October 1997
Samhain dawned, cool and crisp, at Garden Meadow. Hermione stretched as Tifty brought her morning tea and crackers. With a small smile, she began gathering her things. Morning ablutions flew by in a flurry of natural oils and attempting to tame her wild hair. Forgoing her normal dress, Hermione slipped on the woolen, traditional robes. With one, last, searching glance into the thankfully quiet mirror, she swirled out of her rooms.
With pockets full of offerings, a small, black journal, and her wand, Hermione began her trek to the apparation point. The elves shoved tea and breakfast at her, not hearing of her leaving before "feeding the Mistress and her baby." Bemused and exasperated, the brunette witch sat down and pondered house elves' love of children. At half nine, chuckles followed the witch out the door as squeaky voices gave her advice for the day.
"And don't be forgetting the foods for the baby," Tilly instructed, face serious and intent.
"I won't," Hermione smiled.
"And if yous gets too cold, goes to the fires," another elf nodded.
"Or gets the blanket we packed fors you," a third intoned.
"We's can't be taking care of yous as we's should," Tilly added with a nod.
"I understand," the witch replied, amused. "But I can take care of myself for the evening."
"And if all goes wells, we's gets a Master," the third elf, Piny, clapped.
"We's would like to has a proper family," squeaked Laty, the second elf.
"I'd like a proper family, too," Hermione agreed. "Now, if I could, I would bend down and hug you all-" to which a chorus of high pitched protest answered, "-but seeing as I can't, I won't. I will see you all tomorrow. Make sure the guest quarters are set up for Augusta, and two extra rooms aired out in case Minerva and Poppy wish to stay the night."
"We's will, Mistress," Tilly intoned, the others nodding all around her.
"Wonderful," a happy clap answered. "Now, wish me luck. I'm going to need it."
Cries of good luck followed her out the door as it closed behind her. A shiver of anticipation slid down her back as her feet trod the now familiar gravel path. Just beyond the wards, Hermione turned back and reflected on her home. Augusta assured her, time and time again, that her family would grow into the size. Minerva insisted that her grandbabies be raised in a proper homestead. Yet, Hermione couldn't help but fear the alternative. What if her plea fell on deaf ears? A tangy gust blew her hair and robes, ruffling in the wind like wings. It won't be from lack of trying if he doesn't accept me, Hermione thought, fierce and determined.
A crack echoed through the wood, and in a moment, she found herself in the beautiful grounds. Colorful hues painted the clearing, magically sustained for the holiday. Already, celebrants gathered in groups, eating and talking. Feet wandered across the clearings, finger tips brushing the stones and trees. Old magic radiated from the very ground she walked. Many knowing smiles greeted her at every turn, people asking after her health. The causal acceptance and commiseration from several women in similar conditions heartened the brunette. Anxiety eased away as the sun climbed in the sky.
Hot, non-alcoholic cider in hand, Hermione passes several enjoyable hours with her Cornwall friends, talking about children and gardens. She found them to be a witch and muggle, joined together by the festival over thirty years prior. Together, they traversed the ever growing crowd. Evening drew ever nearer, and the knot of anticipation and anxiety reformed in the pit of her stomach once more. As before, she settled upon one of the hay bales. Merry makers laughed all around, music filtering through the crowd. Excited dancers twirled around the center, and the same, ethereal aura settled upon the grounds.
Resplendent oranges, lavenders, pinks, and reds colored the sky when the sun set for the day, casting a warm glow upon the celebrants. Toes tapped to the rhythmic drums and strings as darkness wrapped the grounds in it's embrace. Mage lights flickered around the grounds, casting an eerie, cool glow upon the revelers. Music crescendoed, swelling and growing, only to suddenly end, as the previous hypnotic sway of dancers and drums stopped. From the distant end of the clearing, the elders entered, robes billowing out dramatically.
A sense of excited anticipation weaved through the air, thick and fragrant with incense. Once within the circle of unlit bonfires, guttural chants echoed across the gathering. Magic swirled around each individual, pulsing with a life of it's own. Eyes fluttered closed, power filled her, and soon, only sensation remained. The last, loud syllable, shouted for all to hear, rolled over her. An orgasmic power spiked through her body, pleasurable and warm.
Figured blurred into a chromatic mess. Greens twirled with pinks, as blues melded into orange and yellows into red. Body swayed, enthralled with the sight before her. All around, fellow festival goers laughed and danced, magic twisting through and around each individual. The thrall pulled at her, and Hermione allowed herself to live in the moment, aware of nothing but the festival.
Suddenly, a lick of warmth slid down her spine. Alert and ready, brown curls flung to the side as eyes hunted for the source of the delicious heat. To her left, some ways off, she saw the midnight blue swirls of her mate. Goddess, already to the fore, purred to life at the familiar feel of his magic. A slow smile bloomed upon her face. Hermione stood, swaying to the drum beats filling the air. She purposefully slid into the crowd, throwing a feminine smirk behind her. For a quarter hour, they played an intricate game of cat and mouse. Every time he got close, she would disappear into the dancers only to reappear further down, until she led him into the clearing from their dreams.
Shadows hid her as she watched a shade glide into the grassy retreat. The same, powerful aura surrounded him, calming yet exciting. His sure, graceful gait led him towards her, and, before he could touch her, Hermione held his hands and spun in his arms. A warm, strong torso pressed against her back, and, for the first time in a long time, she sighed. Tranquility and belonging flooded her being, allowing her to completely relax if but for a moment. She felt his sigh, contented and relaxed, as he slowly put his arms around her, only to stiffen. Here we go, Hermione sighed, ready to fight tooth and claw.
"I see the dreams were not false," his thrice twined voice murmured in her ear, apprehension coloring his tone.
"And I cannot be happier," girl, woman, and crone hummed as she snuggled into his arms.
"Is that so?" the bland response.
"Yes," the murmured response, "I find I am anticipating motherhood with growing excitement each passing day." Hermione twined her hands with his, guiding them into a loose hug. "I love our child very much, more than I thought possible."
"You don't say," he breathed, body tense and arms unmoving around her. "I cannot imagine this being an acceptable outcome."
"It is rather ill timed," Hermione demurred, "but I cannot find it in myself to be upset by this. Really, when is a good time to have a child?" Small hands guided large to her growing stomach. "There is only one thing missing from my picture of happiness, though."
"And what could that be?" Her mate asked a moment later.
Turning her head, breath whispered into his ear, "The father."
His throat bobbed with the gulp, as her nose nuzzled. She could hear all of the objections still stuck in his chest before he voiced them. Arms began to hold her tighter. Patient as can be, Hermione allowed her mate to gather his thoughts. Hips softly swayed to the distant music.
"Am I to assume you wish for me to be that father?" His voice thick with emotion.
"There will be no other," she answered.
"And if I cannot, will not?" her mate further questioned, a type of urgency in his voice.
"Then, there our child will not have a father," her trembling voice provided, hands unconsciously gripping his tighter. "Surely, you must know that I am your's, and only your's."
He shuddered once more under her touch, arms holding her close. Cinnamon eyes closed, soaking in the comfort of his arms. Warm air tickled her ear and top of her head. Yet, she still felt the conflict raging within him.
"You will not wish to be with me once you find out who I truly am," he breathed, "I will not be good for you or our child. I will only bring pain and difficulty into your lives."
"Let me be the judge of that, will you?" a light, airy tone responded. "I assure you that, no matter who you are, I will want you. I do want you, right now. You, this child, and the others we decide to have." He stiffened once more, the air stilling in his lungs. With a soft, tinkling laugh, Hermione continued, "Yes, I want more children with you, and only with you."
"How can you say that without looking at my face?" an almost angry question shot from him.
"Last I checked, the ancient magics match those most compatible. You will find I am not particularly vain, that I judged a person by their actions and abilities rather than their appearance," her tart retort. "I'm not exactly the most attractive person, either."
"Somehow, I highly doubt that," he dryly remarked.
"Pray, give me the courtesy of at least forming my own opinions," she wryly stated. "You may find my conclusions quite shocking."
"Then humor me," his voice slid over her senses. "If I were to say no, what exactly would happen?"
"You will never see or hear from either of us again," she sighed, small and vulnerable. "I will respect your wishes. I just ask that you think about it. I know you that you want a family. It would be my pride and pleasure to give you one." Hermione guided his hands to caress the full curve of her growing torso. "Just as I know you enjoy seeing me swell and grow with your child." One hand slip up to her full chest, "In addition to my new form being most pleasing to you."
He shuddered behind her, hands slowly, tentatively roaming, feeling cataloging. Pleasant warmth followed his fingertips, eliciting a purr and arch from the witch. Apprehension fought the burgeoning hope. Here stood a woman who represented more than just a mate and family, but a new lease on life, and she knew it. A spark of instinctive knowledge filled Hermione, her goddess lending a helping hand as she just knew.
She led one hand to her swollen stomach once more, and whispered, "You wouldn't leave your son without his father, would you?"
A heartbeat of silence followed another, as the wizard behind her stilled completely and stopped breathing.
"M-my son?" he choked, voice full of emotion.
"Mhm," her serene voice murmured, pressing his hand to her, "He's right here, saying hello. Can't you feel him? He's saying hello to his daddy."
Indeed, she felt the flutter within her. Not for the first time within the last few weeks did she feel the peculiar sensation. Each occurrence made her heart swell, and she could feel the last of her wizard's resistance crumbling as those same small movements shook his reality. Tentative and slow, strong arms wrapped around her waist, face buried in her hair. The hold felt tight, possessive, hopeful, like a piece of her finally clicked into place. All the while, one hand tenderly stroked her in a soothing, repetitive motion. Time passed, only the distant sounds of the festival and the breathing of her mate met her ears.
"You are a persistent witch," a hot puff of air tickled the side of her face.
"And you quite enjoy it," she chuckled.
"Perhaps," he nuzzled her as he relaxed into the hold. "Though, I must say, I did not know that women typically were this large so soon. You cannot be more than five months along."
"Not even, though close," a slow, relaxed grin grew on her face, happiness radiating from her. "Apparently, festival children and those of ancient magics grow large. Of course, part of it is that my mother's side is known to grow large. Don't worry, we are healthy, if on the large side."
"I am glad to hear," her mate purred, lightly nibbling her ear. "And you are quite right," his slow and gentle ministrations continued, "I find these changes more than acceptable and agreeable."
The moon shone down on them once more, as he showed her just how agreeable he found her. In return, she showered him in affectionate touches, demonstrating her happiness at his acceptance. Before the night ended, she rummaged about in her robes for the journal. Small, black, and in the form of most research journals, two silver owls sat on a branch, with a black, leather strap holding the cover closed.
"I want you to have this," she handed him her gift. "A way to communicate. Only you will be able to see the words, and the handwriting will appear generic. I have it's twin with me." A similar journal emerged from her robes. "It will chime when there is a message, and appear as something innocuous to others. Should you wish to converse and perhaps consciously get to know one another better."
"This is a marvelous piece of magic," her mate murmured, leaning forward and giving her a lingering kiss. "I cannot thank you enough."
"Allowing me to care for you is all I ask," she responded, tone fierce and earnest.
"And if I wish to see you once more, outside of the festival?"
"You must ask my mother, of sorts, for me," she smirked, "I cannot have just anyone coming in unannounced."
"Oh?" he asked, inquisitive and bemused.
"Of course not," her tinkling laugh filled the air. "Our home is rather well protected, you will find. Merlin, himself, would not be able to find it, let alone enter. I do believe you will be quite proud of some of the wards about the place. You are welcome to add whatever you wish necessary. Perhaps make it impervious to a century's siege instead of several decades."
"Color me intrigued," he murmured, lips trailing kisses down her neck. "And we have a home? What must I know about it?"
"Well, it is up north," she tried to answer, coherency flying out the window with every touch. "Along the ocean. There is ample space for several gardens, and, ah," she moaned, "several rooms and suites to fill."
"Is that a challenge?" he growled after a moment of blissful sensation.
"A promise," the lusty groan, "Definitely a promise."
November 1997
Golden rays of light pierced through shut eyelids. Eyes fluttered open, and arms flung out. No warm spot underneath the quilts, and yet, a feeling of supreme satisfaction filled the brunette. The wheels moved on their own now, and, hopefully, they went her way. With a smug smile, she sat up and redressed, cooing to her round abdomen. Her hand rested on herself as she walked towards the main festival grounds. Her large smile never faded.
Sitting towards one side upon a hay bale, she conjured her patronus and blinked. Instead of her ever cheeky and fun loving otter, before her fluttered a large eagle owl. Unable to recall the last time she cast the charm, as far back as the attack last June, Hermione studied the bird as it hovered around her. Shaking her head, an uttered message sent the bird on it's way. Keen eyes observed the mess of limbs and quilts, robes and cloaks around her. Revelers slept on, most awake long after the moon set. A stifled yawn reminded the young witch of her own lack of sleep.
"Ah, there you are lass," a familiar Scottish brogue called out.
"Minerva, it's good to see you again," she gave her mentor a shy smile.
"As it my pleasure," the stern witch smiled, "and look at you! My, how you've both grown. I say you are simply radiant."
Hermione looked down, a pleased blush coloring her cheeks. A booming laugh followed, and cinnamon eyes glanced upwards to find the frank Augusta close with the mediwitch. She beamed at the older women, and walked forward to greet each. Both witches complimented her appearance and progress, Augusta particularly effusive as she had yet to see the young witch. They stood for half an hour before another large yawn wracked through Hermione.
"And that is our cue to leave," the nurse tutted, bustling the others along. "You need your rest, and we can cluck just as well over tea in your home."
The three women walked as Hermione more so waddled towards the nearest apparation point. Within moments, they stood in front of the charming homestead in Scotland, happily chatting amongst themselves. As soon as they neared the doors, an excited Tilly opened it and tittered. Several more elves appeared, taking cloaks and bags, bringing tea, and generally fussing around Hermione. Soon, all tucked upon the large chaise, the older ladies questioned the younger.
"And what of your evening, darling?" Augusta asked, prim and proper with her cup of tea. Hermione could only smile. "Ah, that well, I see."
"Oh yes," she gushed. "I was worried for a time. Of course, it came as a shock when he realized I am truly pregnant. He must've thought it was projection of his desires in our dreams. Afterwards, he tried to distance himself."
"Men can be quite daft," Poppy nodded in understanding.
"Quite thick, indeed," Hermione laughed. "I told him, several times, that I am quite happy and content, even. I am enjoying being pregnant now, seeing the changes in myself, and feeling the connection. I never knew I could feel so much love for a being who isn't even part of the world yet. It is rather amazing."
"It truly is a miracle," Augusta smiled, wistful lilt to her voice.
"Of course, he was convinced otherwise," the younger witch added with a wry smile.
"Even the most intelligent of their sex can be as thick as the stones that make up Hogwarts," Minerva snorted.
"I know," she exclaimed. "I've been best friends with Harry and Ronald for the past six and some years."
"That would make you quite familiar with the rather nonsensical and illogical way of boys and men," smirked the transfiguration professor.
"And the injuries they incur upon themselves for no particular reason," sighed the matron. "Speaking of which, stand up, missy. While I'm here, you will be getting a good looking over."
Obligingly, the brunette stood, smoothing down her robes and holding her arms out. A wand tip scanned over her, from head to toe, the matron nodding and clucking all the while. Another flick caused her stomach to glow blue, and one final swish filled the room with a steady heartbeat. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as the steady thrum filled the room. Eyes blinked back unexpected tears, as she laid her hand caressed her round stomach.
"It all checks out, dearie," the matron smiled, voice soft. "You have a healthy baby boy." Hermione gulped back the unexpected emotion. "Now then, sit down and swaddle back up. You still need your rest after last night."
"And you've yet to finish your tale," Augusta added, "We expect details, darling. Just because we got distracted doesn't excuse you from telling a proper tale."
"Ah well," Hermione dabbed her face with a handkerchief as she settled back down. "He kept resisting, and so I continued giving him reason and reassurance. I touched upon a few things I knew from our nights together. He tried to deny it each time."
"Pah, men," Poppy huffed, disgusted and amused at once.
"And so, I kept on breaking those walls down until he finally accepted that I want him in our lives," the brunette witch began to beam. "Hearing he had a son did him in, I think. I don't believe he thought it possible to be a father, let alone have someone look up to him and adore him without reservation. It is an intoxicating though. I simply forced him to acknowledge it."
"My, my, emotional blackmail, Miss Granger," tutted Minerva, who wore an amused, feline expression. "How very Slytherin of you."
"I prefer to say determined, persistent, and resourceful in the acquisition of what I want," her prim retort.
"Excuse my scepticism," snorted the cat animagi. "You have lead us on a merry chase for the past few months, my dear. I do believe we are owed some rather pertinent information."
A twinge of nervousness twisted through Hermione at those words. The big reveal to, perhaps, her greatest supporters. The illogical wish that they would not revile her mate, hate him upon the reveal swirled around her. She knew the rest of the Order, and especially her best friends, would never understand as it stood at this moment. Hope suffused her that these women would understand and accept them.
"And what, pray tell, do you wish to learn?" her coy question.
"Stalling is unbecoming of a young lady such as you," Augusta huffed, sitting taller. "You are not ashamed of him, are you?"
"No," she exclaimed. "Absolutely not! Quite the opposite. In fact, I am rather proud of him. He is clever, intelligent, and powerful, as well as brave. I couldn't have picked better. We are really well suited."
"Then, there is no harm in telling us," Poppy soothed, shooting accusing glances at the other woman. "We will support you no matter the circumstances."
Hermione gazed at all three women in front of her, weighing and judging. No recrimination, nor judgement, colored their gazes. Instead, they appeared rather eager and waiting with baited breath for the answer. A large lungful of air rushed in, and slowly left as she readied herself. Now was the time.
"My mate, if he will truly have me, is Severus," she breathed, a weight lifting from her chest. "Severus Snape."