Child of Monte Cristo
She had lost Ron two days before the final battle. Three months later she lost the last trace of his scent from his pillow on their bed. Six months after that she lost his voice, crying out her name when he came inside her.
The Weasley family had been the hardest hit. Within a week Molly buried Ron, Ginny, Percy, and Arthur. Fred and George had moved home, though they kept the shop open, and tried to live life again. Bill and Fleur's baby girl had helped the new Grandmum's state of mind.
She was lost. Adrift. Minerva had tried to ground her. After Voldemort's defeat, Professor Snape had been cleared of all charges, and with all the Order's losses, there were surprisingly few teachers missing from Hogwarts. Only Dumbledore was gone permanently, and Hagrid.
Hermione had no idea how it had happened. Minerva had invited her to Hogwarts for the summer, to study with her. It was only Minerva, Snape, and the house elves left for the break. The Headmistress had high hopes that her brilliant student would return as the Transfiguration professor within a few years.
Her guest room in Gryffindor tower brought an onslaught of Ron back to her. Everywhere she went, Ron's image and his memory invaded her peace. The Quidditch pitch, the Forbidden Forest, even the Library. Except the dungeons. She found Ron's haunting faded a bit when she was surrounded by the cold, dark, dank stones, and by default, the cold, dark Potions Master.
The first time she ended up in his bed, she couldn't explain it later. All she could remember is that she couldn't remember. Snape had become Severus, and for the first time in six years she arched her back into a bed, clutched a cotton sheet in her sweaty palms, pleaded a scream of passion, and didn't see Ron's face.
For six weeks she was in his chambers, he made her forget. Or perhaps, he merely took over that part of her and made it his own.
She was alone in her room when she looked at her calendar and realized she was late. Three days late. She didn't even have to run a test, she was never late. Every 31 days, starting at ten am, she would take a precautionary block of chocolate, and by the evening would need her first of seven basic pain potions.
But she was late. She did the charm, anyway, then headed to the Potions classroom to inform her partner. Her lover. The first man she could imagine her life with after Ron.
He listened to the news, and Severus disappeared. A cold Snape appeared in his place. One who demanded the right to do the charm again.
"Exactly what would I gain by lying to you," she spat.
"I want nothing to do with you or any bastards you choose to bear."
"A child with a father isn't a bastard."
"Your child," he emphasized, his awful sneer back in place, "is."
She turned on her heels and ran back to the tower, collapsing on a chair in front of her fireplace and sobbed. Then, pulling herself together, a flick of her wand summoned her legal spells book. She searched the pages to find what she was looking for, then carefully cased an amplification spell onto her lower torso.
The image of a newborn boy appeared, solid black hair, but her nose. She curved the wand and the infant rotated, opening one eye.
She breathed a sigh of relief, her son would have brown eyes.
Her belongings flew into her trunks, and she shoved them through the floo to her shared flat in London. A terse goodbye note to Minerva, saying she would explain later, and she was gone.
He hadn't seen her since she left to go back to Hogwarts. Oh, they had exchanged owls often enough, Hedwig could find her way to the school in a snowstorm.
Luckily he had been standing away from the fireplace when the four large steamer trunks came flying out, followed by a sooty, red-eyed Hermione.
"Bloody hell, Mione! What happened?"
"I've lost him," she fell to her knees, and was quickly enveloped by the rugged man-child. His arms, defined by solid weeks of Quidditch practice and games, held her tightly.
"Shhh, sweetheart, shhh. I miss Ginny, too."
Without bothering to correct his assumption, she gave into her emotions, her desire to be held and loved.
It surprised her afterwards how easy it was to assuage the guilt. Harry wanted a family, more than anything. She was giving him one.
She told him a week later she was pregnant, and they were married within three days. Hermione Jane Potter. Mrs. Potter. Quidditch wife.
It was a good life. He encouraged her to study, supported her enormous book habit with an open credit line at Flourish and Blott's, brought her muggle ice cream when she craved it.
When the baby was born, everyone cooed over his black hair that stuck up at odd angles, his beautiful brown eyes, and so healthy for a premature baby.
The only argument had been over his name. Harry had asked for Sirius, which Hermione vehemently opposed. His second choice was Ron, which again, met with her disapproval.
After an agonizing sixteen hours of labor, Harry allowed her to name the child, and so Dumas James Potter was inscribed on the Hogwarts student ledger: entering class of 2013.
His picture graced the cover of The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler. "War Hero Turned Chudley Cannons Seeker and War Heroine Have Son".
They were the first family of the United Kingdom's Wizarding World.
She sent one terse owl to Hogwarts in June, before Dumas started school. It simply informed the Potions Master that his secret had been kept, and she expected the same consideration from him.
A Ravenclaw, much to Hermione's delight, and a Seeker, much to Harry's. The boy had been on brooms before he could walk, and his talents were not wasted when he surpassed Harry's prowess on the pitch. The youngest Ravenclaw Seeker in three hundred years, and second only to Harry in the last century.
Dumas was about to begin his seventh year, the Head Boy among his many accomplishments, when Hermione received an owl.
She hurried to the school at dusk, it was empty of everyone, except Madam Pomfrey who escorted her to the dungeons where Snape lay on his bed, Minerva by his side.
"He awoke two hours ago, and requested you," the Headmistress said quietly, her eyes filling with tears.
"What happened?"
"He's been dying for a year," Poppy spoke from the doorway. "Refused to tell anyone. I doubt he will make it through the night."
"May…I…see…him…" a raspy voice came from the giant four-poster bed that Hermione had not looked on in over sixteen years.
"Leave us, please," Hermione asked the two other women, her attention focused on the pale man in the bed who had managed to open his eyes. They did as she asked, Minerva squeezing her arm before closing the door.
"I will not allow your deathbed confession to ruin his life," her words came out harsher than she had intended.
"I will…not…tell him…please…before I am…gone…"
"He is not yours!"
"He would…never have…been…" his voice slowly ground on. "You…you are…happy…"
"You foolish, foolish man," she sat in the chair that Minerva had left, taking his limp hand in her own. "I would have been happy with you."
She moved the stray fringe out of his face, and began bathing his forehead with the cold cloth Poppy had left.
"I love him, Harry, that is. He's good to me, and he loves me. But I remember with him. Every time he touches me, I see Ron. But it's okay, there are nights he whispers Ginny when he fills me." She paused, looking into the black eyes that stared back at her. "You made me forget. In this bed I was Hermione and you were Severus."
She laid the cloth back on the nightstand. "That would have been enough to start from."
A single tear rolled down his papery cheek, and she leaned in to kiss it away. Her feather-light lips leaving a searing burst of warmth on his temple. She rose and moved towards the door, turning as she put her hand on the handle.
"I will send him tonight."
Dumas entered the dark chamber alone, his mother and father waiting outside.
"Mr. Potter…come closer…" he heard his feared Potions Master say. "You…boy…are the second finest…student I have…ever…had the…joy of…teaching…"
Dumas waited quietly, his hands clenched in front of him.
"I am…alone…and without…family…therefore I am…leaving…you half of…all my belongings...the other half…will go to…my finest student…years as…a teacher…has given me…very little, though…I trust you…will use…it wisely…"
"Thank you, Professor Snape, sir."
"You have…made your…father…very proud…" A fit of coughing surprised the young wizard, and he turned to call for Madam Pomfrey.
"He's leaving us," the medi-witch said, motioning for Minerva to re-enter the room. Hermione followed, moving to the side opposite Minerva and they waited. Dumas stumbled backward, to the doorway where Harry stood.
He put a hand out to steady his son.
"Come, we need to leave your mother in peace with her friend. It will not be long."
"I didn't realize Mum and Professor Snape were so close."
"Your mother," Harry began, searching for the right words. "She is a very special woman. She has many friends we no longer speak of."
The two sat quietly, Harry standing when Hermione came out, holding her as she cried.
"Shhh, sweetheart, shhh." He comforted, which caused her to cry all the harder.
"He's left everything to you and Dumas," Minerva stated to Hermione, her voice wavering. "After the funeral, you may dispose of it how you wish. I'm sure he knew you would want the rare texts."
It was two am before they got home. Harry sent his son straight to bed, and poured a glass of bourbon for his wife.
"Thank you," he said, breaking the silence.
"For what?"
"For giving me a family."
She looked up to the understanding in his eyes.
"I was raised in the muggle world, Hermione. Did you think I would never figure it out?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be," he countered, pulling her to his side. "He's perfect."
That night she made love. As Hermione.
A/N: If you don't understand the literary references, do a Google search. Sometimes as an authors we write a fic that we can't explain, yet we know it's moved us. I'm not being arrogant or vain to say that I hurt for Severus in this fic, and Hermione, and their pain. I treat Harry so harshly in my other fic, Agapi, that I think this was my attempt to redeem him.
Thank you to my darling beta, and those of you who will review this little one-shot. I can't explain the joy an author gets when she hears from a reader.
-Lone Butterfly