Title: Not The End of All Things
Author: DMitchell1985
Beta: Dreamcatcher
Summary: The destruction of wars have never been enough to completely halt the progression of life.
Rating: PG - for violence, chaste kissing, and mentions of sex.
Disclaimer: We all know that I don't own the series or its characters. Besides, what money could possibly be made from writing fan fiction? That's what I would like to know.
Word Count: 2,071
Warnings: Fluff(-ish)! ( P) And, some violence/drama that snuck in, but I swear that it was for a good cause. -cough- A few, tiny spoilers, but you can barely see them. Character death mentioned.
Pairing: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Author's Notes: This was written for Foreword's Fluff Fiction Challenge on LiveJournal. Although I left my pairing open, I never expected to receive Hermione/Severus, as I never expected to write them again in my life. I am afraid my more intense love of this pairing fled with Book Six, but I don't think that anyone can truly blame me. Anyway, I'm a bit rusty, since it's been well over a year and a half since I've written these two together. Thanks go to my beta, Dreamcatcher, for looking this over for me. Heaven knows that I would be lost if someone didn't double-check my fiction for me. Oh, I do have to say for the record that I am not one of those that believe in Severus Snape. He's pretty much dead to me. -firm nods-
-
Hermione found that she, true to pregnant form, had developed a strange craving for all things odd and unexplainable where her eating habits were concerned. She had gone from a perfectly ordinary love of tea and biscuits to tea with chili-covered biscuits. The cravings had not stopped there. Oh no. They stomped across all of her previous favorites, causing her to turn her nose up at a welcoming bowl of sweetened oatmeal in favor of drippy strawberry ice cream with a side of fettuccine alfredo.
Although she was loathe to admit such a truth to herself, Hermione had slowly come to enjoy some of the other side effects of her second trimester. The morning, afternoon, and night sickness had faded away to nothing more than occasional bursts of discomfort that competed with her bladder to force fluids from her body. She chose to ignore those moments in favor of the contagious rush of hormones that never seemed to leave her, or Severus, a quiet moment of peace.
Severus never complained about the times when she ambushed him as best that she could, while maneuvering her expanding belly to one side of his torso as she kissed him. He never complained about the strands of hair that she unintentionally pulled from his hair in her fits of sporadic enthusiasm. And, thankfully, he never complained, much, when she caused him to ruin yet another potion in response to her sudden appearance by his side, with her now-customary grin that told him what she wanted before she opened her mouth to speak.
He had done his best to make her pregnancy easier for them both, weathering her mood swings when all she felt the desire to do was scream at him and burn the entire house to the ground. He brought her decadents treats she knew that she should not indulge in, but did so for the sake of the baby, naturally.
She always found herself smiling more often than not at random moments throughout the day, but especially when Severus waved off her thanks and grumbled under his breath about the troubles of spawning nuisances. She had long since learned not to take offense at his words, because that was simply the way that he was. She couldn't expect everything of him, could she? No, of course not. At least that is what she told herself when she felt the urge to do just that creep over her.
She reclined back in the padded chair Severus had conjured weeks ago after watching her hobble around on swelling ankles and sit on a sensitive bottom sore from using their regular, hardwood chairs. He had huffed at her, as though superiorly irritated, when she had thanked him for his unexpected gesture before he left abruptly to work out the details of a joint project he and Albus were set to work on together.
The potion was some form of a counter-love potion to stave off the sudden upshoot of their use throughout wizarding Europe. The widespread use had finally reached the point where almost no one could sit their drinks down or order food from a public restaurant without fear of consuming more than they bargained for. Normally, the doctored drinks and meals did not pose an immediate threat to their consumers, as most of the potion users did not intend to cause any lasting harm.
However, in the last two months, numerous women and men had returned home babbling incoherently, clearly under the effects of a Memory Charm. As he was the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and a renowned alchemist, Albus had been asked by the Ministry of Magic to assist them in the matter. Albus had approached Severus to be his partner without hesitation. And there, the project sat, waiting to began.
Hermione smiled to herself at the thought of the beneficial service Severus and Albus' efforts would contribute to the wizarding community as she eyed the contents of their kitchen. She had insisted that they live with Muggle-style amenities, which she was accustomed to, but Severus had balked at the idea of living such a life. They finally managed to compromise in their house's design, neighborhood, and furnishings.
They chose to live in a Muggle-inhabited neighborhood, but purchased the house from a wizarding realtor. It guaranteed that they would not have to expend any of their own magic making the house Unplottable, as it was a standard feature included by the realtor Severus selected from the Better Wizarding Business Bureau's realtor catalog. Hermione appreciated the neighborhood's closeness to the tube and several of her favorite Muggle shops, while at the same time, it was not completely removed from the greater wizarding London area.
The house had most of its furniture purchased brand-new from Muggle and wizarding shops alike. Each of them picking out pieces that suited one another and fit well within the cozy confines of their new home. Both wizarding and Muggle shops were given a false address to make their deliveries to, where either herself or Severus signed and approved the pieces. After the deliverymen left, the furniture was promptly shrunken and pocketed for later arrangement in various rooms of the house.
It had taken some doing, but they managed to set all of the larger furniture up without much difficulty, with the exception of complaints of squashed toes and one delivery mix up that begot them a singing sofa that cooed as it slept at night. It was returned the very next day for a cousin that knew how to keep quiet and simply sit in the place that it was assigned.
Hermione ran her hands over her stomach and thought about on how far she had come from being an upturned eleven-year-old to a young woman of twenty-five. She could scarcely believe that so many years had passed by without her consent. The last eight years had been the most significant of them all, what with the war exploding in every Londoner's living room every night, until twisted iron, burnt houses, and scorched bodies became the social norm.
There were many nights she had alternatively stolen a few grateful hours of sleep in between jags of worrying she was certain spelled their impending doom. Those were nights when she had assured herself that she would not see the light of another morning or feel the peace of approaching nightfall, as the battles had grown to unfathomable proportions. She never failed to be surprised when she merely found herself awaking fitfully from a nightmare or managed to fight through her exhaustion to see an end to that day's battle with the Death Eaters and their reinforcements.
Her bouts of flickering despair had only been encouraged by the thought that Severus had done away with Albus so casually, as though he wished to gleefully fling Albus' trust in him off of the Astronomy Tower in tow with his body. But the situation had not been what they were all led to believe that it was. That Albus had died, all right, but that Albus had not been the great professor at all. He was a magical duplicate that served his purpose and kept Harry's final Ace stored away safely until the clear, blue morning when all hell, literally and figuratively, bombarded the streets of Birmingham.
Hermione had been there, bleeding from several curses that were probably meant to do more damage. It had seemed that she would be spared after all, even though both Fred and George had caught an Avada Kedavra full on, while a grazing of the same Unforgivable was more than enough to devour Remus. It had been then, as she had watched Remus crumple to the ground, that a second Death Eater had turned on her. Circling her as he, or she, readied themselves for their next attack.
Hermione had raised her wand, ready to dish out a hex or face whatever she needed to, when in a whirlwind, she hadn't needed to. The masked Death Eater raised their wand and slashed their arm through the air. Hermione had immediately cast a barrier to protect herself from the brunt of the curse. She was stunned to see that the barrier was not necessary, because whether the Death Eater's aim had simply been off or dead-on, the resulting blast of sizzling green light engulfed a Death Eater to her left she had not seen sneaking up on her.
Her face twisted in confusion, but the Death Eater had simply turned away to cover another area of the battleground She had stood shell-shocked for moments she should not have, staring after the retreating figure. She had forced herself to swallow her nagging bewilderment to focus her attention on dodging the flying hexes and curses of Voldemort's followers and the long-armed swings of the giants that thundered through the gathered horde.
Then, in the moment when she had watched Harry collapse to his knees in pain and defeat, the triumphant sound of a phoenix's call filled the air, halting all movement instantaneously. It was the turn and encouragement they needed. They seized it mercilessly and drove the masked and robed figures back, no longer taking care not to kill those who had aligned themselves with what was left of Tom Riddle, Junior.
After the last fires had been doused and the remaining Death Eaters and giants rounded up, the truth of Dumbledore's false death and Severus' 'betrayal' came to light. It had taken several years for the last members of the Order to resolve themselves to the fact that Dumbledore was indeed alive, and that Severus had done his part to bring the war to an end while remaining loyal to the man who had given him a second chance during a time that he did not deserve one. It would take many more years than that to completely mourn their side's loss of life, but their grief only spurred the Order members on harder to make certain that another like Voldemort never rose to power again.
In that enveloping sense of accomplishment, and aggressive progress for the future to come, Hermione and Severus' blandly exchanged pleasantries turned into longer, genuine inquires of the other's daily goings-on and temperament. Those exchanges evolved into conversations. And conversations grew into hushed nights spent at one another's flats.
Hermione sighed again and traced the outline of her bellybutton that was beginning to protrude outward more and more as time passed. It seemed that the baby wished to occupy as much space as he could claim, short of splitting his mother open sooner than planned. They had agreed to name their first child after Remus, to honor, in their own way, the ones would were no longer with them, that were no longer on hand to celebrate the happy times that were in need of smiling faces and cheerful, rowdy singing.
Hermione heard the sharp whoosh of flame echoing from their living room. Only one person routinely Flooed into the home. Everyone else rung the doorbell and waited to be let in. She turned slightly in her seat, anticipating Severus' appearance around the outline of the doorframe. Her face lit up in a sudden rush of joy as she saw the first wisp of black material cross the doorway. She eyed the swallow skin and greasy hair attached to the cloth and resolved to wash that head of hair clean one of these days. Perhaps, one day when she did not need to waddle quite as much to move from place to place.
She watched silently as Severus approached her and instinctively stretched her neck to press her lips to his in greeting. She said not a word of protest or glee when her husband set a half gallon of Bertie Bott's Never-Melting Ice Cream on the table in front of her, along with a package of Mint Ginger Crawling Chocolate Spiders; for she knew that she would only receive a stiff wave of a hand and an unintelligible round of grumbling in response.
She listened as Severus informed her that he planned to go down into the basement to work, but that he would come upstairs later and she should call if she needed anything.
Once the long, black robes disappeared down the steps, which led to the lower level, Hermione released the words she withheld into the still air.
"Thank you, Severus."
-
The End