"Mr. Longbottom!" roared 'vile Professor Snape.'
The class of seventh years fell silent as Snape stalked the rows of desks, making his way to the trembling young man. His eyes downcast, he followed the trails of melted cauldron and mangled potion as they eased across the wooden table and onto the stone floor. Snape stopped behind the terrified student and breathed down his neck with irritation.
"I believe that is the fourth cauldron you have melted since you lost the oh-so-helpful potions partner that is now my wife, Mr. Longbottom," he hissed. "Do tell me that you can make a potion without her assistance, or I may find you back in this seat next fall. And that would make me *most* displeased."
Neville squeaked slightly and squirmed in his seat.
"As it is, you will find Mr. Filch this evening at 8 p.m. for detention," Snape said in exasperation. "I'm sure he will find something for you to do. And clean this mess up."
Snape moved to sit at his desk and read over the notes that Lupin had made the night before on Muggle narcotics. The Gryffindors appeared to relax, relieved that he hadn't taken any points away. He noticed the tangible reduction in tension and said, without so much as a glance away from his papers: "Oh, and Mr. Longbottom, please note the 20 points that I have taken away from Gryffindor."
His daily 'lion hunt' over, Snape attempted to concentrate on the notes in front of him. Instead his thoughts drifted to his marriage, to Hermione and their child. Faith. His lips silently formed the word: Faith. He stifled a chuckle. That name would definitely cause some students to lose their tenuous grips on reality, the potions master thought wryly. As if the idea that he was reproducing wasn't hard enough on them. He slipped the magical sonogram photo out of his pocket stealthily and stared at it, trying to memorize her little face and hands. If he died at the next Death Eaters meeting, he wanted to hold Faith and Hermione's faces in his mind until the final moment.
'Soon,' he thought. 'Soon the battle will start all over again. I'm so tired of fighting.'
Snape only vaguely noticed when the class ended and dinnertime drew close. Hermione joined him in the classroom and managed to drop her textbooks on a desk before moving to her cauldron and picking up where she had left off the night before. She carefully cast a spell to protect her from the fumes and went to work, rubbing her lower back and neck occasionally.
Observing her through lowered eyelashes, he watched his witch work over her cauldron. Images suddenly came to mind of Hermione bending over the bassinet in their bedroom - empty now, but in his imagination, host to a squirming, pink infant. His mind skipped from their bedroom to the Hospital Wing and he envisioned Hermione, sweaty, tired and happy while holding their child for the first time. His mind flashed years into the future and he pictured himself escorting a young woman with Hermione's features and his hair down the aisle at her wedding, while a beautifully aged Hermione cried. Shaking his head at that image, he returned his thoughts to his wife. He glanced over at her now, her eyes squinting in concentration as she worked on their potion for the umpteenth time. He wished suddenly that she could be sitting in their quarters, nesting or gestating or whatever it is that women do in their final trimester. 'She shouldn't be working so hard,' he thought sadly. 'She should be enjoying this - *we* should be enjoying this.'
Smiling slightly, Snape thought about the year to come, the birth, the moments, the milestones ahead. Christmas this year had been ruined by the Dark Mark - he was determined that it would not happen again for Faith's first Christmas. There would be laughter this coming year for the holidays. A towering Christmas tree in their quarters, icicles sparkling from every inch of the ceiling and a pile of toys and presents to open on Christmas morning. A vision of Hermione and their child lying on the rug in front of his fireplace, asleep or perhaps nursing happily in the sparkling shadow of their tree, sent a shiver up his spine.
Looking at his wife now and her somehow elegant swell, his heart nearly broke.
'I have to come back,' he thought. 'I finally have everything to live for.'
Snape stood and silently walked the short distance between himself and his wife. Slipping up behind her and putting his arms gently around her expanded middle, he buried her face in her curly hair and sighed. Leaning back into his embrace, Hermione relaxed for the first time that day.
"Tired, love?" Snape murmured.
"Yes, magic is more and more difficult as I get bigger and bigger," she said, frustration evident in her voice. "I know it's normal for a witch, just as concentration and things like breathing are difficult for Muggles and witches when they get this far along. But, I feel a bit helpless when I'm not as powerful. And that makes my classes that much more difficult. Let's just say I won't be finishing my college career with a perfect record."
Snape quirked an eyebrow at her and looked concerned. He turned her to face him and took her chin in his hand, turning her to face him.
"Hermione, are you fine with that? I know how important your scores are to you," he said, sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do? Why don't you take some time off from our work and meetings? The rest of us can handle things."
Hermione smiled and took his free hand, guiding it to a particularly powerful kick near her ribcage. He grinned at her for a moment before sighing and becoming serious once again.
"I mean it, love," he said. "I don't want you to overdo and I don't want you to sacrifice the grades that are so important to you."
"My grades aren't that important. I'll still finish with a good overall performance, don't worry. But there are more important things in my life right now," Hermione shrugged. "I guess my priorities have changed. I'm just looking forward to finishing school and being a full-time mom for a while."
Snape snorted. "That will last about three months, I guarantee. You'll need a project and start bothering me or you'll take over my lab or you'll beg Albus for some type of job."
Hermione just smiled serenely.
"You may be right," she said softly. "But right now, being a wife and mother sounds awfully good. Normal. Calm. Right."
"I know what you mean," Snape sighed. "I'm tired of turmoil."
Hermione's magical timer went off and she moved out of Snape's arms and over to her cauldron tiredly. He followed her and took the ingredients from her and led her to a stool that he quickly transfigured into a squashy armchair. He kissed her on the forehead and walked back to their latest trial to finish the potion. After a few moments, he had the new ingredients bubbling away and he turned to urge his wife to return to their quarters and get some rest. To his surprise, she already was. She was slumped in the armchair, one hand under her chin, the other on her stomach - softly snoring.
"I love you, Hermione," he whispered, as he conjured a soft blanket to cover her. Moments later, his wife was snuggled into the blanket and against his chest as he quietly walked through the corridors to their quarters with her in his arms.
The class of seventh years fell silent as Snape stalked the rows of desks, making his way to the trembling young man. His eyes downcast, he followed the trails of melted cauldron and mangled potion as they eased across the wooden table and onto the stone floor. Snape stopped behind the terrified student and breathed down his neck with irritation.
"I believe that is the fourth cauldron you have melted since you lost the oh-so-helpful potions partner that is now my wife, Mr. Longbottom," he hissed. "Do tell me that you can make a potion without her assistance, or I may find you back in this seat next fall. And that would make me *most* displeased."
Neville squeaked slightly and squirmed in his seat.
"As it is, you will find Mr. Filch this evening at 8 p.m. for detention," Snape said in exasperation. "I'm sure he will find something for you to do. And clean this mess up."
Snape moved to sit at his desk and read over the notes that Lupin had made the night before on Muggle narcotics. The Gryffindors appeared to relax, relieved that he hadn't taken any points away. He noticed the tangible reduction in tension and said, without so much as a glance away from his papers: "Oh, and Mr. Longbottom, please note the 20 points that I have taken away from Gryffindor."
His daily 'lion hunt' over, Snape attempted to concentrate on the notes in front of him. Instead his thoughts drifted to his marriage, to Hermione and their child. Faith. His lips silently formed the word: Faith. He stifled a chuckle. That name would definitely cause some students to lose their tenuous grips on reality, the potions master thought wryly. As if the idea that he was reproducing wasn't hard enough on them. He slipped the magical sonogram photo out of his pocket stealthily and stared at it, trying to memorize her little face and hands. If he died at the next Death Eaters meeting, he wanted to hold Faith and Hermione's faces in his mind until the final moment.
'Soon,' he thought. 'Soon the battle will start all over again. I'm so tired of fighting.'
Snape only vaguely noticed when the class ended and dinnertime drew close. Hermione joined him in the classroom and managed to drop her textbooks on a desk before moving to her cauldron and picking up where she had left off the night before. She carefully cast a spell to protect her from the fumes and went to work, rubbing her lower back and neck occasionally.
Observing her through lowered eyelashes, he watched his witch work over her cauldron. Images suddenly came to mind of Hermione bending over the bassinet in their bedroom - empty now, but in his imagination, host to a squirming, pink infant. His mind skipped from their bedroom to the Hospital Wing and he envisioned Hermione, sweaty, tired and happy while holding their child for the first time. His mind flashed years into the future and he pictured himself escorting a young woman with Hermione's features and his hair down the aisle at her wedding, while a beautifully aged Hermione cried. Shaking his head at that image, he returned his thoughts to his wife. He glanced over at her now, her eyes squinting in concentration as she worked on their potion for the umpteenth time. He wished suddenly that she could be sitting in their quarters, nesting or gestating or whatever it is that women do in their final trimester. 'She shouldn't be working so hard,' he thought sadly. 'She should be enjoying this - *we* should be enjoying this.'
Smiling slightly, Snape thought about the year to come, the birth, the moments, the milestones ahead. Christmas this year had been ruined by the Dark Mark - he was determined that it would not happen again for Faith's first Christmas. There would be laughter this coming year for the holidays. A towering Christmas tree in their quarters, icicles sparkling from every inch of the ceiling and a pile of toys and presents to open on Christmas morning. A vision of Hermione and their child lying on the rug in front of his fireplace, asleep or perhaps nursing happily in the sparkling shadow of their tree, sent a shiver up his spine.
Looking at his wife now and her somehow elegant swell, his heart nearly broke.
'I have to come back,' he thought. 'I finally have everything to live for.'
Snape stood and silently walked the short distance between himself and his wife. Slipping up behind her and putting his arms gently around her expanded middle, he buried her face in her curly hair and sighed. Leaning back into his embrace, Hermione relaxed for the first time that day.
"Tired, love?" Snape murmured.
"Yes, magic is more and more difficult as I get bigger and bigger," she said, frustration evident in her voice. "I know it's normal for a witch, just as concentration and things like breathing are difficult for Muggles and witches when they get this far along. But, I feel a bit helpless when I'm not as powerful. And that makes my classes that much more difficult. Let's just say I won't be finishing my college career with a perfect record."
Snape quirked an eyebrow at her and looked concerned. He turned her to face him and took her chin in his hand, turning her to face him.
"Hermione, are you fine with that? I know how important your scores are to you," he said, sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do? Why don't you take some time off from our work and meetings? The rest of us can handle things."
Hermione smiled and took his free hand, guiding it to a particularly powerful kick near her ribcage. He grinned at her for a moment before sighing and becoming serious once again.
"I mean it, love," he said. "I don't want you to overdo and I don't want you to sacrifice the grades that are so important to you."
"My grades aren't that important. I'll still finish with a good overall performance, don't worry. But there are more important things in my life right now," Hermione shrugged. "I guess my priorities have changed. I'm just looking forward to finishing school and being a full-time mom for a while."
Snape snorted. "That will last about three months, I guarantee. You'll need a project and start bothering me or you'll take over my lab or you'll beg Albus for some type of job."
Hermione just smiled serenely.
"You may be right," she said softly. "But right now, being a wife and mother sounds awfully good. Normal. Calm. Right."
"I know what you mean," Snape sighed. "I'm tired of turmoil."
Hermione's magical timer went off and she moved out of Snape's arms and over to her cauldron tiredly. He followed her and took the ingredients from her and led her to a stool that he quickly transfigured into a squashy armchair. He kissed her on the forehead and walked back to their latest trial to finish the potion. After a few moments, he had the new ingredients bubbling away and he turned to urge his wife to return to their quarters and get some rest. To his surprise, she already was. She was slumped in the armchair, one hand under her chin, the other on her stomach - softly snoring.
"I love you, Hermione," he whispered, as he conjured a soft blanket to cover her. Moments later, his wife was snuggled into the blanket and against his chest as he quietly walked through the corridors to their quarters with her in his arms.