Disclaimer: Everything is owned by J. K. Rowling, and I promise to return it when I'm finished.
AN: Contains mpreg. If you don't like it don't read, and don't flame me. We all know that it's a physical impossibility without some discourteous wisenheimer pointing it out.
Fairytales.
Our unexpected romance was not of the fairytale variety. Sure, there was an unhappy, orphaned hero, a mysterious prince and an evil wizard bent on taking over the world, all the components of a typical fantasy, but ours is a story you wouldn't tell your children at bedtime. After all, how often were the creations of the imaginations of the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Anderson centred around a pregnant seventeen year old hero (or heroine, as the case generally is, muggles having no knowledge of male pregnancy amongst wizards) and the serial murderer he naively hoped could love him back?
It wasn't a love-at-first-sight happily-ever-after affair, but however you look upon the media-professed 'immoral' and 'debauched' events of the three weeks and five days spent in Voldemort's custody, I have one advantage over the dewy-eyed honey-voiced princesses of fairytales.
At least my prince doesn't roam the country kissing dead chicks.
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We weren't prepared. Voldemort hadn't tried anything in a while, and we were lulled into a false sense of security.
It was the summer I turned seventeen, about a week after, actually, when the Death Eaters raided the house at Grimmauld Place. There were only six of us - me, Dumbledore, Remus, Hermione, Tonks and Severus - and we didn't stand a chance, but we fought. By hell we did. Dumbledore killed one, as did Severus. To see Severus kill a man came as no great shock - he looked indifferent as he did it, as though he were simply marking essays or reading a newspaper - but to see Dumbledore end a guy's life, that scared me. The twinkle left his eyes, and without it they seemed too blue, too cold.
Many more of the Death Eaters were hurt too, of course. One of them ha a broken arm mere minutes into the skirmish, and Remus blinded Avery in his right eye. But at the end of the day, we were outnumbered. It took one curse from Bellatrix Lestrange to knock us all unconscious. We'd all been too preoccupied to see her enter, except Severus, who saw her so late he'd barely croaked two words of warning before he was lying on the floor in the blood pooling from the gash in his forehead.
Bar Tonks, who lay with her head in Remus' lap, I was the last of us to come around. When I did, I was in a medium sized room (I would've described it as large were it not accommodating six of us) with a blue carpet and white walls. There were six mattresses on the floor, complete with horrendously yellow sheets. The choice of colours reminded me of the beach and, for some inexplicable reason, that tickled me. I laughed hoarsely, and 'Mione looked at me as if I'd gone mad so I stopped. There was an adjoining bathroom, and the lights flickered when you first turned them on, but apart from that it was fine. The only things that room and my mind's association with the word 'cell' had in common were the bars on the window and the locks on the steel door.
One by one Crabbe came to collect us, taking us to see who Voldemort called The Doctor. As menacing as that sounds issued from the throat of the wizard who's main aim was to kill me, The Doctor was just a medical practitioner, and he did just clean up our wounds. That was the strangest thing about Voldemort. No matter how much he hated us, he always had his doctor on standby in case we needed medical attention. I suppose he just didn't want us to die on him when we could still be useful, or maybe he wanted the pleasure of killing us himself. Whatever the reason, I'm well past caring.
After that he basically left us alone and got on with more important endeavours, such as conquering the wizarding world. He'd visit once in a while to gloat and make us feel as miserable as we'd allow him to, and Crabbe or Goyle came down thrice a day with food, but apart from that we were left with a lot of free time and not many ways to fill it.
That was how it started.
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Severus is an insomniac. Most people suffer from bouts of insomnia when they're feeling particularly emotional (myself, for instance) but Severus is a chronic case. He rarely gets more than a few hours of sleep at night, and it shows in his otherwise impressive appearance.
When we were in that cell, I also had trouble sleeping. I envied Dumbledore, Lupin and Tonks (who'd pushed two mattresses together and slept side by side) and even 'Mione, who cried herself to sleep in my arms night after night, not out of pity for her own predicament but for fear of what would happen to Ron and the rest of the Weasleys on their return from Egypt. They tossed and turned for perhaps half an hour, before sleeping soundly until they were woken by slanted bars of sunlight streaming through the barred window.
For the first few nights I just watched Severus, illuminated by the fluorescent bathroom light. I don't recall whose idea it was to leave the light on, but it was comforting in the long hours before morning. Severus sat with his back propped against the wall, not even trying to sleep, on the left of the bathroom door, and I lay on my comically yellow mattress to the right of it.
We didn't utter a word to one another (although I'm sure Severus must've seen me watching) until our third night there, when he glared at me and hissed "See something you like, Potter?" I felt myself blush furiously and averted my eyes, muttering an apology. He grunted an acknowledgement and we fell into an awkward silence, broken, again, by him. "Well if you're not going to sleep you might as well come over here and talk to me."
It surprised me that he would want to talk to anyone, let alone me. However, I am a social being, and the lack of conversation in the cell was almost enough to drive me insane, so I stumbled gracelessly towards Severus and sat beside him attentively. I felt nervous talking to him at first, but when the disdain I'd expected failed to materialise, I spoke more confidently.
Over the next few days I talked to him about a lot of things, primarily what I was going to do when ("if." Severus always corrected pessimistically) I got out, and Severus very rarely responded. I wouldn't complain though. His silence is undoubtedly better than his reproach. I'd had a crush on him for the best part of a year, and was desperate to prove that I wasn't as hopeless as he'd often professed. Moreover, I wanted to prove that I wasn't like my father.
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I finally ran out of things to say. On out fifth night I talked non-stop for and hour and then fell into another deep silence. After about ten minutes (I can't stay quiet for very long, which Severus often teases me about. He claims that he's hasn't read a book without being interrupted since I arrived to disrupt- I prefer to say 'enlivened' - his life.) I looked up at his profile, something I generally avoided doing lest he saw me as a besotted, desperate student.
"I'm sorry I've been such a prick over the past six years. I suppose I didn't really give you a chance." I trailed off. Severus voice was more even, and he spoke with more deliberation, but he averted his eyes all the same.
"I'm your teacher, Potter. We aren't supposed to be friends." My heart (metaphorically) sank.
"No, sir. I just…I don't want you to hate me." He listened to me floundering, then, deciding to show a little mercy after all, placed his hands on the back of my neck and kissed me. I hadn't expected it, never in a million years would I have thought I could be so lucky, but I greeted it warmly regardless. It wasn't until he started to unbutton my shirt that I panicked and pulled away. Faint frown lines appeared on his forehead and his hands dropped back to his sides.
"Sorry." He muttered, glancing in the opposite direction.
"No, it's not that, it's just…" I nodded to the rest of the room. "What if they hear?" He smirked slightly.
"Fair point. I suppose I could put a silencing charm around the bed. If you can call it that. Revoltingly garish colour." I considered the possibility that he was going slightly mad.
"You don't have a wand."
"No, but I have some talent at wandless magic." Then, at my look of abject horror. "Not enough to get us out of this mess, of course, but enough to spare us some embarrassment." I smiled my consent, and a faint light signalled the wards around us.
I leaned forward and kissed him, surprised at my own daring, and then he broke off to kiss my neck.
"Professor?"
"I think, under the circumstances, 'Severus' is more appropriate." He spoke into my collar bone.
"Severus. I think I've changed my mind about what I'm going to do when I get out of here."
"Fabulous. Now shut up." And, because it was Severus, I did.
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Although I'd never tell her this, our child was not conceived out of love. No, it was more a mixture of boredom and desperation, and perhaps mutual attraction. It also became an act of rebellion against our confinement, a way of proving that, try as he may, Voldemort couldn't steal our humanity. It also helped me to sleep some nights. Severus' warm breath on my neck soothed me and allowed me to drift of quickly, without waking every half hour. So, no, when we arrived there we didn't love one another. But we did when we left.
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I crept back to my bed as the light first hit the bars of out prison. The system had been devised weeks ago, and I was now adept at waking at the correct time with no indication but the pale sunlight. Normally, the routine went without a hitch, but that particular morning was different.
Hermione was sitting on my mattress, her eyes uncharacteristically dry. I started, but recovered quickly.
"Hi, 'Mione. Just been to the bathroom." she pursed her lips to let me know that she didn't believe me and I swallowed, waiting for her lecture about how I shouldn't be screwing a man twenty years my senior, and my teacher to boot.
Instead, she sighed and said "Be careful, Harry. I don't want you to get hurt." I assured her that I wouldn't, that it didn't mean anything to either of us, but I could tell that she didn't buy that either. She nodded stiffly before returning to her bed and turning her back to me. I didn't mind that, I knew she'd come around, but there was something bothering me. It took me a while to realise that the thing which had unsettled me so was the thought that I didn't even believe my own lies anymore.
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Non of us talked very much, but even so, Remus' silence was disconcerting. Tonks tried to comfort him, but he just snapped at her. It was then that the reality of our situation kicked in. Until then I'd assumed that we'd find a way out, or someone would come to our rescue, like in children stories where the prince slays the dragon and saves the damsel in distress before riding into the sunset on his noble steed. But that wasn't going to happen, not to us. We were going to be there for a very long time, probably even die there, despondent and draped over ironically cheerful sheets. Suddenly Severus' pessimism was just cruel but undeniably truthful realism.
Strangely, Severus was the only person Remus allowed to talk to him. They spoke in hushed voices, and I realised with a mortified certainty that I was jealous of Remus for grasping Severus' attention. Severus nodded stiffly and walked to the steel door. He seemed to inspect the locks for a moment before, much to my surprise, driving his fist into the cold metal. When that failed to gain any attention, he started to shout. He carried on yelling for an indeterminable length of time before Crabbe came to collect him. He tried to handcuff him, but a glare from those impenetrable ebony eyes (a glare I'd been on the receiving end of countless times) made him reconsider. Instead he settled for a firm grip on the forearm before locking us back in and taking Severus away from me.
That night, none of us slept easily. None of us slept at all, not until he came back. He looked strained, but unharmed. He tossed a vial at Remus, saying 'That'll be enough for the next three days. I'll get some more for you next month." It was then that it struck me that it was nearly the full moon, and Remus' disagreeable mood made perfect sense. It was at that moment that I felt more grateful and relieved that Severus was there than I ever have.
Remus retired to the bathroom to take his potion, and when he'd returned everyone settled down to sleep. They were sleeping in mere minutes, soothed that Severus had come to no harm, and I tiptoed towards him. He was lying on his side, his hands joined together between his head and the pillow. He spared me a glance before returning his gaze to the floor.
"Severus?" He didn't answer, and I felt a stab of insecurity. "Severus?"
"What?" I recoiled when he snapped, but he seemed not to notice.
"Are you okay?" He snorted and turned his face to the pillow. "Please talk to me. What happened?"
"That's none of your business. Leave me alone."
"Sev-"
"Just go to sleep, Harry." It was just as it'd been before we arrived here. He was dismissive and detached, not caring whether he hurt me. He didn't want me anymore. Maybe he never had.
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I became ill on the day before we got away. I didn't feel as bad as I had when at the Dursley's a few years ago, and had been too unwell to even move out of my cupboard to ask whether I could go to the doctor's, but I'd been better. The last thing I remember about our cell was how good the cold, tile floor felt against my forehead, before I fainted.
I woke up in The Doctor's surgery, the neon lights blinding me temporarily. The Doctor had already established that I wasn't in any immediate danger, yet still questioned me about my health. His bespectacled eyes stayed rooted to his clipboard as he scribbled furiously, glancing up only once to signal the end of our meeting.
Crabbe came to collect me again, and I wondered disinterestedly if he was the only Death Eater still there. He frogmarched me from the blindingly white room and down the corridor, but, instead of taking me back to the cell, lead me into a dim room and sat me down in a hard backed chair. I vaguely registered my hands being tied behind me as my eyes adjusted to the light, and I didn't even bother to struggle. There was another chair facing me, but apart from that the room was empty. There were blood stains on the floor.
I heard hushed voices somewhere behind me, one I recognized as Crabbe's, and then a louder voice saying "Go. Now." There was shuffling and then a door closing, and the room was silent again.
Voldemort stepped from the shadows and walked towards me, evidently in no hurry. He was taller than I remembered, and too thin, giving the impression that he'd been forcibly stretched beyond the normal proportions of a human. His face was pale and his eyes red, but apart from that he looked like an older version of the teenager I'd faced in the chamber of secrets.
He sat in the chair opposite me, seemingly uncaring of how uncomfortable it was, and crossed his elongated legs. A strange ghost of a smile rested on his lips.
"Guess what The Doctor found out?" He hissed slightly when he said 'guess'. He stopped speaking, and for a moment I thought he actually intended on making me speculate. "You're pregnant Harry." I presumed I must've misheard and waited for my mind to catch up to my ears, but I couldn't think of anything else he could've said.
"That…that's impossible." His grin widened.
"I've always thought you were arrogant. You've been a wizard for a mere six years yet you think you know all there is to know about magic." I thought he must've been lying, but couldn't fathom a reason he would do so. Besides, his smile suggested differently. "I don't particularly care about the 'hows' and 'whys'. Male pregnancy may be uncommon, but it isn't completely unheard of. No." His voice became a whisper. "What I'm more interested in is who the father is." I felt my eyes widen, and I realised the reason for his malignant smile. He stood up and began to circle my chair, his hand trailing along the back when he walked behind me.
"Now, if I'm to trust my sources, and I generally do, you have seen nobody but the occupants of that room since breaking up from school, and even if you had I doubt the pious Harry Potter would allow anyone to taint him so unless under the most desperate of circumstances. Either way, we're left with Lupin, Dumbledore, or Severus." I was still too shocked and confused to register that Voldemort had used Severus' first name. "If I'm not very much mistaken, Lupin is with that awful Tonks woman. Dumbledore…well, that doesn't even bear thinking about. So, that leaves us with your greasy potions master, the man you've claimed to detest since first meeting him." He grinned triumphantly. "Correct me if I'm wrong." I managed to squeak quietly, but words evaded me.
The door behind me opened again and Crabbe entered, trying to look as if he had some authority on what Severus did but only succeeding in looking clumsy and stupid beside the dignified man. He sat down opposite me and Crabbe tied his hands to the arms of the chair. He left hurriedly, evidently not envying us our time spent with the Dark Lord. I tried to catch Severus' eye, desperate for unspoken confirmation that everything would be okay, but he was looking away from me.
My eyes widened in surprise and anger as Voldemort slipped into Severus' lap and kissed him. I wanted to shout at him to go away, to leave him alone, but instead I gasped and tried to hide my outrage.
Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves-weak people, in other words- they stand no chance against his powers. Severus' words came back to me, and, to an extent, I succeeded in suppressing my feelings.
But then Severus kissed him back. I felt the sort of sensation one feels when in the car, and the vehicle suddenly races over a large dip in the road, as I realised where he'd been yesterday. I should've suspected when he'd been gone so long, and came back with no sign of harm.
"This doesn't make any sense." Voldemort looked at me with utter disdain.
"We make more sense than the two of you ever did." He turned back to Severus, acting as though I wasn't there. "What were you thinking? You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel there."
"Yes, well you have nobody to blame but yourself for my small lapse into desperation." Voldemort looked at him sympathetically. I wanted to strangle him.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you in there with them. I guess I can trust you now though."
"Could you untie me then?" Voldemort tutted .
"No. I think I'll leave you there." Severus frowned, then glanced at me, tilting his head in my direction.
"What's wrong with him?" Voldemort turned his head quickly, as if he'd forgotten I was there.
"Oh, he's pregnant." Severus raised his eyebrows and looked at my stomach, as if for confirmation, before addressing me for the first time since being brought in. I thought he'd realise that he couldn't just dismiss me, that he'd have to take responsibility, but what he said finally broke me.
"I suppose you'll have to get rid of it." I gasped at how coolly he said it, as if the child-his child- was nothing more than an inconvenience. I felt tears tumble down my cheeks and wished I could brush them away. I made one last plea to him, sure that the man I'd grown to love was still there. Somewhere.
"Why are you being like this, Sev? I thought you loved me." Voldemort laughed and Severus smirked slightly.
"You didn't tell him that, did you Severus?"
"Of course not. But he is only seventeen, he probably still has difficulty discerning the difference between sex and love." They continued talking, but I stopped listening. I wanted so desperately to mean something to him, and now I knew that I never had and never would.
I was returned to the cell a short time after. The hardest thing I've ever had to do was tell everyone that Severus had betrayed us again. Hermione was the only one who knew the reason for my despair, but, luckily, she left me alone to wallow in self pity.
I slept fitfully that night, and dreamt of black snakes and rotting cradles.
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In the end, there was no final battle, no fire and brimstone, no selfless heroics or victorious return. Tom Marvolo Riddle was murdered in his sleep by the only person he trusted. Severus had claimed not to have enough talent with wandless magic to save us, but as it turned out, he'd grossly underestimated himself. He never talked about what motivated him to attempt the assassination which almost killed him, but I like to think I had something to do with it. He stumbled into our cell in the middle of the night, hissing at us to hurry up, although the death eaters had fled the moment their leader died. Lupin, in werewolf form, had loped past Severus the moment the door was opened, and Tonks and Hermione followed. Dumbledore and I helped Severus out into the open, and that was the moment I forgave him because, regardless of everything he'd said and done, he'd still come back. He'd come back.
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"Who the hell keeps sending all of these bloody flowers! It looks like a bloody church in here! Am I really this hated? Just get them out of here."
"Mr Snape, I'm sure your friends would feel very upset if they knew that their thoughtful gifts were met with such ingratitude."
"I DON'T CARE!GET RID OF THEM! I can't see for sickeningly brightly coloured displays of sympathy! And the smell!"
"Mr Snape, I have tried to be reasonable, but if you carry on upsetting the rest of my patients I'm afraid-"
"Are you trying to threaten me? Because if you are, you're doing it very badly. Now, if…DAFFODILS! Which suicidal moron bought me DAFFODILS? Get them out of my sight, before I vomit. On you."
"Could you please keep you voice down?"
"Oh, fine. As you're obviously just going to ignore me I guess I'll have to move them myself."
"Mr Snape, please get back into bed. You're far too ill to move. PUT THAT VASE DOWN!"
I heard them arguing from the bottom of the corridor and couldn't help but smirk. When I got to Severus' hospital room I saw a harassed looking nurse trying desperately to get a very annoyed looking Severus to lie back down. At my arrival he seemed so relieved I thought he might hug me.
"Oh thank Merlin! Could you please try to reason with him? He's impossible!" I smiled.
"Of course. I'm sure he'll be fine once we've removed some of these flowers."
"Thank you!" The nurse strode off into his office, muttering 'impossible' under his breath. I vanished the plants (which really were in great excess) and helped Severus into bed. He looked incredibly annoyed, even without the flowers. We talked casually for a few moments, then Severus glanced down at his hands uncomfortably.
"About what I said, I didn't mean any of it. I just needed Tom to trust me… I…I'm sorry." I nodded and offered a small smile to show that I understood. He glanced towards my stomach apprehensively. "You are going to keep it, aren't you?" I nodded again. He smiled softly, and it was the first genuine smile I'd ever seen cross his lips. "Good, because I've already contacted my estate agent and specified that our house should have a room suitable to be converted into a nursery. You're going to have to view them, of course, because I'm TOO ILL TO MOVE!" He stared pointedly at the closed door behind which the nurse sat. "I'm going to give you a list of flaws to check for, and I'm going to trust you to remember. Do you think you can do that?" I nodded, but he looked apprehensive. He started to list them, but I forgot to listen. I was thinking about what colour to paint the nursery. He stopped suddenly, looking surprised and slightly sheepish.
"What's wrong?"
"I just assumed that…you do want me back, don't you?" I laughed aloud, shocked that he thought I would ever let him go.
"Yes. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. There's no escape for you."
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I lie with my back to Severus, who's hand is resting on my swollen stomach. I feel myself drifting off, even as I try to stay awake and stay with him. He still has trouble sleeping, despite being in our own house, far away from any danger and lying on much more appealing sheets. He has some demons in his past, and, as much as I want to help him, I won't pry. He'll tell me when and if he's ready.
Although he doesn't say as much, I know he loves me. I know when he holds my hand in public and introduces me as his partner; I know when he bites back a spiteful comment to avoid hurting me and defends me against anyone who disagrees with me, even if he secretly does too; I know when he spends hours teaching me to brew potions adequately and when he comes home in the middle of the day just to check that I'm okay.
It's much too early to tell whether our story will end in a happily-ever-after or not, but right now, lying in the dark with his gentle breath on my neck and arm curled protectively around my waist, I feel my life is truly blessed.
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Severus waits until Harry has fallen asleep, as he does every night, before leaning on his elbow and kissing the raven-haired boy on the cheek. He brushes the hair from his brow and watches his lips twitch upwards in a smile. He wonders what he's dreaming, and hopes it's a happy dream, before whispering that he's sorry, and that he loves him, everything he can't tell him when he's awake. He feels his baby moving, and, unlike Harry, he knows that he will live happily ever after.