Chapter 11: Merry Christmas
Hermione had considered going home for Christmas. She really had. But as much as she loved her parents, she couldn't bear the thought of missing her very last Christmas at Hogwarts. They'd been understanding, especially given that at twenty-five weeks, she was far enough along for travel to be getting uncomfortable. (As was standing, and sitting, and sleeping and going to the loo, not to mention the indigestion that had her drinking soothing potions by the bucket.)
So she sat up (with a small grunt of effort) on Christmas morning in her own bed at Hogwarts. Crookshanks was nowhere in sight, but his place at the foot of her bed was full of presents, and Hermione dug in happily. Her parents had sent a small gold locket for her, and a soft, fleecy blanket for their incipient grandchild. Harry, as usual, had bought her a book, and Ron had provided a large bar of Honeydukes' chocolate. Molly Weasley had outdone herself... There was at least a bucketful of mince pies, as well as two pairs of socks and - instead of the usual jumper - a very large, triangular shawl in fluffy pink wool which went around her shoulders at once. Ginny had contributed a box filled with balls of wool in assorted colours, and Neville had given her a little bottle of rose-oil which she was sure he'd made himself. Which left two presents unaccounted for.
She opened the first - a tiny, drably wrapped box - and lifted out a miniscule golden heart on a short length of narrow white ribbon. The card on the box announced it to be from Remus Lupin, and explained that it was a protective charm, traditional in many wizarding families and intended to be tied around the baby's wrist or ankle as soon as it was born. Sniffling a bit, and reminding herself to thank him later, Hermione put the charm carefully back into its box and put it away in her bedside table before picking up the other present.
This box was even plainer, but much bigger, and when she opened it she pulled out a set of amber-and-brown robes, embroidered with twisting flowers and vines around every hem. They were soft wool, practical as well as pretty and Hermione couldn't help making little delighted noises as she held them up to admire them. The undergown was gathered into a high waist and the outer robes were loose, so she'd be able to wear them right through her pregnancy and after. The note she located under the robes made her blink and then laugh... 'I don't mean to imply that you don't know how to dress yourself, but you do need to stop wearing blue and purple. They don't suit you at all. These will be much better. Merry Christmas, Draco'. It was the sort of extravagant gift a Malfoy would choose, and yet another sign that he really did want to be friends. They'd had quite a few civil conversations now, and he was a lot more interesting than she'd ever given him credit for. More intelligent, too.
Hermione folded the robes up neatly, then pulled on one of the new pairs of socks, wrapped her shawl closer around her, and went to see what Harry and Ron had got for Christmas.
"Girl in the dormitory!" she called through the door, laughing as Seamus retreated hastily under the covers. Ron and Harry were still ripping into their presents happily, throwing paper everywhere the way they always did, and she thanked Neville for his gift before going over to sit on the edge of Harry's bed. "Good haul?"
"Not bad." Harry smiled at her, his hair a worse mess than ever. "Thanks for the hat, Hermione." To demonstrate his appreciation, he pulled on the hat she'd knitted for him in stripes of red and gold. It was quite a good hat, she thought, hardly knobbly at all, and Harry never seemed to have one.
"You're welcome. Thank you for the book." She gave him a quick hug, making an impatient noise as her bulge got in the way. "Oh, I will be so glad to have this over."
"I'll bet. Looks bloody uncomfortable," Ron agreed, putting on his own hat. She had knitted it in stripes of brown and green, which suited him much better than his House colours. "Thanks, Hermione, it's loads better than Mum's... she always puts earflaps on them, and they look awful." He eyed her thoughtfully. "Hey, did she make you that shawl instead of a jumper this year? It looks like her stuff."
"She did." Hermione stroked the fluffy wool. "I thought it was very nice of her, making something special for me."
"Yeah, well, she's dead keen on babies." Ron was investigating the sweets that were probably from Harry, and talking through a mouthful of chocolate. "Can't wait for Bill and Fleur to have some, can she? Bill says she's always writing and asking pointed little questions. I think he's quite glad you're having one, he thinks it'll distract Mum a bit."
"Gosh, Ron, does your mum like babies?" Dean looked up from his own haul with an innocent expression. "I mean, with her only having seven, we'd never have guessed."
Ron grinned and threw some balled up paper at Dean. "Yeah, that is a bit of a clue... Fred and George said she's even started dropping hints to them about settling down, last time they wrote."
Hermione shuddered. "A fate I wouldn't wish on any girl," she said fervently. "You know I like the twins, Ron, but if ever there was a pair designed by nature to be bachelor uncles..."
"I think you're right," Harry said, examining a new pocket knife. "I mean, the twins are fun, but who'd trust them with something as breakable as a baby?"
"And if anyone did, I wouldn't want to be it," Ron said, shuddering. "I mean, look at what they did to me when I was little... burning a hole in my tongue was just about the best bit."
Harry winced. "Dudley was just as bad, even if we're almost the same age. He's always been bigger than me." He shook his head, and smiled at Hermione. "Nah, babies are best left to more trustworthy, responsible sorts."
"Hermione'll be a good mum, I think," Neville said, wandering over. "Don't you think she will, Harry?"
"Of course she will," Harry said firmly. "She'll be a great mum. Bit too keen on homework, maybe, but still great."
Hermione beamed. "I'm going to do my best," she said, patting her stomach gently. "I've been reading up on - "
"Big surprise," Ron muttered, grinning.
"Shut up, Ron." Hermione made a face at him. Then she winced. "And now he's awake. He always seems to sleep a bit longer than I do."
"Is he kicking or something?" Harry ventured doubtfully. He did know the fundamentals of making babies, or at least she assumed he did, but the Dursleys didn't seem to have passed on much in the way of detail. "They do that, right?"
"More and more frequently. Want to feel?"
Rather to her surprise, he nodded and reached out, touching her stomach tentatively. "Where?" She put his hand in the right place, and he frowned. "I don't feel anything."
"Give him a minute - he's usually fairly active early in the morning." Hermione shifted his hand slightly, and then his face brightened as the baby kicked firmly. "Feel that?"
"I think so... yeah, definitely." He grinned, giving her stomach a shy pat before he pulled his hand away. "Thanks, Hermione."
"You're welcome." Damn sniffles. Being pregnant was making her horribly sentimental.
Neville shifted from foot to foot, giving her a pleading look. "Uhm... could I?" he asked hopefully.
"Of course." She put his hand in place, and waited for a minute. When no activity seemed forthcoming, she bounced a little bit on the bed and was rewarded with several kicks and wiggles. "There, feel that?"
"Wow," Neville breathed, his face lighting up. "That's... wow."
"Yeah." Hermione smiled. "Sometimes in the bath I can actually see my stomach move when he does that."
"Oh, urgh." Ron made a face. "That's really disturbing, Hermione. Don't tell us about that."
"Shut up, Ron," Neville said absently, smiling as another kick fluttered against his palm. "It's not disturbing, it's cool."
"Maybe you think so." Ron shuddered. "Hey, it's nearly breakfast-time. Sod off, Hermione, so we can get dressed."
"All right, all right." Hermione pulled herself upright with a small grunt of effort. "Don't take all morning, I'm starving."
When she got back to her dormitory, Lavender and Parvati were both awake, and Crookshanks was curled up on her pillow. He looked worryingly pleased with himself, and Hermione did a little-furry-body check before getting dressed. No small corpses were immediately evident... maybe he'd given someone else a Little Present instead.
Severus was careful to give no sign that he was awake, keeping his breathing level as he shifted the hand under his pillow very slightly, feeling for his wand. There was something pressing on his chest. He could hear breathing. He could...
...feel four distinct sets of pinpricks as whatever was on his chest dug claws in through his nightshirt to let him know that it knew he was awake. A cat, obviously. And not Minerva McGonagall - she would never come into his rooms uninvited, even as a cat. Besides, Minerva was a dainty little tabby who couldn't possibly be this heavy.
"Lumos," he said, drawing his wand out from under his pillow. "Oh, hell." Hermione Granger's enormous cat was sitting on his chest, lamplike eyes fixed on his face. "Crookshanks, I believe?" The cat twitched a lazy ear. "Am I to take it you understand what is said to you?" It was always wisest to ask. You never knew when a magical creature was going to slide over the line into actual intelligence.
After giving the question a moment of apparent thought, Crookshanks nodded quite unmistakeably. Then he stood up, and moved off Severus's chest to stand beside him. Not all the weight went with him... a small ball of spotted fur remained, curled up on Severus's stomach. Crookshanks prodded it with a paw, and it uncurled, unwrapping a tufted tail from around itself and sitting up. Large, sail-like ears and light brown eyes, black stripes across the muzzle and a small black nose.
Severus froze, staring at it in wonder. A Kneazle. A very small one... probably barely old enough to leave its mother. Born out of season - it happened now and then. As far as he knew, Kneazles had never been found quite this far north... but if they were, surely it would be in the Forbidden Forest.
The Kneazle-kit stretched, digging needle-fine claws into his ribs and hip, and sauntered up his chest to examine him. For a long moment, the black nose was barely a quarter-inch from his own... then, apparently satisfied, the kit licked his nose and sat down on his sternum, looking enquiringly at Crookshanks. Crookshanks was looking at Severus himself. Meaningfully.
"This was your doing?" he asked, trying to sound polite. Those claws were sharp, and currently very close to his face.
Crookshanks nodded, looking smug as only a cat can.
"And... this." He looked at the kit thoughtfully. "Would I be correct in assuming that you wish me to care for it?"
Another nod, this time with a very meaningful look that Severus was quite at a loss to interpret.
"Ah." Severus looked down at what was apparently his Kneazle. It looked back. "Er... thank you, I suppose."
Crookshanks butted his head rather hard against Severus's temple, uttering a brief purr, and then disappeared over the side of the bed much more smoothly than he would have thought such a stout cat could manage.
Severus sat up, cradling the small Kneazle against his chest with one hand. It seemed pleased with his increasing activity, uttering a squeaky purr and licking his finger. "Interesting," he said, wondering if this was all a particularly bizarre dream. He thought not - the creature's tongue was quite realistically damp.
Hagrid would know what to do with it.
Fifteen minutes later, feeling slightly less off-balance after a cup of strong black tea (the Kneazle had had his milk), he was dressed and trudging through shallow snow to Hagrid's cottage. It was only just after dawn, but Severus didn't see why Hagrid should be allowed to sleep in when he hadn't. The Kneazle was riding in his cloak pocket, peering out with apparent interest at the snowy landscape.
Severus banged on Hagrid's door and listened. After a moment, a loud growling grunt indicated that he'd woken either Hagrid or Fang. Heavy footsteps sounded, and then the door was pulled open by what appeared to be a black haystack in a blue and orange striped nightshirt. "Whuzit?" Then Hagrid's eyes focused and he stiffened. "Professor," he said, in what he undoubtedly imagined to be an icy tone. "What d'you want?"
Severus fished his new... pet? companion?... out of his pocket and held it up. "I wish to consult you on the care of this particular magical creature," he said, scowling. Hagrid's continued resentment of his 'murder' of Dumbledore was very irritating. "May I come in?"
Hagrid stared at the Kneazle for a long moment. "Is that a... yeh, come in." He stepped back, letting Severus into the blessedly cosy hut. Unfortunately, this also allowed Fang to bounce up to greet the new arrival... and see the catlike thing dangling from his hand.
About ten seconds later Fang was hiding under the table, whimpering and trying to lick his scratched nose. Severus was clutching a scratched hand and resisting the urge to swear. The Kneazle was perched on his shoulder, growling shrilly and glaring down at the table.
"Ah, don't mind him," Hagrid said, reaching up to pet the small round head with a large finger. "Fang don't mean no 'arm. He just likes to play."
The Kneazle made what was undoubtedly a rude remark and nosed Severus's hair affectionately. "He can play elsewhere," Severus said frostily, fishing out his handkerchief and wrapping it around his bleeding hand.
"Oh, he won't come out again now. Coward, he is, 'cept when there's real danger to me." Hagrid pulled his moleskin coat on over his nightshirt and went over to the fireplace to put the kettle on. "How on earth did yeh get hold of a baby Kneazle, Professor Snape?"
"I believe it was intended as a sort of gift. Or possibly that I was." Hagrid's tone had warmed markedly, and Severus relaxed a bit. Hagrid had always been one of the few people who seemed to genuinely like him, and it had been... unpleasant... being at odds with him. "Miss Granger's cat delivered it this morning."
"Crookshanks? That's interestin'... he's part Kneazle himself, I suspect. Cleverest cat I ever come across, that's for sure." Hagrid poked up the fire. "Late litter, I guess."
"I suspected as much." Severus carefully transferred it from his shoulder to a more secure spot in his lap, where it started to wash itself. "It looks a bit under-nourished."
"It does that. But most things is a bit skinny this time o' year." Hagrid examined the Kneazle, poking it gently. It promptly attacked his finger, gnawing gently and wrapping its small paws around Hagrid's huge hand. "Ahhh, lookit that, he likes me!" He paused, and then carefully lifted the Kneazle's tail to check. "She likes me, that is."
Severus decided to take his word for the creature's gender. "What should I feed her? As I understand it, juvenile Kneazles are rarely even seen, let alone kept as pets."
"They are that," Hagrid said, nodding seriously. "And they're more've a friend than a pet, really... there's no cagin' a Kneazle, and they go where they please. If they like yeh, they'll stay by yeh no matter what - and they're choosy, they are. They won't have anything to do with anyone untrustworthy or wicked."
"Yes, I had heard that." Severus looked down at the Kneazle and smoothed his hand over its downy fur. It purred, nuzzling his hand affectionately. "I imagine that seeing one in my company will be... surprising, to many."
"Oh, it will that." Hagrid gave him a comically mournful look. "But they're never wrong about folks, and we people often are. I'm sorry, Professor, for bein' so... you know."
"I understand," Severus said hastily, hoping to avoid one of Hagrid's famous bouts of sentimental tears. "Under the circumstances. No more need be said about that."
"Yeh, well..." Hagrid sniffed, but thankfully tears seemed to be averted. "Anyway, she'll eat meat and fish, mostly, like a cat, but milk'll help build her up, and yeh can put a drop of cod-liver oil in it too. A bit o' raw carrot mixed in with her food now and then won't hurt, neither."
"I see." The fur really was very soft. He'd used Kneazle-fur in potions, of course, but that hadn't felt as soft as this. "Thank you, Hagrid. I should return and supervise breakfast."
"I'll join yeh in a bit." Hagrid beamed fatuously at the Kneazle. "What'll yeh name her?"
Severus picked her up as he stood, holding her with one hand under her chest and the other under her rear. She looked up at him and purred contentedly. "Akilah, I think," he said, after a moment's thought. "It means 'wise', and Kneazles are clever creatures."
"That's a right pretty name for a pretty lady," Hagrid said, watching fondly as Akilah was tucked back into the pocket. "Oh, and Professor? Keep an eye on her around your store-cupboards. There's nowhere a Kneazle can't go if they're determined enough."
"Severus?" Aurora Sinistra leaned over to murmur quietly to him. "Why are you feeding your pocket?"
Severus scowled. He'd hoped nobody would notice. Most of the teachers had left for the holidays, but naturally the Heads of House remained if any of their students did... still, with only five people at the teachers' table, surely he should have been able to slip a few bits of sausage and bacon into his pocket without anyone noticing. "A new pet," he muttered reluctantly.
"Really? What is it?" Sinistra looked down just as Akilah poked her head out to meow for more. "A Kneazle? How charming."
"Not the word I would choose," Severus said, wincing as Akilah nipped his fingers in her eagerness to get the morsel of bacon he was holding.
Sinistra palmed a lump of scrambled egg and dropped it neatly into his pocket, which wriggled happily. "They make very loyal pets, if one manages to attach them. I congratulate you on your good fortune."
"Thank you, Aurora." If someone had had to notice, he decided, he was glad it was her. It took more than a pocketful of baby magical creature to disturb Aurora's serenity, and she had already returned to her breakfast.
McGonagall leaned across behind Sinistra, to give him a suspicious look. "Severus, why are you and Aurora feeding your pocket?"
Hermione looked up at the teachers' table automatically as they entered the Great Hall. He was there, and looking... better. The tense lines around his mouth had relaxed somewhat, and he actually had a proper breakfast in front of him. She saw sausage, egg and what might have been bacon.
"So, what'll we do today?" Ginny said brightly, reaching for the nearest pot of coffee as Hermione sat down.
"Something sedentary," Hermione said, then rolled her eyes as Ron gave her a bewildered look. "Something that doesn't involve any running about, Ron. Honestly, I'm buying you a dictionary for Christmas next year."
"Yeah, you're not really in any shape for a snowball fight or anything," Ron said, looking her up and down a bit critically. "We could build a snowman or something, I suppose..."
"Bending over isn't really an option, either," Hermione said ruefully. "I'd just fall down if I tried it in snow. Isn't there something we could do inside?"
"Cards?" Ginny suggested. "We could play poker. The boys have lots of sweets to use as stakes."
"I hate poker. I always lose." Ron shovelled more sausage into his mouth. "Oubowf suhchez?"
"You always want to play chess." Ginny rolled her eyes. "We all know it's only because you like to win. Anyway, only two people can play that. How about something all four of us can play?"
"Anything that doesn't explode is all right with me," Hermione said, sneaking another glance up at the teachers' table. Professor Snape was talking to Professor Sinistra, who was actually smiling. She looked away quickly. "I've never been keen on explosions, and according to the books I've been reading, the baby can hear outside noises now."
"Really? Can it hear us talking?" Ginny gave her stomach an interested look.
"I think so." Hermione frowned. "How about some sort of board game?"
That discussion lasted through most of breakfast. Eventually they decided on a game of poker to start with, then a snowball fight later during which Hermione could have a hot bath and rest her back. (More accurately, Hermione and Ginny decided - Harry would agree to anything Ginny wanted to do, and Ron was outvoted.)
"Maybe Neville could join us." Ginny looked down the table. "Hey, Neville, do you know how to play poker?"
"No." Neville gave her a hopeful look. "Is it hard?"
"Not really. None of us are very good at it."
"She's lying," Harry said cheerfully. "She's the only one who is good at it. But it's not hard to learn. Hermione drew us up a little chart that shows you what hand beats - hey, what's that?"
"They look like flowers," Ginny said, looking up. Coloured... things... were cascading from a hollow in the stone high up on one wall. "No... they're butterflies! Hey, they're really pretty. I wonder if Professor Flitwick did that?"
"Look, they're in the house colours!" Harry grinned, as the flight of butterflies began to separate... green and silver butterflies over the Slytherin table, yellow over the Hufflepuffs, blue and bronze over the Ravenclaws, and a whole flurry of little red ones over the Gryffindors. "I only see red... no, there's a gold one. See it?" He pointed, and the little golden butterfly... it looked to be made of paper... spiralled downward obligingly.
Hermione glanced up at the high table and felt a chill of unease. Professor Flitwick wasn't smiling. The teachers looked puzzled. They hadn't known about this. Anybody could have sneaked into the great hall and planted the butterflies, at any time. They could have been there for days, waiting to be released.
"Harry, don't touch it!" She shoved his hand away from the golden butterfly - folded paper, she could see now. "It might be another attack, it could be poisoned or... duck!" Harry dived backwards, landing flat on his back on the floor as the butterfly fluttered directly towards his face. Hermione jumped to her feet, fumbling frantically for her wand.
"What is it, what's going on - "
"Mr Potter, stay away from that - "
"It's coming around!"
Hermione pulled out her wand, pointing it at the harmless-looking bit of gold paper. "Incend-"
It dipped around her wand and landed on her hand.
It felt cold.
And then everything went dark.
