Morning dawned far too early for Hermione's liking. The bright, cool autumn sun stubbornly stayed in her eyes. A sigh of defeat left the warm cocoon of blankets from the middle of the king sized four poster. Heavy limbs left the bed, cold toes found slippers, and cold shoulders shrugged on a warm dressing gown. Tying the sash with a loose knot, Hermione made her way down to the kitchen.
Or, she tried to. Instead, she found the music room, art studio, multiple guest bedrooms, two or three complete suites, and several sets of stairs going both up and down. In the end, an overly amused elf lead her to the proper room.
"Had fun this morning, I take it?" the transfiguration professor arched a brow.
"I took the scenic route," the younger witch answered in kind.
The rest of the morning passed in a companionable mix of silence and conversation. Essentials, such as the fact that Hermione resided in the master suite, and the fact that the floo is only one way between Minerva's heavily warded private quarters in Hogwarts and the travel room, were related. Much was left unsaid, as both decided by tacit agreement to not mention the elephant in the room just yet.
After an early lunch, Hermione settled herself with her journals, both communication and notation, and the Tales of Beedle the Bard in the parlor. Minerva had returned some time ago to make an appearance for lunch and to fetch the mediwitch. Privately, the young woman fought the nerves any mother-to-be did. Lacking medical input through her first trimester, worried thoughts filled her mind. Each time suffocating worry and fear filled her chest, Hermione took deep breaths and focused on something else entirely. She informed the Order and boys about her move, the house, the garden, the view. If not, she took to reading aloud once more, in hopes to both improve and distract.
"Ah, Hermione dear, good to see you, and congratulations," the bright, busy voice of Poppy Pomfrey broke her concentration. "Now, stand up. If it is a Midsummer child, you should be exactly fifteen weeks along now. Let's have a look."
Self conscious nerves flared up, as Hermione stood for inspection. Hands smoothed the soft dress over her growing abdomen. Her stomach stuck just beyond that of her swollen bust, a soft curve from below her ribs to pelvis. The mediwitch hmmed and clucked, instructing her to sit on the transfigured examination bed. Fingers probed, finding what Hermione did; she grew with child, not food.
"Yes, fifteen weeks exactly," murmured the mediwitch, casting various diagnostics over her. "Everything is normal, you are within healthy measurements, as is your child," quill recorded the results on her medical record. "You have taken remarkable care of yourself, all things considered. Be sure to continue with your potions, as they will make a world of difference. Do you need any more stretch salve?"
"No, I'm fine for the moment, though I will need some soon," Hermione answered as the mediwitch buzzed around her.
"Good, good," the other witch nodded. "When you run low, tell me. I'll be seeing you next week, and, if you are still in good health, we will push it to every other week. Listen to your body, missy. If you yawn, go to sleep. Keep your feet elevated when you rest to reduce swelling, and, most importantly, do not exhaust yourself magically."
"Yes ma'am," the brunette mock saluted, eyes twinkling with amusement.
"As you should," Madam Pomfrey's lips twitched. "Minerva, your lioness is fit to ward!"
The three women spent the best part of two hours walking the perimeter as Hermione added her own wards to the heavily fortified homestead. A wave goodbye, and the young bookworm settled in front of the fire of her private sitting room. The exercise tired her, making her retire early for the evening. In no time, eyes drooped, and, taking the prescribed advice, Hermione tucked into her quilt cocoon of warmth.
oOo oOo oOo
Sunday evening came and went, taking Minerva to Hogwarts with it. The first few days alone confused Hermione. The lack of other humans around, unfamiliar and odd, soon bled into an easy cadence of life at Garden Meadows. Mornings found her taking a stroll around the house, as much for the fresh air as the exercise. Next came a protein filled breakfast, followed by research. At some point, the elves would deliver a light lunch. After tea, Hermione found herself plucking away at the piano-forte or reading in the library. Dinner, followed by tea, and then bed.
Poppy's next visit came and went, and the mediwitch announced her healthy as an ox, her child doubly so. So week two alone started. Nights bled into mornings which ran into afternoons only to set into night once more. Time lost meaning, as each day followed the same pattern. One night, particularly exhausted from a longer than average afternoon stroll along the bluffs, the young lioness cuddled up to her favorite pillow and drifted to Morpheus' realm.
Warmth and contentment radiated her entire being. A happy hum vibrated in her chest as she snuggled deeper into the source. Hypnotic crackles and pops from fire lulled her senses. Half asleep, hands stroked her body in full, lazy sweeps. Fragrant, balmy breezes swirled through the air. A gentle rumbling sigh echoed her sentiments, and caused a languid smile the bloom across her face. Her Goddess purred in response, eyes closed. Hermione melted under his tender touch. The subtle sway of a hammock rocked in the wind, quilt tucked around them.
Companionable silence fell. In that time, her Goddess filled her with instinctive understanding of her mate. Half forgotten memories and disconnected thoughts righted themselves in her conscious mind. Peace visited them both, and neither hurried to disrupt it.
At long last, he murmured, "I believe this is what women refer to as popping."
"Does it satisfy you?" a soft chuckle answered, one hand twining with his.
"More than I can say," he whispered, breath hot against her ear. "I did not realize women swell so at this point. It is not an unwelcomed discovery, I find."
"Your progeny fills me so," the Goddess exhaled. "I am told that all is well, and we fall within healthy parameters.
"I am glad to hear of it," his nose nuzzled her neck with deep, intoxicating breaths. "When I inevitably try to deny you, remind me of this fact."
"Which fact in particular," Hermione's Goddess cooed. "There are many you will deny, we both know that."
"You already know my deepest desire, mate," his deep voice rumbled, fond and amused. "Remind myself about the pleasure I take in your growing form." One large hand wandered to a breast and gently squeezed, the other continued to stroke her swollen stomach. "What it feels like, what it means, and make sure I understand your love for this child. I will be quite shocked when I realize your condition. Understand, you only have Samhain to make me see sense."
"I would do without your instruction," a feminine, breathy laugh came from her. Her smaller hand covered his large one, and guided it. Soft pressure felt out the area. "And this, my God, is where our child grows."
"You are magnificent," her God's ragged voice gasped. "Do not leave me alone."
His arms wound possessively around her, as if letting her go would lose her forever. A flash of anger and compassion lit through Hermione as a new pattern formed in her mind. The only person to be like this, so afraid of driving off anyone who cared, happened to be Harry. Harry, who dealt with a horrible case of neglect and abuse. Fury boiled her blood, as she wished to seek retribution for those who abused her mate.
"I promise, you will no longer be alone," Her Goddess whispered, voice passionate and fierce. "You will have a home to return to, a mate waiting, and anything else within my power to provide. You are mine, and I take care of what is mine."
Her God trembled with repressed emotion. Nose buried in her hair. Arms tightened around her, firm and rigid. Tears fell upon her neck as silent sobs wracked his lithe frame. She turned to her side, gathering him into her arms, and rocked the hammock. Cooed words and comforting touches introduced him to physical affection. One hand played through his silky, thick hair, twirling pieces as she gently tugged it.
Hermione understood. The instinctual God and Goddess emoted with an honest intensity that rarely happened in the waking world. To allow so much feeling to escape required a deep sense of security. Even in this facsimile of the festival, their own, private escape from reality, they held some semblance of emotion back. The amount of trust he displayed at this moment humbled Hermione, honoured to receive it.
Time meant nothing in this realm. He stilled in her arms, breathing even, heart thumping at a steady pace. Nose nuzzled his back. Lips pressed feather soft kisses to his shoulder, her Goddess determined to repay the earlier favor. Hermione wholeheartedly agreed. Fingers traced lazy swirls and patterns up and down his side.
Just when she thought he fell asleep, her God softly remarked, "If you continue this, I will think myself spoilt."
If it was suspiciously rough, Hermione and her Goddess wisely ignored it. Instead, she chose to calmly murmur, "You have no choice in the matter. I will give as much of my affections as I please, when I please."
"Dictating things already?" he chuckled, a large hand warm upon hers. "Bossy, aren't you?"
"In some things, yes," her tart retort. "But you like it when I declare such things, hm? I consider it my purpose and pleasure to give such attentions to you."
Incoherent grumbles answered. A soft, fond laugh tinkled in the air as she held him close. For a moment, war ceased. Outside pressures lifted. Nothing existed outside the swinging hammock. He shifted, turning to face her. Firm arms held her in his embrace. Mind slowed to a trickle of thought. Warmth and safety pulled her into Morpheus' realm, body, mind, and soul.
oOo oOo oOo
Hermione jolted awake the next morning. Each, vivid detail played through her mind. A frown marred her face. As she shuffled from room to room, going about her day, memories of the dream flashed about her mind. Assuming her theory to be correct on the identity of her mate, her other half, what the Goddess surmised made an astounding amount of sense. Behavior, comments, mannerisms all flickered through her mind. She caressed her growing stomach, vowing to love her child and, if he'd let her, her mate.
Days slipped past as she worked, simultaneously, on her two big projects. Every day, the boys would talk strategy with her and the rest of the Order. Dueling sounded to be going well, both boys waxing lyrical about the different strategies and techniques they learned from the elder Order members. Sufficiently distracted, neither boy noticed her distraction. Remus attributed it to 'pregnancy brain,' as Tonks often forgot more things recently.
Yet, her second project took much of her attention. When not looking at arithmetic equations or toying with new spells, Hermione found herself wondering just how to convince her mate to accept them. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to be with her, desired it so fiercely that his innermost expression told her, night after night, to make him embrace it. Each night, the dreams turned more desperate, as Samhain drew near. Her heart twisted, pained by the things she learned.
Finally, the night before, a small grin bloomed on her face. She knew just how to get him to acquiesce to her, accept their child, and allow their bond. With a smile, she began to jot down how she wanted to go about this venture, feeling more lighthearted than she had in days.
"I must say," Poppy hummed one afternoon after disappearing to check up on Hermione, "the girl is growing quite large. I heard festival children were always that way, but this is my first time seeing it in person."
"Has it grown much since last week?" Minerva asked, leaning back into her chair.
"It has," chuckled the mediwitch. "Even if they are both on the large side of it, they are still normal and healthy. You will be a grandmother yet, Min."
"Merlin, I hope so," laughed the professor.
"And what of her other half," Poppy inquired, her no-nonsense tone coming out. "Festival pairs does not always end happily, Minerva. I will not have her nor the child in danger of the father."
"This is, I believe, a true pairing," she smiled, soft and sweet. "Not a morning after affair, much as what you are thinking of."
A stunned, awed look appeared on the usually unflappable mediwitch's face. Looking every bit the cat she as, Minerva gave a smug, triumphant smirk at her long time friend. Taking a slow sip of tea, the other woman's mouth worked, as if trying to voice questions and exclamations all at once. Instead, Poppy Pomfrey took a deep breath and a sip out of her dainty cup, settling it with the soft clink of china.
"And you're sure about this?" she squeaked.
"Absolutely," Minerva gave a girlish sigh. "She told me all about it, you know. She's worried that he will spurn her due to the political climate. So, there may be no father to worry of, so to speak."
"Poor dear," Poppy shook her head. "Being rejected is rather the worst of it."
Indeed, Minerva knew all too well. She, herself, had been rejected as had Poppy. Everyone else wondered why the two remained spinster best friends. Few knew the extent, and even those knew not to ask. Yet, she wondered, what life would be like if her mate didn't turn away from her for political gain. Maybe the world would be different, better, alas, she drew those old musings to a close.
"Augusta and I offered to hid Hermione and the babe away," her soft, Scottish brogue hummed through the air after a moment. "I cannot think of anything else we could do for her."
"I will do whatever is needed, of course," Poppy offered. "It is the least I can do." A moment of silence engulfed the pairs they both stared into the crackling fire. "And you, Min? Who do you reckon is her mate?"
"Ah, another to work on the riddle the girl gifted us," chuckled the tabby.
The rest of the evening visit passed in speculation.
oOo oOo oOo
Minerva, face sour and pinched, as she hurried towards the sounds of distress. Just as she came upon the corner that would lead her into the defense hall, a booming baritone rung through the hall. In a second, a grey tabby stood where the imposing woman once did, sticking to the shadows of the halls for the late hour. A disheveled sixth year stood to one side, bawling her eyes out as Amycus Carrow leered at her. Prowling towards them, the black wraith that was the headmaster glided to a stop.
"What have I told you about touching the students, Amycus?" his silky, smooth voice asked, low and lethal.
"I-I didn't mean to do more than scare her, Headmaster Snape," the man snivelled, eyes telling a different tale.
"And yet, here you are, about to break school rules as set by the Dark Lord, tisk tisk," Snape tutted, rounding to face the degenerate. "What would he say if I told him you disobeyed me in the process? I cannot imagine he would be pleased with that."
"What our Lord doesn't know won't hurt him," sneered the man.
"Think again, Amycus," Snape sighed, giving the man a particularly piercing glare reserved for the most dimwitted of students. "The Dark Lord always knows when one of us lies to him, does he not? He specifically told you and your sister to keep your hands off the bright future of the wizarding world. Trying to touch Miss Perkins, who should be going back to Ravenclaw Tower now," he pointedly glared at the girl behind him who scurried on cue, "goes against those very orders. As a loyal death eater, it is my job to report such things to the Dark Lord."
"Y-Yes H-headmaster," gulped Amycus.
"If I see you breaking one of the rules, I will be forced to punish you before the Dark Lord gets his hands on you," the dark man's voice quiet and full of deadly promise. "Is that understood?"
"O-of course, Headmaster," the coward snivelled.
"Good," was the curt answer. "Now, get out of my sight."
Minerva hid behind one of the suits of armor as both men stalked out of the corridor, one swearing up a storm, the other glaring at every passing nook and cranny. A full quarter of an hour passed before she dared to move a whisker out of place. Soft paws padded the rest of her patrol route, mind far from the dark halls before her. It appeared that, at the very least, the headmaster brought some semblance of sanity to the rules on the Death Eaters. She knew he could not deny the more harsh tortures for the students, but in odd ways he tried to take care of them. Even, she snorted, they could not see it.
And the whole time, she mused, whiskers twitching in the amused manner of felines, he never even said 'our lord.' Always the Dark Lord. How curious.
oOo oOo oOo
A letter from Molly Weasley sat upon her cherry desk. In it, she whined and vilified the Dark Lord, and the Headmaster all but. Yet, it amused her that she thought the actions taken against her daughter and Neville to be quite as ill advised and horrible. Indeed, had it been Albus' office, or, Merlin forbid, her own that students snuck in with the intent to steal something of great value and importance, Molly would offer to withdraw them from the school. The fact stood that the office belonged to a known traitor, and that justified the means. Yet, it shouldn't. He wasn't really a traitor, and, even if he were, it was the headmaster's office.
Similarly, a second parchment sat next to Molly's enthusiastic, yet messy, script. Augusta had been appalled by Neville's actions. In stark contrast, both in opinion of the supposed victim and the strong moral statement, she thought the headmaster went too soft on her grandson. He broke into his office to steal an artifact that no one knew for sure where it was, nor who had it, the older woman wrote in her elegant hand. I see no reason to coddle him. Yet, the 'dastardly bastard,' as Neville so charmingly put it, assigned both the young Miss Weasley and my Nev a week with Hagrid. Hagrid! He might as well assigned the boy to work in the greenhouse for the rest of the autumn term. And the audacity of Molly Weasley to try and commiserate with me over such an issue. I cannot say she has behaved with the level of decorum I had expected of her.
Sipping the fine, Scottish whisky in her tumbler, Minerva chuckled. Hermione had outright laughed at the punishment, though worried quite a bit in the Order book. She knew the sword to be one of the few objects necessary for the project Albus left the trio. However, she decided to tell the boys to keep calm and carry on, as they had no solid evidence either way yet. Harry expressed some amusement over the phrase, as did Remus, while the rest were left to wonder at the obvious muggle allusion.
Favorite eagle quill out, the tabby animagus penned a response to the irate woman, hoping to ruffle feathers and reassure her that the only true punishment the children were to receive would be due to Hagrid's cakes rather than any real discipline. Within moments, she tied the missive to her owl and turned once more to Augusta's missive. They spoke of many things. After Samhain, the older woman was to reside with Hermione at Garden Meadows until the winter holidays. Hermione expressed a cautious hope that, if all went well, she and her mate would be bonded on the Winter Solstice. The young witch welcomed them both to come and stay, as the house felt far too large for her.
Over the past few weeks, outside of Hermione's genius journals, Minerva and Augusta took to anticipating the reveal of the young witch's mate. They both took Hermione's words of wisdom to heart, and found several men who could fit the bill. While Minerva lent towards one, Augusta favored the other, though started to see her way. Even Poppy seemed taken with the idea of who her mate was, and had remarked earlier that day that it would mean they would both be grandmothers.
What worried the old biddies, was the increasingly distraught nature of the journal entries. For the past week, Hermione reported having the dreams of her normally stoic and calm partner breaking down to her, begging her in some ways, to keep him. She asked and begged for advice, with little in way of wisdom to share.
Keep thinking, my dear, Augusta wrote that afternoon. I have faith that you will figure out just what you need to do. After all, you are the one who knows him the best.
Unless, an equally sly response from the mediwitch in her recently acquired journal, You wish to reveal who it is. With such information, we can better prepare and advise you of prudent steps to take.
The Gryffindor witch stood steadfast, though, resolving not to tell any of them until after Samhain. All the same, they wrote to each other, hoping to help their young friend. With a sigh, Minerva replaced her tumbler and went to bed. She threw a prayer to the gods to watch over her young cub and help her through the times ahead. Merlin knew they would be difficult if he rejected her now.
oOo oOo oOo
"Last, but not least, with Halloween and Samhain this weekend, I draw your attention to the patrols," the dour headmaster intoned, parchment in hand. "As per usual, all those who observe the ancient ways have the Friday of the holiday and Saturday afterwards off, with some of you having Saturday evening and night patrols. Amycus and Filius, you are both on Friday night patrol, with Aurora and Alecto going around and keeping the miscreants out of trouble Saturday morning."
Minerva blinked, not daring to look anywhere but the schedule in front of her. As she perused it, she found nothing amiss. She had the whole of the weekend off, not expected until Sunday night patrol. Only she, the headmaster himself, and a few of the assorted faculty, Poppy included, were given the weekend free. Indeed, the Carrows, always with a responsible member of staff had patrols or study halls, and always separate.
"You are all expected to attend the Halloween feast, and, as normal, if you are not scheduled for duty during the day, Sunday evening's meal," he drawled, baritone bored and haughty. "If that is all," and he swept out of the room.
Filius threw up the wards after the Carrows cackled about their time to hunt for rebels after a large holiday. Unfortunately for them, and a stroke of good luck for everyone else, the children were always sedate and sated after a good Halloween feast. The sweets tended to get them to their common rooms and crash. With any luck, there would be very few to discipline, making the weekend a good one to 'over schedule' them, as it were.
"So, Halloween draws up on us again," Pomona hummed.
"Yes, would be better if the Carrows allowed my choir to rehearse, but no matter," Filius sighed, settling into his chair.
"It is almost unsettling how easily the school has transitioned," Aurora muttered. "Don't get me wrong, it's just odd."
"Severus is making it appear, in all ways, that it is business as usual," Minerva nodded. "You know, I caught him just the other day rescuing a student from Amycus Carrow. Tried to force the poor thing."
"How despicable," ground out Pomona. "Absolutely no professionalism, no real abilities whatsoever. One must wonder why they are even in this school."
"Most likely to keep an eye on us, the students, and our venerable Headmaster," snorted the Slytherin. "I heard he gave your cubs a slap on the wrist, though, Minerva?"
"Indeed," snorted the stern woman. "Went into his office to steal something of importance and both received a week with Hagrid and his cauldron cakes." The staff shared a chuckle at the thought. "Perhaps more punishment than he thought. How did you know?"
"I heard the Carrows cackling about how they went into the Headmaster's office right afterwards and took the sword to their master, before the Headmaster so much as returned from escorting the pair to the tower," the astronomy professor shrugged. "On my way back to my rooms from a sixth year class, you know. He did not sound pleased in the least. Glad I could skirt around that argument."
As the rest of the faculty shared their weekly updates on their students, the Carrows, and their headmaster, Minerva fought a deep frown. She now had the evidence that Hermione and the boys needed, and it did not please her. The woman hoped that the young witch would have something up her sleeve. If not with her own creation, then with some research. Ears caught onto conversation as it switched to the holiday and scheduling, her name spoken by Filius.
"...And we know Minerva always goes to Samhain in the Irish festival grounds," his high tenor hummed, perusing the parchment in front of him. "Very good of the headmaster to give you the weekend off, I say."
"I did not expect it," she answered truthfully. "You would think, with how near locked down the school is, he would not allow me, of all people, to leave."
"It's not wholly unexpected, though," mused Pomona. "You see, Severus has always honored the old ways, himself. I'm sure he is more understanding of your devotion. He also has time off this weekend, you see, and that man is a workaholic if I ever knew one."
A general murmur of agreement swept through the room once more, and, soon enough, the meeting broke up. Instead of walking towards her chambers, Minerva meandered towards the hospital wing, needing to speak with the mediwitch. They typically went together to the festival grounds, and this year planned on stopping afterwards to visit Hermione. Her mind abuzz, she stepped into her friend's domain to plan what would prove to be quite the interesting weekend.
"And where did you get these potions, Mister Robings?" the stern, concerned voice of the nurse rung out.
"I-I don't know, Madam Pomfrey," the boy sniffled. "Professor C-Carrow had m-me under the c-crutiartus and when it stopped, it as there. I heard the Headmaster talking t-to Professor Carrow and l-left when he sh-shooed me away."
"Very well," she sighed, Minerva finding her way towards the office, hearing, "Drink all of it down, good lad, and now this, good. In the morning, if you are feeling well, I will release you. Just sleep for now."
Still silence took place of the fussing. Minerva chuckled as she heard her friend coming closer and closer, her quiet mutterings amusing the tabby to no end. Catching sight of her old friend, Poppy smiled and threw up the wards, entering her office and flouncing into her chair. They called for tea, discussed the schedules, and settled on a course of action. Only then, did the matron crack.
"For the love of Merlin, it's like the boy is apologizing to me," she groused after their third shared cup. "Always with the necessary potions in their pockets or bags, just mysteriously there, as if I don't know his potions work by this point in time -ha!"
"Should I inform our illustrious Headmaster that you have forgiven his transgressions and see fit to be his honorary, adoptive mother once more?" snarked the transfiguration mistress.
"Pah," Poppy huffed, "If he is intent on this game of shadows and subtleties, I will give him a game of shadows. Not like this whole ploy made sense to start with."
"Oh?" Minerva raised a brow. "How did it not? It appears as if no one else is truly questioning his motives. Only the faculty and staff, with one or two others, are a bit more curious than not."
"That's because they haven't had to stitch him up and put him together for the past twenty five years or so," the matron sighed. "The past two years have been bad, Min. Very, very bad, and no matter how I begged Albus or him, they wouldn't relent. Then, low and behold, he comes back, bloodied, unconscious, hanging by a thread again. It's not a job you do for any other reason than it had to be done."
Brow furrowed, thin lips drew into a frown. Rarely had they Order thought of what Severus must have gone through as a spy for their side. They simply accepted he did it. Out of sight, out of mind, no one saw the consequences of that role. Oh, she saw the limps, how thin he became, or how pale he'd be, but never had Minerva connected the dots. Blood rushed from her face thinking of the horrors the man must live through, even to this day, and saw her friend's point.
"Don't feel bad, Min," Poppy patted her right arm. "Severus is a proud boy who doesn't want anyone to see his weakness or suffering. Goodness knows he becomes even more petulant when he needs help, and that is with me. I imagine he'd be insufferable if he thought anyone else figured it out, let alone knew. No, I didn't see Albus' death like so many other did. I only hope others will come to see him the way I do."
"There's chance for that yet, Poppy," Minerva murmured. "And with some luck, it will be very soon."