"The body says what words cannot."

- Martha Graham


Hermione had intended to have a lie-in when she got home, but found herself rather restless and unable to sit still when she finally got there. The nausea had mostly passed, and though her back was still hurting quite a bit, she decided that a bit of cleaning would help her feel better. Severus had finished painting in the nursery, and putting the changing table together but he had left all of his supplies lying about. Now seemed as good a time as any to clear everything up.

It was while she was attempting to pick up a lingering paint tray that she noticed just how painful her back had become. What had been an irritation seemed to be developing into a painful muscle spasm. If it weren't for the fact that her seizures had never been precipitated by immense pain she would have thought she was about to have another. It was possible she supposed that this was going to be an episode of a different sort, but no other changes seemed to be happening so she continued to straighten up the room.

She hummed to herself, working quietly until the room was clean and welcoming. All that was left was for her to take the can of unused paint down to be stored in the mudroom with the other various and sundry things that weren't fit for being left about the house. She took it in hand, silently rejoicing in the fat that her nausea seemed to have passed completely, as she began to descend the stairs. She moved slowly, not wanting to risk falling down the stairs in her pregnant state, but soon enough she was standing on the wood floor of the foyer.

There was a wet splash on the wood, and she immediately looked to the paint can as the culprit. Her assumption that she had somehow spilled the paint was dissolved when she felt wetness on her skin. She looked down to see that her robes were darkening to a deep blue as they grew damp and she was now standing in a puddle.

Her heart took off at a sprint in her chest when it dawned on her that her water had broken One hand went immediately to her stomach as if that act alone would allow her to hold her son in. She couldn't recall from any of her reading if there was a high chance of survival if the mother went into labor in week 32, but she knew that the chances would have been much better in just a few weeks.

She stifled a tiny moan of dismay at the thought of the risks involved, and wished desperately tat Severus was here with her now. As calmly as she could she lowered the can of paint to the ground and drew her wand from within her robes. She had every intention of sending a patronus off to Severus to inform him of what was happening, but when she stepped forward to walk into the living room she slipped in the puddle of her own amniotic fluid. The world seemed to slow down to a point of confusion as she fell backward, her arms flailing in an attempt to catch herself on the banister. It was too slow, and yet far too quickly her body had impacted with the floor and her head with stairs.

Lights were flashing behind her eyes as she fought to remain conscious. She was no focused enough to focus on a happy memory, but she attempted to cast the patronus charm anyway. Another pained moan slipped from between her lips when she saw that only a mist had issued from her wand before disappearing entirely.

"No, no, no," she muttered to herself as she cradled her head with her hands as the darkness crept up on her.


Severus stepped out of the fireplace, glancing around the empty living room as he brushed the soot from his robes. He thought at first the house seemed oddly quietly, but then he heard it. Just outside of the room, so soft that it almost missed his notice.

"No, no, no," Hermione moaned, lurching Severus into action.

He practically flew out of the living room, skidding across the waxed wooden floor of the foyer before he came to a stop in front of her prone form. Her eyes had just fluttered closed when he crashed to his knees beside her. His fingers went instinctually to her jugular, feeling for a pulse long before he noticed wetness seeping into the knee of his pant leg.

The world seemed to slow down as the pieces fell into place for him. His wife was going into labor eight weeks too early, and seemed to have slipped at the base of the stairs hitting her head on the way down. He gingerly felt around her scalp, wincing when his hands came away wet with her blood. He quickly assessed what he could of her health and deemed that all things considered she wasn't too badly off. He gently shifted her away from the stairs so she was lying flat on her back before he began healing her head injury.

"Enervate," he cast quickly when the last trace of the head wound had disappeared.

Hermione's eye lid fluttered momentarily before opening. For a moment they were full of confusion, but then the scrunched into a grimace as a moan slipped from between her lips. His hands went immediately to each side of her head, feeling for a wound he had missed, but her hands went to her abdomen cradling their child.

"I need a healer," she groaned through clenched teeth. "I've no clue how I missed it, but I think I've been have contractions for most the morning."

"I'm not sure I should move you just yet," Severus said in the calmest voice he could manage when her hand shot out and latched onto his forearm with more force than he thought her capable of. "Let's wait until this contraction has subsided."

"It's too soon Severus!" she ground out, working her jaw even as a light sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead.

"Only time will tell," he said hoping to soothe her, no matter how his own nerves were fraying. "Just breathe."

Rather belatedly Severus was realizing he did not know enough about childbirth. He kept his face neutral so his panic would not be obvious, and he held her shaking hands as she rode out the wave of pain that had trapped her. Forever and yet quite quickly her hands went still and she released a deep sigh that told him the contraction had ended.

He moved quickly then, sweeping her up halfway in his arms as he helped her to gain her feet. As soon as she was vertical he cast a lightening charm upon her and scooped her up into his arms. The last thing they needed was for her to fall again, and he was much more sure on his feet considering that he could actually see them. When her arms had wound around his neck to hold herself in place he began to move. He had never covered the distance between the stairs and the floo so quickly.


"I want healer Michaels present," Hermione snapped, slowly losing her composure as the contractions grew closer together.

"He isn't a delivery healer," healer Wheeler pointed out.

"I don't care," she shouted, her grip convulsing painfully on Severus's hand. "He is my healer and I want him here to oversee things."

"I can call for him if you wish," Wheeler said reluctantly. "But it is likely he will get in the way, and we've got enough to be going on with as you are already fully effaced."

"This is a high risk delivery," she ground out through clenched teeth. "So forgive me if I want to have a more competent healer present in case of emergency."

"Hermione," Severus said quietly, seeing the way the healers face contorted with barely controlled offense.

"No Severus," Hermione growled, loosening her grip on his hand as the pain ebbed. "This woman misdiagnosed late stage cancer as a pregnancy I do not trust her judgment!"

"You are clearly pregnant this time, and I have quite a bit of delivery experience to be going on with," Wheeler said tersely.

"We are more than happy to have you deliver our son," Severus said diplomatically. "But we are more familiar with Healer Michaels and would like to have him present please."

Perhaps it was the sight of the surly man saying please that finally overrode the healer's offense, but she did finally slip out of the room the retrieve the requested personnel. There were a few brief quiet moments between the married couple in her absence before the next contraction started. By the time the pair of healers had returned Hermione was in the throes of her most painful contraction yet and tears were streaming unchecked down her cheeks.


Time had begun to move in strange dollops for the pair of them, but it went untracked as the weather the storm of emotion and Hermione's rolling waves of pain. Hour passed, and the found themselves in the same room being coached on by the pair of healers as if this were some sort of sporting event. To the credit of the analogy, Severus couldn't help but notice that Hermione did look as if she had been running for a long time. Her hair was slicked with sweat and plastered to her forehead in a way that made it nearly impossible to tell that she had curls.

Her cheeks were red and stained from the many tears that had fallen, and she looked exhausted. He was proud of her though, he had heard many a horror story of women turning into monsters in the delivery room, but other than a few sharp word towards Wheeler in her request for Michaels Hermione had been surprisingly civil. Some of her speech had been labored but she hadn't cursed or begged or done anything that indicated the level of pain she was in other than her firm grip on his hand and the tears the fell down her cheeks.

Severus had changed very little since their arrival other than to shed many of his layers until he sat beside her in only his black slacks and white button down shirt. After one flailing grab from Hermione that had nearly scalped him he had also pulled his long black hair back with a secure fastening charm, and he now looked nothing like the intimidating potions master he had once been. He suspected that all of the fingers in his left hand had been broken by now, but he continued to let Hermione squeeze it while he crooned words of encouragement in her ear and attempted to keep her unruly hair out of her face.

Then sun had long since set when Wheeler settled at the foot of the bed to once again check the progress of the delivery. She lifted the sheet that exposed Hermione and made a cursory glance, but this time she did not immediately return the sheet and abandon her post. Instead she reached out a hand toward Michaels who provided her with a pair of gloves that she quickly donned before wheeling her stool bit closer to the bed.

"Alright mama," she said with a bright encouraging smile. "It's time to really push."

"What was I doing before then," Hermione sighed tiredly as she leaned herself forward and focused her features to face the coming task.

"Warming up," Wheeler said with a slight laugh, which thankfully elicited an airy chuckle from Hermione. "But now your baby is ready, and a few good pushes should bring the head out."

Severus bit down against his lip to keep from making a sound as he grip became impossibly tighter. The first real groans of pain fell from his wife's lips as she tried to push their son out. He couldn't even imagine what she must have been feeling as he tears grew audible and painful to the ears.

"Ooooooh Philip," she moaned as her body fought to deliver their son. "You are so grounded."

"Ah, there," Wheeler said, just as Hermione slumped, her muscles slackening as some pressure was released. "Come on mama, another big push, you can do it."

Hermione wailed as she brought her body upright once more and gave an almighty push. Severus latched his right hand onto the frame of the bed and channeled his own pain into the metal while she clenched his left. There were several seconds of what felt like chaos as Hermione nearly screamed, her body rigid with effort, and then suddenly the sound died out. She was huffing tiredly as she leaned back against the bed, but Severus found his focus latched onto Wheeler who had quickly pulled a messy bundle of wriggly limbs from between his wife's legs. There was one beat of silence while he stared his blood covered son and then the unmistakable wail of an infant filled the air.

"He's got a good set of lungs," Wheeler said with a smile as she quickly snipped the chord connecting infant to mother, and stepped over to the small bed against the wall where she began attending to their baby.

"You hear that," Severus said soothingly as he used his sleeve to wipe sweat from Hermione's brow. "Healthy lungs."

The pair of them listened, surprisingly comforted by the sound of their son wailing. He was partially obscured by the working healers, but from what they could see he was a bit small. Small, but appeared to have all of the necessary parts. His color seemed good, and there were no grim looks upon the faces of their healers.

"Here we go," Wheeler said softly as she returned to the bedside, their son now clean and wrapped in a warm blanket. "He'll be needed a bit of fattening up, but everything appears to be in working order."

Hermione's tears were renewed when their son was placed into her arms. She wept happy tears as she cradled him against her chest and clucked her tongue in a soothing gesture until his own wailing fell silent. All to quickly Philip's thumb had found its way into his mouth and his eyes had drifted closed. Severus watched on in astonishment as their son fell asleep in his mother's arms. He could hardly have dared to hope that the catastrophe that had been Hermione going into early labor and injuring herself against the stairs in their home could turn out so perfectly. It was eight weeks early, but their son was hear, and other than needing to gain weight he did not seem to be suffering any medical ailments. Severus felt ready to weep himself.