Chapter 1: Prologue/Little Feet

He was struggling against wakefulness when the soft, familiar pattern of tiny feet against glossy marble echoed towards him. For a few moments, the noise was contained to the bedroom two doors down from his own, but it wasn't long before he heard a door creak open down the hall, drawing the tip-tap-tipping nearer. He continued to uselessly try to fall back asleep when the noise stopped outside his door, which was silently pushed open a moment later. He still wasn't used to this sleeping arrangement, but he'd gotten more comfortable with leaving one of his French doors cracked in case she needed him. It wasn't much compared to sharing a bed, but it would have to do. Sleeping separately would encourage independence. He did not wish to stunt her social development by allowing her to be too codependent on him.

The soft tip-tap-tipping resumed briefly, halting only when the little feet responsible were beside his bed. There was a beat of silence broken only by his breathing, as the little body near his bed was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Daddy…?" Whispered her little voice so softly he barely heard her. "Are you awake?"

Her upset tone made him abandon the notion of catching more sleep. Peaking an eye open to gauge her expression, he lets out a worried sigh. Her eyes were round, glossy, and wider than they should have been as she blinked back tears. They're a crystal-clear azure, and her hair was a shade or two lighter than Malfoy blonde, caught somewhere in between snow and vanilla icing. When she was calm her features more closely resembled his own, but when something upset her, as it had now, her coloring because drastically different.

He pulled back the edge of his duvet and she scrambled up like a frightened kneazle before she burrowing her warm little body against his chest. He frowned when he noticed she'd changed her pajamas – though he was quite impressed she'd managed to do so correctly on her own. He'd put her to bed in a dark plum nightgown covered in Chinese Fireball dragons, but her new one was pale jade and covered with bubbling pewter cauldrons.

"Did you have an accident?" He asked gently, his voice rough with sleep.

She was a very accomplished potty trainer, even if she had an occasional nightly accident, but she shook her head in the negative to his question. He scrubs at his eyes with one hand and studies her more closely. Several pieces of hair were stuck to her face, nearly translucent due to their dampness and the lack of light in the room.

"No," she mumbled against his nightshirt. "Dah uder ones was sweaty."

He brushed the stuck pieces away from her face and smoothed the rest of her hair back as well. His gentle tending seemed to bring her some comfort, so he snaked his other arm under her to rub her back. Her pulse started to slow against his palm at the same time that her hair began to shift back to its normal coloring. It was like thick ink was gliding from her roots at a snail's pace, slowly slipping downward and coating the strands. And her eyes, he knew, were shifting from striking blue to dazzling dark emerald.

"Why so upset this morning, my Roslyn?" He murmured, keeping his gentle kneading between her shoulder blades in time with the slow draw of his fingers through her hair.

"Bad dweam."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently. She shrugged against him.

"I dunno," She said a moment later.

His frown deepened. She was extremely advanced - mentally and socially - for her age. To be fair said her first – jumbled and barely recognizable - words at seven months and had walked at ten and a half. Now, at two and a half years, she could hold an honest conversation with any adult, even if she still stumbled over verb tenses and pronunciation from time to time.

So the fact that she hesitated before sharing her thoughts, rather than blurting out every worry in a fit of incoherency and tears, worried him as much as it surprised him. She was too little to have already picked up his habit of suffering in silence, but perhaps this meant she'd be a natural Occlumens, like himself, which would protect her in the future.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and asked, "Was it that terrible?"

Her hair, now mostly a dark purplish-brown, slowly lost the last traces of blonde as he waited for her to answer. It didn't matter that he had seen it happen dozens of times since she was born, he still looked on with the curiosity of a scientist and the awe of a father. She'd tested negative as a metamorphmagus, but that didn't make the phenomenon any less curious. Only her hair and eyes changed and no one knew why.

"It was dawk," she told him quietly. "And weawy quiet at furst."

He doesn't fill the silence when she pauses. Prodding her for more information than she was willing to give would only upset her again, and he wouldn't have that.

"Mummy was dere..."

He pulls her a little closer.

Regardless of the fact that he had tried his best to make sure Roslyn knew her mother's personality as well as possible under the circumstances, it didn't change the fact that Evangeline wasn't here. While questions about the late witch were few and far between, it was clear that his daughter thought of her mother often. Not for the first time, Severus found himself wishing that the swotty Ravenclaw had survived childbirth. He did try to remind himself that he couldn't have saved her even if he'd had time to make an attempt, but that only eased his guilt slightly.

"She was yelling a lot...yelling at Miss Lily."

Lily? That gives him pause, but he doesn't dare interrupt her even though he would like to know why her subconscious mind seems to think Evangeline would be angry with Lily Potter.

"Miss Lily couldn't heaw her, but she yelled and yelled. She was so mad. And she yelled at Hawwy's daddy, and Misser Remus. And Miss Molly and Misser Awe-thor. She yelled at evewybody, but they couldn't heaw."

"Why was Mummy yelling?" He asked hesitantly, praying the question doesn't trigger anymore tears.

"Cause they bes mean to us," she said bitterly.

"They are," he corrected gently and she nods to signify she understood.

"That's all I 'member..." she mumbled.

He sat up slowly and pulled her into his lap for a proper cuddle. "Don't fret on it," he said, leaving a trail of kisses from her temple to her cheek. "As long as I have you and you have me, they can be as mean as they want and it won't change a thing."

She tucked herself against him, snugly wrapping her little arms around his neck as she nodded in agreement.

"I jus' wishes they wasn't."

Hiding his frustration, he resumed petting her curls, which were the same shade of inky black as his own hair once more.

"As do I, but neither of us wields the power to change them. They can only change themselves. All we can hope to do is ignore them and refrain from mimicking their faults. And we'll set up another playdate with Draco and Theodore soon, alright?"

She nods again but instead of letting go he decides to hold her a while longer to get his previous point across. As long as they had each other…

Damn Molly Weasley for only bringing treats to Order meetings for her brood and Harry. Damn Lily for letting her asinine husband steer his son away every time the boy has tried to offer Roslyn a toy, a treat, or to get her to play. Damn that bloody coward of a Werewolf for not standing up to his friends even though he obviously felt their behavior was wrong. Damn Dumbledore for not putting an end to the petty, now one-sided, rivalry between Severus, James Potter, and that Weasley cow.

Damn each and every one of those bloody Gryffindors, except perhaps Minerva, and Salazar only knew why the witch saw more of a kindred spirit in the daughter of the head of her least favorite house than with the offspring of her former students.

"Come now, my clever little thing," he coaxed, pulling himself out of his thoughts and shuffling them both out of bed. "Tea and breakfast ought to cheer you up."

She pulled back and gave him a thoughtful look as he made his way out of the room.

"May I has Waffle Cwisp?"

He gave an exaggerate eye roll and sighed, "If you must."

Consenting to let her eat dessert disguised as breakfast cereal earned him another snug, toddler-sized embrace.

"I love you," she said against his neck.

Squeezing her back, he murmured. "As I do you, my Roslyn. As I do you."