Chapter 2: The Unexpected Offer
Lawford's plane had barely cleared the surface of the lake before I Accio'd my broom (cleverly Muggle-disguised as, of all things, a broom) and Hermione and I set out to inspect the property that Marita Lawford had basically given us.
I studied the aviation map Brady had provided. He had drawn a red circle around a lake some four miles away, a rough estimation of our new property. I tapped the map lightly with my wand. "There. At least we know where the lake is. That should suffice until we get more specific information from the Ministry. Ready?" I swung a leg over the broom and looked pointedly at my wife.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Hermione sighed, climbing on behind me and wrapping her arms tightly around my waist.
"I will never comprehend how a witch of your caliber can be so squeamish about riding a broomstick," I muttered as I pushed off from the ground.
"I'm sorry, I'm just not fond of heights. Of course, it may have to do with having been forced to ride on a hippogriff and a blind dragon and a thestral I couldn't even see…"
"Your fear of heights is your own fault then."
"And how, exactly, do you figure that, Severus?"
"It's due to your poor choice of friends. If you hadn't insisted on being friends with Potter, none of that would have happened."
Hermione's reply was lost in the wind as we flew parallel to the town road.
In truth, I rarely used my broom. The only place I ever go is to Trapper's Bay, and I always Apparate a mile outside of town, walking the rest of the way. But being as we were unsure of the lay of the land – literally – it seemed safer to fly now and Apparate later.
Some ten minutes into our flight, I spotted the lake to the west, along with the hint of a cabin roof peeking out from the trees. I steered the broom towards the shore of the lake and we landed smoothly.
"I noticed that the lake has a lot of inlets, but no long, straight stretch," Hermione commented. "I don't think it's large enough for a plane to land on."
"Which is a definite mark in its favor." I stood staring out over the water for a long moment. No, the lake was nowhere near as large as the one we were leaving, the one that had helped heal my wounded soul. On the other hand, it was our very own lake, one we didn't have to share with anyone.
I put an arm around my wife's shoulders and hugged her close, then steered us around one hundred eighty degrees to survey the remains of Thaddeus Dowd's cabin. It appeared to be in surprisingly good condition. Based on Lawford's assumption that the place would be falling down, I had thus assumed that roof and walls would be caved in with vegetation devouring it. And I remembered why I hadn't lived this long by assuming.
"It seems to be in rather decent shape, doesn't it?" Hermione commented, echoing my thoughts.
"Amazingly so." The cabin was sorely in need of repairs, that much was certain. Some of the windows were broken, and the roof was sagging a bit and missing a number of shingles. An enclosed porch, whose screens were more than a bit rusty and whose door hung awkwardly from one hinge, graced the front elevation. But by-and-large, the house seemed much sturdier than I'd expected. Just to be on the safe side, I cast a few Strengthening charms, and Hermione and I crept carefully onto the porch. I tried the door; it was locked.
"Alohomora," I murmured, and it swung open.
The main room was large and airy. What had been the kitchen and eating area lay to the right, while the living space was on the left. Stairs led to what was evidently a loft. And beyond the main room, a bathroom separated two small bedrooms.
"Seems like the place has seen its share of our forest friends," I commented, noting what appeared to be several animal nests of some sort around.
Hermione said nothing. She was wandering from room to room, an expression of utter bliss on her face; I knew immediately where her mind was headed.
"Severus, this is amazing! This has to be wizarding construction. There's no other reason for it to be in such good shape; nature should have reclaimed it long ago. I was expecting a shanty, weren't you? Do you think we can live here? Why tear it down if it's livable? I can still feel traces of magic in here, can't you?"
The string of questions reminded me forcibly of a much younger Miss Granger.
"Slow down, Hermione," I said warningly. "We'll need to consult with a reputable construction company to make certain."
"But it does seems possible that we could make it our home, doesn't it?" she asked wistfully.
"Possible," I admitted. "When Brady mentioned that there was a cabin here, I had thought to patch it up and use it for the lab. But if this structure is sound, we could live here and set up a small outbuilding for that."
"It would definitely be safer having the lab at a distance, since we'll have a child to consider now."
With the excitement of learning that I was a landowner, with a potentially usable house to boot, I had temporarily forgotten about the pregnancy. Remembering it now brought a fresh wave of shock and reality, and explained the starry-eyed expression on Hermione's face.
She was building a nest.
…..
We lay in bed that night, staring at the darkened ceiling.
"Yesterday, life was routine. Ordinary. And now, twenty-four hours later, we've lost a home, gained a home, and are going to be parents. How is this possible?" I asked.
"I don't know." Hermione's voice was soft in the darkness. "I've been thinking the same thing."
There was silence as we both considered our situation. Finally, I said, "Are you well? Everything has happened so fast, it hadn't even occurred to me to ask until now. Do you have morning sickness? Cravings?"
"The only thing I noticed happened this morning. I wasn't nauseated per se, but when you got out of bed and jarred it slightly, I was just the tiniest bit queasy. That was one of the reasons I did the diagnostic spell on myself. And as far as cravings, I don't think those come until much later. At least from what I remember of Ginny Potter's pregnancies."
"You were afraid I would be angry," I said. I hated that; it reminded me too much of my father lashing out in anger as my mother cowered before him.
"I was quite sure you wouldn't be pleased," Hermione said drily.
And of course I had reacted poorly at first, blaming her for everything. It was a brief flash of the bitter man I had once been.
"I'm sorry that I reacted as I did."
"It was a shock, Severus. Don't worry about it. I think that there will be quite a lot of adjustments for both of us."
"Do you want a boy or a girl?" I ventured carefully.
"Oh. I don't know. I don't want a girl if she turns out to be some vapid thing only interested in boys and makeup and clothes. And I don't want a boy if he's a horrid, obnoxious bully. I suppose I just want a child who is bright and well-adjusted and loves to learn."
"Rather like you," I pointed out.
"And you," she retorted.
I snorted at that. "I was never well-adjusted."
"But our child will be."
I could only hope she was right. Perhaps my legacy might be just a bit brighter than I'd ever dared dream.
….
We decided to visit the Ministry of Magic offices in Toronto the next day. We could complete the transfer of the cabin deed, and their Citizens' Information Bureau would be able to point us in the right direction in contacting a wizarding construction firm. In addition, Hermione wanted a list of midwifery witches so that she could begin receiving care.
"You're certain that Apparating isn't a problem for you?" I asked her with a frown.
"I've never known of any restrictions for pregnant women," she said. "And anyway, we're not connected to a Floo Network and I have no intention of riding a broomstick all the way there."
"And I have no intention of flying you there on a broom. You came close to strangling me when we flew to see the new property yesterday."
"I did nothing of the sort," she said primly. "My hands were around your stomach the whole time."
"Which explains the bruising on my ribs."
We Apparated to the Welcome Center of the Canadian ministry. Instantly, the din of the big city assailed our senses. Hermione wrinkled her nose.
"I'd forgotten how noisy it is," she sighed.
"And your friend Potter wonders why we live where we do? I'll take the North Woods any day." Harry Potter thought Hermione had taken leave of her senses when she'd quit her Ministry job to move in with me in the middle of nowhere. We approached the Welcome Center Help Desk, where a smartly-dressed young witch smiled cheerfully at us.
"May I help you?"
"We need information on construction companies," I said.
"Construction for what purpose?" the witch chirped. "Residential? Industrial?"
"Residential."
"And where in the Commonwealth do you live?"
"In rural Ontario, about ten miles outside Trappers' Bay."
"Trappers' Bay?" She looked clueless.
"Which is about fifty miles from Sioux Lookout. Which," I added, when she continued to appear confused, "is about four hundred miles northwest of Thunder Bay."
"Ah." Recognition dawned. The witch raised her wand and immediately two pamphlets sprang from cubbyholes behind her desk. "There you go."
"Just these two?" I asked skeptically.
"They supply your region with all your construction needs," she said. "If you would like information about companies in the far west or the Maritime Provinces, I can certainly give you that, but it's not very likely that they would be interested in working with you."
"I see." I nodded my understanding. "Also, my wife needs a list of midwives."
The young witch looked at Hermione, and then at me, and somehow managed not to laugh.
"Certainly. Midwives serving the same area? One moment…" She waved her wand once more, and another piece of parchment flew in our direction. "Anything else?"
"Yes. We bought a piece of property through the non-magic heir of a wizard. We need to find out what we have to do to complete the sale."
"That would be the Recorder of Deeds Office. Twelfth floor."
"Thank you." I led Hermione away and we stood in front of a bank of lifts off the Ministry lobby. Swarms of Canadian bureaucrats and wizarding citizens, who looked remarkably like British bureaucrats and wizarding citizens, swirled around us. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic, and we'd only been here five minutes.
"This reminds me too much of when I used to work here," Hermione said nervously.
"Are you sure you don't care to visit the Patent Office? I'm sure your Alma Hobbs would be delighted to see you again," I teased. Hermione loathed her former job and supervisor with a passion.
"Not in this lifetime!"
The elevator arrived and we took it to the twelfth floor. Stepping out into the hallway, we spotted a door in the midst of a wall of pink marble. The door stood partly open, the lettering on it proclaiming, 'Recorder of Deeds Office. Please Take a Number and Wait Patiently'.
I gritted my teeth. I had spent too many years in the solitude of the North Woods to put up with the foolishness of waiting for someone to help us in their own good time. The number we claimed from the reception desk was ninety-eight; a nearby counter of sorts informed us that number eighty-five was currently being served. We walked over to the waiting chairs, Hermione in a much cheerier mood than me.
I eyed the people serving the customers. "Perhaps a Confundus charm would expedite matters," I muttered, and then my wife pointed out the sign in front of the waiting area:
DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT TRYING A CONFUNDUS CHARM TO ADVANCE IN LINE
I seethed quietly.
Finally, after what seemed an interminable time (although Hermione was making noises about how the wait wasn't so long after all), we were ushered into the office of one Norwood Simonelli. He greeted us with the usual insincere bureaucratic sentiments, then glanced perfunctorily at the original deed and verifying letter that Marita Lawford had given us. And scowled.
"One dollar?" he said incredulously. "You bought twelve acres of land for one dollar?"
"One dollar," I said.
Norward actually sniffed in disapproval, muttering something about fairness and housing prices and neighborhoods going to hell in handbaskets. Still, he took an enormous rubber stamp and applied it to both pieces of paper. He then brandished his wand and waved it at the documents.
"Transaction noted and transferred to the ledger," he grumbled, putting the stamped papers in an Out Box. "Pay ten Nor-Ams at the Cashier's window."
"I would like a copy of our deed, and we'll also need a plat map with the specifications of our property." I wasn't going to let him off that easily.
Norwood sighed audibly as he retrieved the deed and waved his wand one more time; a duplicate of the document fluttered toward me. "You can request a plat map at the Specifications Department down the hall. That'll be an additional ten Nor-Ams at the Cashier's window."
"Thank you for your time," I said somewhat snidely. I could tell Hermione was giving me The Look, but I ignored it.
We located the Specifications Department – we were number fifty this time, number forty-five being served – and received a topical map delineating our land. Then we proceeded to the Cashier's window (with twelve people ahead of us this time) and paid our fees of twenty Nor-Ams, the wizarding currency in use in Canada and the United States.
It was with extreme relief that Hermione and I took the lift back down to the lobby. Not only were we officially property owners with the paperwork to prove it, we could also leave the stifling big city and convoluted bureaucracy behind.
"Is there anything else you wish to attend to while we're in Toronto?" I wanted desperately to go home, but as long as I'd been forced into the crush of civilization, it would be convenient to kill more birds with one stone.
"A grocery, perhaps?" Hermione suggested. "There's one about three blocks away that I used to stop by when I worked here."
It was a reasonable request. We could load up on some specialty items that Neola usually had to order for us. Finally, food in hand, we took our places in the check-out line (Another line! It would be too soon before I made another trip outside the North Woods!), and waited our turn. Hermione, meanwhile, had gauged the wait and abruptly gone elsewhere in the store. She returned before it was our turn to pay, carrying something in a box.
"A ceramic loon?" I stared, mystified by the picture on the box. Why did we need a ceramic loon? We had the real thing within feet of our door.
"It's a biscuit jar," she corrected.
"Why do we need a biscuit jar?" I asked, perplexed. I wasn't a great fan of sweets.
"I thought – well – if you have a child, you need a biscuit jar," Hermione said, her cheeks pink.
I remembered a biscuit jar from my own childhood, a garish, chipped green crock that sat on a shelf above the cooker. It had nearly always remained empty. But there was something so hopeful, so determined in Hermione's eyes that I knew she would bake biscuits and keep the jar far better stocked than my mother.
We walked to the empty loading area behind the grocery store and Disapparated. Once home, I set about writing letters to the two construction companies, and Hermione wrote to the Northwestern Ontario Wizarding Midwifery Council. Manitou, my owl, and Hermione's owl Minerva took off to their respective destinations. By the end of the day, we had responses from both construction companies and the nearest midwives.
A representative from Clogsworth Construction ("We Work Magic in Your Life and your Home", according to their literature) arrived the following day at noon. He walked around our new old cabin, waved his wand a time or two, and pronounced it sound. Still, he said carefully, obviously not wanting to quash a possible deal, Clogsworth dealt primarily with new construction. Surely we wanted to tear down the old cabin and put up a beautiful new one, didn't we? He tossed out a few 'ballpark figures' – I had no idea what the term meant – and then tried to remain standing. Caldwell Pharmaceuticals had not yet sold nearly enough insect repellant for me to come to any terms whatsoever with the prices he so casually tossed out.
Fortunately, the rep from Livewell Building and Renovation was a much more reasonable man. He found the old cabin sound, and was intrigued enough by it that he wanted to check the company files to see if they had been the original builders. What, he asked, was our main aim in restoring the cabin? Seasonal use, as a getaway?
"We want to live here," I said simply. "It doesn't have to have the latest fancy bells and whistles, but it needs to be clean and warm and functional."
"Gotcha." The rep, who went by the name of Douglas, nodded in understanding. "Let me do a thorough walkaround, make some notes, take some measurements? For remodeling jobs, we typically come up with three offers, based on how much you're willing to spend or how fancy you want it. I can have it written up for you in three days. How's that?"
"Perfect," I said. "And also, we're going to want a small outbuilding to serve as a Potions lab."
"Potions, huh?" Douglas shook his head. "I was terrible in Potions at Ilvermorny. I can Transfigure a saw horse into a real one with one hand tied behind my back, but don't ask me to stir a cauldron!"
We agreed that Potions-making was not everyone's forte, and made plans to meet again at Lawford's cabin in three days' time.
The next day a Certified Witch-Midwife came to see Hermione. The woman took Hermione into the bedroom to examine her, asked her a series of health-related questions, and pronounced her perfectly fit to bear a child – whose arrival would take place around April first, apparently. She seemed personable enough, but Hermione was less effusive in her assessment.
"I know she works with five other midwives, and I suppose I'll be meeting them all in due course, but I really didn't care for her much. They all rotate call for births, so hopefully I'll find one in the group that I like." She paused, thumbing through the variety of pamphlets the witch-midwife had given her. "This is very real, isn't it? The pictures in here are… quite explicit."
For one horrifying moment I thought she was going to insist that I take a look at them as well, but Hermione merely ambled away, her brow furrowed at the prospect of what was going to happen to her body.
Life was definitely changing.
Author's Note: Yes, the first thing I bought, after finding out I was pregnant, was a cookie jar.
