all costs. Things had changed; she had turned her back on Harry and Ron, betraying their trust in her and their friendship, deceiving them to believe she was dead � gone for good. She didn�t want and didn�t expect Ron and Harry�s forgiveness. In fact, she didn�t believe she deserved it. But ignoring Harry and Ron and what the three of them had shared, would be equally insulting. Besides, knowing Ginny Weasley, Hermione had little doubt she and Aubrey would receive something from the Potters.

That was the way the Weasley women�s minds worked, she thought, remembering Molly�s Christmas gift on her fourth year, after Rita Skeeter�s articles had been published. They might have been angry, they might have been insulted, enraged and reluctant, but the Weasley women were always faithful and would always, no matter what, send a Christmas present.

Taking the latter into consideration had tipped the scales. If Harry and Ginny Potter were to send her and Aubrey a present, so would Molly and Arthur and Ron and Victoria Weasley. Which meant a considerable amount of shopping. From what Hermione was given to understand, Harry Potter, the former boy-wonder of the Wizarding World and now a trained Auror and notable member of The Order of the Phoenix, had chosen to reproduce himself like� well, like a Weasley, which was not a big surprise, when you considered that his wife was one. Over the seven years since twenty-year-old Harry Potter and nineteen-year-old Virginia Weasley had been married, the couple had given birth to five children, including one pair of twins. According to the latest rumor, Ginny Weasley was pregnant again and another Potter was expected into this world in about four months. None of this surprised Hermione, who knew that the one thing the Boy Who Lived had truly craved was a family to call his own. The war was no excuse to delay. Harry, she had been told, was determined not to let Voldemort deflect his course of life.

Ron, on the other hand, was slower to settle down. Two years ago he married Vicky Frobisher � the Gryffindor who flew better than him and dared to rank Charms Club higher in her priorities than Quidditch � and the couple now had one baby daughter. Propriety demanded Hermione should give something to both children and parents.

Three and a half hours later, she had managed to find a gift for each little Potter. A finely embroidered baby blanket for little Kathleen Weasley was folded in a plastic bag (successfully shrunk by Hermione) together with a pair of woolen socks and a Gryffindor coloured scarf for Albus. For Harry and Ginny she purchased a hardcover, illustrated volume of fairy tales, the kind which never failed to keep Aubrey busy for several much needed rest-hours (with so many children, Hermione concluded, the Potters could probably use a rest) and for Ron and Vicky� well, she hoped a vase would do, since she didn�t have the slightest idea what she should give them. There was som something for Professor McGonagall, as well as for each of the teaching staff and the kind John Ackart. In fact, the only subject who kept giving her troubles (how unexpected, she thought bitterly) was Severus Snape.

�Why don�t we buy him something to drink?� Aubrey suggested. �His rooms smelled like he likes it.�

Well, her daughter was definitely observant, but lacked the perspective that should have led her to the inevitable conclusion that giving alcohol to a person who drank before six in the evening was a bad idea.

�I� don�t really think it�s a good idea, darling,� she told Aubrey. �I�m sure Professor Snape has� enough to drink of his own.�

�Why don�t we just buy him a book, then?�

Hermione flung up her hands, then allow them to drop. �And what book would possibly be the right one? You saw his chambers. He probably has enough books to fill a new wing of the library.�

Aubrey, who already witnessed the wonder that was Hogwarts� library, seemed fascinated with the idea.

�Aside from that,� Hermione added, �we have no idea what he likes to read.�

�Oh, he likes to read lots of things!� Aubrey told her.

�Is it? And how would you know that?�

Aubrey�s expression was this of utter exasperation. �I looked.� The child was subtle enough not to add an �of course� to the equation.

�You mean, pried.�

�Whatever.�

�Okay,� Hermione answered. �You looked into Professor Snape�s personal library. So what did you see?�

�Oh, all sorts of things. He really likes hard covers � he has lots of them. Some of his books are old stuff, with gilded titles and all. I mean, it�s not all old, just looks like it was made long time ago. These were mostly contemplative, wizarding stuff, textbooks and essays with long names like� �Theorems in Transfiguration�s Arithmancy.� Then he had this long shelf full with poetry books, it�s easy to recognize them because they are usually very thin or very thick and has all sorts of� weweirweird names. He also has� amm� dunno, classics, you know? Melville and Hardy and Bronte and Dickens and Fielding and Golding and Joyce and-�

�I get the point, my beloved little Deus Ex Machina. You are too observant for your own good.�

�I have a photographic memory,� Aubrey corrected, �and the book Snape is currently reading� it was on the rug in front of the fire� amm�gah�a weird name, too, �Poppy and Memory� something. Looked like poetry stuff.�

�Should be Paul Celan�s. He�s a German poet. I didn�t read him, though �never finished reading through the classics.�

�Maybe we should buy Professor Snape a poetry book.�

�And were shall we do that?�

�Well, duh, in the bookstore?�

�The Hogsmeade bookstore is a wizarding bookstore.�

�So?� Aubrey questioned.

�Once you�ll read wizarding literature you�ll understand.�

�There was no wizarding literature in the bookstore.�

Hermione smirked. �Good, you see my point.� She then sighed. �Oh, let�s buy him a pink shirt or something. At least that will be funny.�

All of a sudden, Aubrey�s eyes lit up. �I know just what we should give him!�

�Really?�

�Yes!� She exclaimed. �We should give him ear warmers!�

* * *

Christmas at Hogwarts was bound to be a magical event. The Sugarplum Fairy had decorated the castle, sprinkling sugar powder on the castle�s lawns, hanging ropes of licorice ivy and placing chocolate-buttons mistletoes all over Hogwarts. The great hall was gilded with caramel dusting; illustrated by the melting colors of apple and strawberry ice cream.

Aubrey, wearing her new dress robes, was drinking in the sight � a fairy queen sculpted out of a huge sugar cube, gazing down her lollipop kingdom. Hermione bit her lower lip not to smile stupidly. Her daughter was so beautiful and the moment so clear and exquisite that the urge to smile was almost happiness �almost a feeling by itself. Almost joy. Life will go on but the cambric handkerchief will float in the air forever, and the wide-eyed girl in the yellowing black and white photograph will be forever smiling to the boy, forever leaning into the kiss.

�Beautiful, right?� She heard herself saying. �I remember my first Christmas at Hogwarts. It was like stepping into a fairy-tale.�

Aubrey tore her gaze from the picturesque sight of the Great Hall. �That�s right,� she agreed. �Almost makes you wonder��

Hermione wrinkled her brows. �What do you mean?�

The child turned to look at her. �Don�t you know? Once you�ve got into the fairy�s world you�re locked there for hundred years. That�s risky. And besides, in mystery books and stuff, when something is really pretty, it�s usually means things are going very, very wrong.�

�And I always thought education was a blessing.�

Aubrey giggled, though Hermione doubted whether she understood her intention. �Shall we, precious?� She offered her hand to Aubrey.

�Sure!�

Hand in hand they stepped together into the Great Hall. Magical ivy wound around the supporting beams all through the hall, entwined with glittering lights, which were swirling and dancing like pixies in the twilight � deflecting a traveler from his course. Fir trees and spruces adorned the hall, bowing under the weight of the Chris des decorations. Hermione noticed the familiar soft snowflakes that floated in midair, dissolving little before they touched the light-halo, which glowed upon the room. The central table, designed to house the teaching staff and whichever students remained in Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays, was replaced by a larger, stockier one, capable of seating the fifty diners or so who participated in the annual Christmas feast.

Some of the faces Hermione recognized: the Hogwarts staff �Dumbledore bestowed his familiar twinkle upon her; Anne Rivers, a war widow, several years older than herself whom Hermione had befriended �Anne had two children, about Aubrey�s age, and the two woman had enjoyed one or two brief conversations that carried the promise of possible friendship; John Ackart, who waved to her, patting the free seat next to him in clear invitation, and several more people she het oet once or twice during the last couple of days. Snape, Hermione perceived, sat between Professor Vector and a dark man who Hermione recognized as an Order member. Snape and Vector, so it seemed, were engaged in private conversation. He spared both her and Aubrey the minimal courtesy of acknowledging their existence, giving them a small nod, then refocused his concentration on Vector�s speech.

They sat next to John Ackart, who gentlemanly rose to pull out the chairs for them. She thanked him, allowing the Auror to kiss the back of her hand.

It had taken Hermione several years before she could once again enjoy male attention. With her body soul violated, relearning to live in her own skin had been a tasking mission. However, once she managed to settle the delicate issue of her sexuality, Hermione found she was able to enjoy the company of the opposite sex. Considered a fairly attractive woman by those who preferred the generous type, she had her share of admirers. Hermione didn�t have the leisure to consider a serious relationship, but male company and whatever it resulted in were something she indulged in from time to time.

Ackart had an open, honest face, a quality Hermione found likable in a man; he was very friendly; of ordinary intellect maybe, but he didn�t seem to be in awe of her own intelligence; he liked Aubrey and he made his interest in Hermione quite clear. It was too early to consider anything, but Hermione thought that perhaps in a month or so she might let him take her to dinner and, then, if the mood took her, take her to bed.

�So how are you doing, the both of you?� he asked her. �I see you�re quite settled.�

Hermione smiled politely. �Headmaster Dumbledore was kind enough to let us stay. We are incredibly grateful for his hospitality.�

�Indeed. Dumbledore is a great man, don�t know were would we be without him. Old Fudge was a good enough Minister for peace times, but you could see he didn�t know what to do with himself once the war began. He�s okay now, though. Backing up the Headmaster, puts the Aurors in Hogwarts. Bad times, I tell you. I�ve been wondering how come a young, bright witch shows up from nowhere just like that in this era. Doesn�t seem like the most reasonable thing to do �no offense, of course.�

�I don�t blame you for thinking so,� Hermione reassured him. �Although � when a just war is being fought, there are some societies that will unify rather than disintegrate. Rightful cause calls individuals to unite.�

�So you came to help-,� he concluded. �Very noble of you, Miss Granger.�

Since it was partially the truth, she didn�t bother to correct him. Their conversation didn�t last much longer, cut short by Dumbledore�s polite cough. The Headmaster rose to his foot, gently tapping the rim of his wine goblet with his small spoon. The crystalline chink rippled in the air: bright, cheerful and silvery.

�Dear friends!� He started, deep voice booming and carrying along the table. �Dear students and staff, dear guests and ghosts. In life, says an Irishman�s philosophy, there are only two things to worry about, either you are well, or you are sick. If you are well, there is nothing to worry about, but if you are sick, you have two things to worry about: either you will live, or you will die. If you live, there is nothing to worry about, if you die, you have two things to worry about; either you will go to heaven or to hell. If you go to heaven, there is nothing to worry about, but if you go to hell, you'll be so busy shaking hands with your friends, you won't have time to worry. So don�t worry.� Dumbledore lifted his goblet, now full of red, rich wine. �Merry Christmas! Slainte!�

The rest of the feast continued with jolly chatter, wine in abundance � to those who were allowed it (Hermione allowed Aubrey one sip, after which she screwed up her face in disgust, complaining it was bitter) � and was concluded by a session of Christmas caroling, led by none other than Dumbledore, who sang shamelessly out of key. At eight thirty, Hermione found herself taking her leave, with Aubrey, who was tired yet painfully exuberant, grumbling all the way to their dwellings.

She brushed the child�s teeth, running a gentle cleansing spell in order to get rid of the garish scents of food and drink that curled in Aubrey�s hair. Fawkes, who came to greet them, had disappeared little time after Aubrey fell asleep.

Afterwards, Hermione was left to load their traditional stockings with sweets and hang them from the mantelpiece; arrange Christmas presents under the fir tree Hagrid had been more than happy to provide her with, and take care the room was ready to welcome Christmas morning. She tidied the room, in careful sequence, like a small child putting her dolls to bed and the sun to sleep bellow the horizon �softly closing the lid over the porcelain ballerina, with the chiming melody carefully tucked inside the trinkets box.

Recumbent on the couch Hermione slumbered a little before she finally made it to the bathroom. The last few days seemed to stretch from tooth brushing to tooth brushing. Strange, how the most mundane, unimportant things came to form a delicate structure of normality. Of identity. How prosaic � the dentists� daughter having her life defined and bordered by her toothbrush. Oh, hell. Hermione flung that thought aside; it was too sarcastic for Christmas Eve.

Letting her hair down, she combed it peacefully. Being held in a twist kept it relatively free of knots so there was no reason to use magic in order to untie her plaits. She then braided it loosely, and heading to the bedroom, changed into her nightgown �an old flannel rag that was thinning under her elbows and was exceedingly comfortable. Wrapped up in her quilt, heavily asleep, she didn�t see the flames in the hearth turning green and a peculiarly encased box being carefully put down under the decorated Christmas tree.

* * *

�Merry Christmas!�

A squealing bundle, wrapped in worn-out cotton that barely showed the fluffy design of rabbits and teddy bears on it anymore, landed on Hermione�s bed. �Mummy! It�s Christmas morning!� Aubrey cried in exultation. �Wake up, wake up! We should open our presents!�

Hermione moaned, burying her face in the pillow. The one morning she would rather have indulged herself with a little more sleep, Aubrey shot out of bed like a bullet and came to wake her. She sighed, turning a little to face her jumpy daughter. �Please not so loud, darling,� Hermione mumbled. �I can hear you well enough.�

Aubrey chirped, crawling under the heavy quilt and throwing her arms around Hermione�s recumbent figure. Aubrey�s small face was buried in soft bosom, nose and forehead pressed against soft, linen-covered flesh. She giggled, snuggling into Hermione�s warmth. The heady fragrance of sleep and innocence drifting from Aubrey�s body mingled with her own scent, of heat soaked sheets, feminine sweat and sweet residues of the perfume she sprayed on herself the other night. Hermione made a small, throaty sound of placation. �Don�t you want to sleep a little bit more?� she suggested to Aubrey without much hope.

�Wanna open ma� gifts�� the child mumbled against Hermione�s lap.

�Alright, alright.� Hermione rose carefully, loosening Aubrey�s firm grip. �Did you put something on your feet?�

�Yea. I�ve got socks on.�

�Okay. Would you please be a good girl and hand me my flannel robe?�

�Sure.� Aubrey hopped off the bed, and removing Hermione�s robe from the modest clothes hanger, offered it to her mother.

�Thank you, precious.� Standing up, Hermione wrapped herself in the tattered cloth, yawning lazily. �So how many presents have we got this year?�

�Oh, quite a lot actually!� She laced her fingers in Hermione�s, flesh warm and still little moist from sleep. �Come see.�

Hand in hand, they entered the living room. The Christmas tree, lovingly decorated by the two of them, stood in the middle of the carpet, some distance from the hearth, its ornaments glowing in the soft light that streamed from the fireplace. Outside wie window, snowflakes were swirling in the dull, greyish light of morning.

�Pretty�� She heard Aubrey whispering, and nodded in agreement.

�So, shall we sit to open our presents?�

�Yea!�

Aubrey placed herself in front of the fire, scanning the small accumulation of gifts that were scattered underneath the tree. Her lips tightened with fastidious curl, as she reached for the first package, reading her name on the greeting card attached it. �Dear Aubrey,� she read aloud, �Best wishes to you and your mother, may you have a Merry Christmas! Hope to meet both of you soon, the Potters. Signed, Ginny, Harry, Lily, James & Sirius, Rose, Arthur, Hedwig and Snaffles the dog. They have a dog!� Aubrey said dreamily.

�Many people own a dog. Come on, darling, open the present and see what they brought you.�

The Potters� gift to Aubrey turned out to be a fluffy, white angora scarf. The girl�s fingers were caressing the knitted wool, lovingly skimming along its silky length. �That�s�. nice�� she whispered.

�Yes, it is.�

They slowly went through their presents; Hermione flipped lovingly through �Hogwarts, a History� the newest edition, which Dumbledore has given to Aubrey; the child giggling at the description of each and every magical trick sent to her by Ron and Vicky Weasley. There weren�t many presents and they were modest by any standard, but they were still magic, and carefully unwrapped from their holiday clothing. At the end, there was only the large, strangely wrapped box, which mingled with the rest of the presents. Curious, Aubrey reached for the box when Hermione stopped her.

�Don�t, Aubrey. This box literally steams with magic. It might be jinxed to harm us.�

Aubrey frowned. �Look, there�s a card attached to it� over there. Why don�t we take a look at it?�

�Okay,� Hermione agreed. �Just give me one minute.� She hurried to the bookcase, pulling out an advanced spell book. Hermione flipped through the pages until her eyes rested on a relatively simple counter curse, designed to detect dark magic. Drawing her wand, she pointed it at the box, murmuring the incantation. There was magic buzzing around the box, but not the dark sort. She looked at Aubrey. �It looks clear, but let me open the card first.�

With that, she reached for the greeting card, pulling it out of its envelope. �Miss. Aubrey Granger, that�s for you,� she told Aubrey, �I came upon the attached fur ball during my latest visit to Diagon Alley. It occurred to me you might find it to your liking �knowing your mother�s strange appreciations, I dare to hope she won�t mind. Best Regards, S.S. I believe this is from Professor Snape,� Hermione mused, observing the sharp, barely readable scribble. �It�s definitely his writing. Well, okay, you can open it.� She handed Aubrey the card and the box. �Nice of him to think of you.�

Aubrey scanned the box, which was wrapped in thin, bluish, and somehow breathing paper. With deliberate caution, she loosened the wrapping, just to discover a cardboard box made from a similar, breathing material underneath. �What is it?� she wondered, giving Hermione the strange wrapping paper.

Hermione�s eyes narrowed. �It looks like oxygenic paper. It designed to allow clear, ionized air inside the wrappings while keeping a temperature set in advance. There must be something alive inside.�

Evidently intrigued now, Aubrey opened the box, shifting the pulsing, oxygenic cardboard aside in order to expose a sleeping, furry, baby Kneazle.

�Oh!� Gaping, Aubrey looked at the animal, spellbound by the light rhythm of its breathing.

Moistening her lips, Aubrey leaned forward to get a better look at the Kneazle. Judging by its size, which matched that of a half-grown cat, the cub was several weeks old. Hardly more than a baby. It had spotted, thick fur of almost every possible colour, from milky white to copper red to gray and yellow; prominent ears that reminded her of a caracal, and a lion-like tail. It was rather ugly compared to its feline closest relative, the cat, but incredibly cute and practically begging to be stroked. All that lush, fluffy, soft fur.

How odd, Hermione mused quietly, of Snape to be so perceptive as to the little child�s wishes. He saw Aubrey looking longingly at Fawkes and brought her this Kneazle baby, this small, groggy fur ball. This Kneazle, that slowly opened one of its golden eyes to look at the two figures fussing over him.

�Hello, Cookie,� Aubrey murmured, �You�re looking a little drowsy�� She reached out a pudgy finger to rub the Kneazle�s pointed head. �Welcome to our place � our means me; Aubrey, and Mum. Her name is Hermione but you can refer to her as Mum, I don�t think she�ll mind.�

The Kneazle gurgled as Aubrey�s fingers came to rub behind his ears.

�So what will you call him?� Hermione asked, watching Aubrey picking up the sleepy feline and gently putting him in her lap.

�Why don�t we call him after Professor Snape? He�s the one who gave him to me after all. We can call him�� and she looked quizzically at the baby Kneazle, �we can call him Snappy!�

Hermione had somehow managed to suppress a laughter. �Well, darling, I hardly think Professor Snape will appreciate it��

Aubrey frowned. �Oh, well, okay. I suppose you�re right. So what else could we call him?�

Hermione scanned her memory looking for a suitable name. Then her eyes rested on Professor Snape�s note and she grinned. �You know what, why don�t we call him �Furball�? I think that might amuse Professor Snape. Not to mention that he really looks like one.�

�Furball,� Aubrey repeated, rolling the nickname on her tongue. �Furball� well, all right, he can be Furball. Don�t you think, Cookie?�

Furball gurgled in response.

�He�s not very lively,� Aubrey noted.

�It�s a typical Kneazle behavior,� Hermione explained. �They are known for their somewhat bi-polar tendencies. Either they are awake and exuberant �which will practically mean the end of our furniture, or they are sleepy and groggy. Right now it means Cookie likes you and feels comfortable dozing in your lap.�

�Really?� Aubrey cooed. �You like me, Furball?�

The Kneazle gave the girl an angry look, as if asking why she bothered him with stupid questions. Aubrey giggled in return. �Oh, he is so adorable!� she squeaked, mooning over the sleeping Kneazle that was curled up in a ball in her lap. �And so clever and silky and cute. I hope Fawkes likes him.�

At that, Hermione became serious. �Aubrey, darling �you know Fawkes is Professor Dumbledore�s familiar, don't you?�

The girl worried her lower lip, biting on it softly. �I do, why?�

Hermione smiled, incidentally stroking Aubrey�s hair. The silver-blond strands fell on the child�s face, curtaining it with mystical scarf. �Fawkes cares for you very much and I believe hets tts to help you acclimatize, but he is also attached to Professor Dumbledore. This is why I believe that, someday soon, Fawkes will be once again spending most of his time with his human. You are not the only person,� Hermione said, as the realization suddenly dawned on her, �who needs Fawkes. And� ach ach as it might surprise us, I believe Dumbledore needs Fawkes more than you do, at least now that we are settled and you have Furball.�

�So� Fawkes won�t be coming here anymore?�

�I didn�t say so,� Hermione answered quietly, �Fawkes will keep coming, only not for such long periods of time. Besides, the Christmas break will soon be over. I will have my job to do and you�ll be in day-care. You won�t need Fawkes as much as you do now.�

�Day-care?� Aubrey bawled her eyes ourobarobably in tribute to the afternoon childcare facility she had attended before she started kindergarten. Hermione hadn�t been very fond of the place either � but she hadn�t the money to spare and the facility was relatively safe. Magical daycares, on the other hand, were nothing like that, and Aubrey needed to learn about the place she would soon be attending.

�Magical children don�t go to school the way Muggle kids do, at least not all of them,� Hermione told her. �Some go to Muggle primary schools, some stay at home under the care of a governess or a parent, and some attend all sorts of pre-Hogwarts programs. You�ll be attending one of those. I haven�t been there yet, but Anne tells me it�s a very good place �David is going there for the second year running, and so are all the children old enough who live in the castle. Dumbledore enables Flooing to and from there once a day, so it�s completely accessible to us.� Hermione tightened her lips, trying to remember all the information she had received concerning the Hogsmeade daycare facilities. �The school day starts at eight and ends at six, there will be some studying � Maths, English, Latin, some wizarding History, basic Alchemy� nothing you can�t handle. Lessons are taught in study groups rather than actual classes �you�ll be learning with your equals in intelligence rather then those of the same age,� Hermione reminded herself to talk to the management in order to make sure Aubrey wouldn�t be too distanced from kids her own age. �Then you�ll be introduced with some different exercises� classes, workgroups, some unsupervised socializing et cetera.�

Aubrey nodded, considering the information in her mind. �That sounds okay.�

�I�m glad you approve.�

The child snorted.

�I really do. I could try to arrange for you to attend a Muggle school if you prefer.�

She shook her head. �That�s okay. This wizarding� thing

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Breeding Lilacs out of Dead Land.