By the end of Wednesday's Potion's class, Hermione's nerves were stretched
to the point of screaming. Professor Cluny, and amiable if inept teacher,
had assigned them a simple Liquifying potion, used for preparing other
potion ingredients for later use in other concoctions. It had been part of
their sixth year curriculum, and Hermione could have created in her sleep.
While the other Gryffindors and Slytherins dawdled their way through the brewing process, she concentrated on her cauldron, chopping and stirring with a determined concentration that kept her thoughts occupied and off her situation. Across the room Draco Malfoy gave her a long look, apparently attempting to fluster her, but she ignored him and kept working. From the moment he'd seen Hermione's Head Girl's badge on the platform at King's Cross Station, Malfoy had changed his normal harassment methods to a subtle, lascivious manner that was as relentless as it was unwelcome. His endless innuendo and sly comments had escalated even further in the recent weeks, and given the revelations of the last few days, she was certain Malfoy Senior must have told his son some of what had occurred on Halloween.
Her potion finished, she extinguished the flame to let it cool and dragged out her Runes textbook, but the printed words on the page could not keep the image of Severus Snape's wasted form out of her thoughts. Intense studying and her other duties had kept her mind occupied for the last few days, but here in Snape's domain, where the echo of his tense energy and vitriolic domination kept most of the students quiet and orderly in his Potions class, she could not control her thoughts. Lack of sleep didn't help either. Reading late into the evening until she was sure she'd fall asleep the moment she was under the covers had worked for the previous few nights, but it had been utterly useless last night. Lying in her darkened room with her hand on her flat stomach, she'd tried to imagine having a child.
The nuns who had taught at her primary school had railed against abortion. On the other hand, the masses of unwashed, underfed, poor and miserable children in commercials begging money for charities across the world had led her to wonder if there might be another alternative for those women. At the time, however, she'd only been ten years old, and the subject had remained nothing more than an academic debate to her since she was too young to even be interested in sex.
Now, however, she had been plunged directly into argument. A baby was growing inside her. Hermione had lain on her bed for more than an hour, running her hands over her belly. The undeniable fact that she had been violated remained an unreal and almost abstract concept, and the circumstances of how she became pregnant were only secondary to the fact that she was pregnant. The thought had come to her, just as she had drifted over the edge of sleep, that the child would almost have to be a whiz of a wizard at potions, given the respective genetic heritage. And she could always teach the child how to wash his hair.
Loud scraping noises from stools on the flagstone floor startled her, and she hastily gathered her books together and stuffed them in the battered rucksack she'd carried since her first year at Hogwarts. Waiting for her chance to join the throng of exiting students, a gentle throat clearing behind her made her wilt.
"Miss Granger?"
Reluctantly Hermione turned back to Professor Cluny. "Yes, sir?"
"This is a Potions class. I would appreciate it if you would study potions here. If you're unable to finish your other homework in time, I might suggest you cut back on your course load." From Snape it would have been scathing sarcasm; from Cluny it was regretful concern and nearly apologetic in tone. Hermione gave him a weak acknowledgement and left in the wake of her classmates.
The heavy door of the Potions room had barely closed behind her when a strong hand grabbed her arm and a warm, hard body pushed her against the wall. "Hello, Mudblood. Lose something?"
"Only my lunch, if you don't get away from me," she responded angrily. "Let go, Malfoy." She had to tilt her head far back to look into Draco's face; he'd shot up in height in the last two years and was nearly as tall as Ron these days. His aristocratic facial structure and platinum blond hair had many girls at Hogwarts fascinated with him; Hermione, however, was not one of them.
"Oh, I don't think so, Granger," Malfoy drawled. "Your two playmates left you here, and now I've found you. I'm not sure you're worth keeping, but you could be fun to play with." His hand left her arm and began to slide up her chest, reminding her once more how tender her breasts had been over the past week.
"Go play with yourself, Malfoy!" Hermione slapped at his hands, but he was taller and stronger than she, and she bit back a gasp as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the cold stone by her head. His chest pushed against her as he kissed her ruthlessly, taking her by surprise. His tongue was hot as it slipped between her lips before he slid his open mouth against her jawline.
"I know that traitor Snape has had you, Mudblood," he whispered. The sensation of his lips brushing the edge of her ear made her shiver, while his words terrified her. "I hear you're really good. And what's good for him is good for me." Malfoy emphasized his words with a thrust of his hips against hers, and Hermione's frozen shock suddenly erupted into fury. His ear was only inches away from her mouth, and as she sank her teeth into the tempting target, he let out a satisfying howl and jerked away from her.
Hermione had her wand out in a flash, leveled at his crotch. "Twenty-five points from Slytherin, Malfoy, and I swear the next time you come near me I'll hex you so bad Madame Pomfrey will have to charm it back on before you can pee again!"
Swiping at the blood dribbling down his neck, Draco shot her a look of pure venom. "Don't pretend you're too good for whoring, Granger. My father told me what a slut you are!"
"Did he really?" Hermione demanded, shaking with rage. "What exactly did he say? Anything you want to repeat in front of a Ministry inquiry?"
The contempt on his face flickered with just a touch of confusion before returning to his customary sneer. The Potions classroom door behind them opened suddenly, and they both swiftly adopted neutral expressions as Professor Cluny entered the corridor. He blinked at them, then smiled at Hermione, obviously sensing nothing amiss.
"Ah, Miss Granger. Madame Pomfrey was just on the floo, asking if you were still here. She wanted you to come up to the Hospital wing."
"Thank you, Professor. I'll be on my way, then. Unless there was something else I needed to explain to you, Draco?" she asked, sweet malice in her voice.
Not waiting for him to answer, she hitched her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the staircase that led out of the dungeons. She kept her wand at the ready in the folds of her robes, but Malfoy made no move to follow her.
Several long corridors and flights of stairs later, Hermione let herself into Madame Pomfrey's domain and stopped upon seeing Albus Dumbledore waiting for her. He was gazing out the tall mullioned windows, but turned when he heard the door open.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Are you feeling well?"
It was an appropriately general question to ask anyone entering the Hospital wing in the middle of the afternoon, but she knew the Headmaster was asking specifically about her situation. She nodded. Dumbledore offered a sweet from the ever-present bag pulled from a pocket of his robes, which she refused, then asked her to sit down. Hermione sat and pushed her bag under the legs of the chair with the scuffed toe of her shoe.
Looking around the room, answering Dumbledore's random comments with absent remarks of her own, her eyes were drawn to the neatly made bed at the end of the wing. A small table stood beside it, not unusual, but this table had a pewter goblet and a glass beaker of greenish fluid beside it, the tall sides beaded with condensation.
The door marked Isolation Ward opened, and Poppy Pomfrey closed it swiftly behind her as she saw the other occupants of the larger room. Her no- nonsense gaze fell on Hermione, but her first words were for Dumbledore.
"Professor Snape is resting, Albus. It was taxing for him, but I don't think he's made himself any worse. The potion is ready for you, Miss Granger."
Obediently Hermione rose and followed Pomfrey to the waiting table and bed, while Dumbledore took her abandoned chair and laced his fingers together in his lap, his attitude one of patient waiting.
Several screens rolled up at Pomfrey's summons and drifted into place around the cot. When she was satisfied with the placement of the screens, save the one that would close the patient off completely from the rest of the ward, the mediwitch placed a folded gown on the end of the bed. Next to it was a small pile of sanitary napkins, longer and wider than those supplied every month to the female students who had reached puberty.
The green fluid gurgled quietly as Pomfrey poured it into the pewter goblet. Almost immediately a haze of condensation formed on the sides, indicating how cold the contents were.
"You must drink this entirely, Miss Granger, as quickly as you can. When you're finished, I want you to put on this gown and get into bed." Pomfrey held out the goblet and Hermione took it automatically. The potion swirled in the container, bubbling at the edges where her fingers warmed the cold metal.
From the moment Madame Pomfrey had announced she was pregnant, Hermione had felt as though she were surrounded in an odd, disconnected haze. Even Malfoy's near assault in the Potions hallway had not been as real, as immediate and dangerous as it should have. The only thing that seemed entirely tangible at this moment was the frigid goblet in her hand. Against that biting cold, the potential child in her womb, the possible potions genius, loomed large in her imagination.
"I can't," she said quietly.
Madame Pomfrey huffed in annoyance.
"Miss Granger, you are seventeen years old."
"Eighteen," corrected Hermione.
"Eighteen then. The fact remains that you were not responsible for this pregnancy. No one could possibly think any less of you for taking that potion."
Steady footsteps behind her caused her to turn around and see the wise, unassuming face of Dumbledore, who merely raised a single gray eyebrow.
"Second thoughts, Miss Granger?"
"I don't know why. I simply can't." Abruptly she pushed the cup back into Pomfrey's hand and walked in a small circle, feeling trapped between the two authority figures. She took a deep breath and tried to put her thoughts into order, trying to make sense of her feelings.
"I've never really had an opinion on terminations before. It never seemed like something that concerned me. Ron's the only person I've ever thought about having as a lover, and I always thought I'd be clever enough to take precautions if I did."
"You are eighteen, Miss Granger," Dumbledore commented mildly. "It is your decision whether or not to bear this child."
Hermione crossed her arms under her breasts, noticing once more how tender they were. "Well. I've decided. To... go ahead and have the baby."
Just saying the words made her feel as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She fairly sure that it was the opposite of how she should feel, considering the difficulties she was sure to encounter, but the slow smile growing on Professor Dumbledore's face made her feel even better about her decision.
"For what it is worth, Hermione, I am heartily glad. A child is a blessing, regardless of the circumstances. You will have a difficult time ahead of you, there is no doubt, but be assured you have my full support and confidence in you." The smile grew until he positively beamed, and he patted her hand. "I'll be looking forward to seeing your child here at Hogwarts in eleven or so years."
Dumbledore left her in Madame Pomfrey's care, who tutted as she poured the potion into a large phial and stoppered it. "This potion will only be effective for the next thirty-six hours, Miss Granger. If you change your mind after that it will need to be brewed fresh. And the risks of taking it go up quite severely the further along you get."
"I won't change my mind," Hermione said firmly. She also knew from her reading that the potion was strictly discouraged after ten weeks of pregnancy, and she was already nine weeks along.
The older woman insisted on pulling the screens together and giving her a full physical, which was more thorough than any Hermione had endured before. Once she was dressed again, Hermione was ushered into Madame Pomfrey's office, where the mediwitch consulted a calendar and declared that the baby would most likely make an appearance in late July or early August.
"Being pregnant in the summer is a misery, my dear. The only advice I can give you is that you'll be so uncomfortable that you'll quite ready to have the entire thing over with by then. I think Mother Nature planned it that way, actually."
Relieved that the baby would not be born until after she had completed her classes, Hermione mentioned as much to Madame Pomfrey. She received a long look in return.
"This doesn't mean you're going to carry on as normal, Miss Granger. You'll have to make several adjustments. I'll send notes to your teachers, but the first change you'll make is no more potions testing. No dueling practices, no charms performed on you, and most definitely no transfigurations of your person. You're young and healthy, but turning yourself into a potted plant while you're pregnant is something not even Minerva would attempt. Far too dangerous."
"Does this mean I won't be able to take Apparation lessons?" asked Hermione, horrified. "I've just started the class!"
"Of course you won't," declared Madame Pomfrey. "Getting splinched during a pregnancy is just asking for a disaster. Absolutely out of the question."
Ignoring Hermione's dismay, she gave the girl a bottle of vitamin potion to take every morning and a recommendation that she do some reading in the library. Finally, she stopped fussing and let Hermione gather her things, then surprised her completely by giving her a fond pat on the cheek. "Having a baby is a great deal of work, have no doubt about that, but it does has its rewards. Now then, just use your common sense, take care of yourself, and come back to see me every three weeks. It's been a long time since I've been a midwife, but I'm still certified. If any problems come up, we can get you to St. Mungo's in no time."
Two steps away from the door, a thought crossed Hermione's mind and she stopped abruptly. Madame Pomfrey gave her a curious look.
"Professor Snape," Hermione said in a bleak voice. "He ought to know."
Pomfrey's lips pursed in thought, but she dismissed it. "He's resting now. I'll inform him of your decision later."
Hermione's back stiffened. "I think I ought to tell him personally, don't you?"
With a sniff, Madame Pomfrey gave in. Her heels clicked across the wooden floor as she led the way to the Isolation ward, where she told Hermione to wait a moment while she checked on the Professor. A few moments later she reappeared in the doorway and motioned Hermione to go through.
The inner archway was open, the room beyond it as dark and dismal as it had been several days before. A black form sat in the same chair.
"Professor Snape? May I speak to you, please?"
"I can hardly prevent you, Miss Granger." For Snape, the curt remark was positively mild, but the fact that he would not face her still made her uneasy. "You should be lying down," he added. "The potion you drank will take effect within an hour."
"I didn't take the potion."
The dark man startled slightly, betrayed only by the slight tilt of his head. "That is extremely foolish, Miss Granger. You cannot be blamed for what happened to you, and you should not have to deal the consequences of that night. Do not let Gryffindor sentimentality cloud your judgement."
"I didn't make this decision out of sentimentality or morality or anything other than my own wishes. Everyone keeps saying it's my decision, and I'm not going to change my mind. I simply wanted you to be aware of the fact."
"And now that I am aware, what do you want of me?"
Irritation flared, effectively killing any sympathy she had for the man. "I don't want anything from you, Professor. I'm not asking for anything, and I'm not expecting anything. Professor Dumbledore said that you had the right to know, and I agreed."
"Have you considered, Miss Granger, that having a Deatheater's child is a sure invitation for calamity?"
"I've no intention of letting anyone know who the father is, Professor Snape. I think we're both too squeamish for even part of the truth to be known."
Snape nodded stiffly. Hermione turned to go, but turned back as another thought occurred to her.
"Professor Snape?"
"I'm tired, Miss Granger."
"I wanted to ask you for your version of the events on Halloween night," she interrupted flatly.
Silence greeted her words, and Snape hunched over himself even further. "Your memory will return, Miss Granger," he said after a moment. "I hardly see the point in rehashing history from my point of view."
"I understand that this is difficult for you," she managed. "But no more so than for me."
He glanced at her, then away. "What has Dumbledore told you?"
"That I was taken by Deatheaters when I left the Three Broomsticks that afternoon. That you were summoned to join them, and Lucius Malfoy turned on you and cast an Imperious."
Snape nodded. "That is, at its most basic, what happened. If you wish to know the more unsavory details, Miss Granger, my recommendation would be that you wait until your memory returns. I promise you that you will not regret having gone ignorant for a longer period - in fact, you may well wish you had never regained your memories of that night."
"It's just that I don't remember anything. I simply woke up the other day. and found I was going to have a baby."
"And I tell you again that that is a preferable option. Is that all, Miss Granger?"
"No, sir, it is not," she snapped, stung by his dismissal. "If you're going to turn into a dishrag, kindly do so and get it out of your system. There's a war on."
"So I've heard," he replied in a colorless voice. Hermione was shocked at her own outburst, but plunged on.
"I also wanted to tell you that I don't blame you for anything you did that night. Professor Dumbledore told me that you were under an Imperious curse, and aren't responsible for your actions. After some thought, I have come to agree with him. I may not have liked you much, but I've always respected you. Don't think I've changed my mind, whatever has happened."
Another stiff nod acknowledged her outburst. With as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione left the ward, unconsciously mimicking his trademark sweep. As she passed Madame Pomfrey the older woman gave her a scandalized glance, but Hermione ignored her on her way out the door.
Long after she had left, Severus Snape stared at the empty doorway, lost in thought.
While the other Gryffindors and Slytherins dawdled their way through the brewing process, she concentrated on her cauldron, chopping and stirring with a determined concentration that kept her thoughts occupied and off her situation. Across the room Draco Malfoy gave her a long look, apparently attempting to fluster her, but she ignored him and kept working. From the moment he'd seen Hermione's Head Girl's badge on the platform at King's Cross Station, Malfoy had changed his normal harassment methods to a subtle, lascivious manner that was as relentless as it was unwelcome. His endless innuendo and sly comments had escalated even further in the recent weeks, and given the revelations of the last few days, she was certain Malfoy Senior must have told his son some of what had occurred on Halloween.
Her potion finished, she extinguished the flame to let it cool and dragged out her Runes textbook, but the printed words on the page could not keep the image of Severus Snape's wasted form out of her thoughts. Intense studying and her other duties had kept her mind occupied for the last few days, but here in Snape's domain, where the echo of his tense energy and vitriolic domination kept most of the students quiet and orderly in his Potions class, she could not control her thoughts. Lack of sleep didn't help either. Reading late into the evening until she was sure she'd fall asleep the moment she was under the covers had worked for the previous few nights, but it had been utterly useless last night. Lying in her darkened room with her hand on her flat stomach, she'd tried to imagine having a child.
The nuns who had taught at her primary school had railed against abortion. On the other hand, the masses of unwashed, underfed, poor and miserable children in commercials begging money for charities across the world had led her to wonder if there might be another alternative for those women. At the time, however, she'd only been ten years old, and the subject had remained nothing more than an academic debate to her since she was too young to even be interested in sex.
Now, however, she had been plunged directly into argument. A baby was growing inside her. Hermione had lain on her bed for more than an hour, running her hands over her belly. The undeniable fact that she had been violated remained an unreal and almost abstract concept, and the circumstances of how she became pregnant were only secondary to the fact that she was pregnant. The thought had come to her, just as she had drifted over the edge of sleep, that the child would almost have to be a whiz of a wizard at potions, given the respective genetic heritage. And she could always teach the child how to wash his hair.
Loud scraping noises from stools on the flagstone floor startled her, and she hastily gathered her books together and stuffed them in the battered rucksack she'd carried since her first year at Hogwarts. Waiting for her chance to join the throng of exiting students, a gentle throat clearing behind her made her wilt.
"Miss Granger?"
Reluctantly Hermione turned back to Professor Cluny. "Yes, sir?"
"This is a Potions class. I would appreciate it if you would study potions here. If you're unable to finish your other homework in time, I might suggest you cut back on your course load." From Snape it would have been scathing sarcasm; from Cluny it was regretful concern and nearly apologetic in tone. Hermione gave him a weak acknowledgement and left in the wake of her classmates.
The heavy door of the Potions room had barely closed behind her when a strong hand grabbed her arm and a warm, hard body pushed her against the wall. "Hello, Mudblood. Lose something?"
"Only my lunch, if you don't get away from me," she responded angrily. "Let go, Malfoy." She had to tilt her head far back to look into Draco's face; he'd shot up in height in the last two years and was nearly as tall as Ron these days. His aristocratic facial structure and platinum blond hair had many girls at Hogwarts fascinated with him; Hermione, however, was not one of them.
"Oh, I don't think so, Granger," Malfoy drawled. "Your two playmates left you here, and now I've found you. I'm not sure you're worth keeping, but you could be fun to play with." His hand left her arm and began to slide up her chest, reminding her once more how tender her breasts had been over the past week.
"Go play with yourself, Malfoy!" Hermione slapped at his hands, but he was taller and stronger than she, and she bit back a gasp as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the cold stone by her head. His chest pushed against her as he kissed her ruthlessly, taking her by surprise. His tongue was hot as it slipped between her lips before he slid his open mouth against her jawline.
"I know that traitor Snape has had you, Mudblood," he whispered. The sensation of his lips brushing the edge of her ear made her shiver, while his words terrified her. "I hear you're really good. And what's good for him is good for me." Malfoy emphasized his words with a thrust of his hips against hers, and Hermione's frozen shock suddenly erupted into fury. His ear was only inches away from her mouth, and as she sank her teeth into the tempting target, he let out a satisfying howl and jerked away from her.
Hermione had her wand out in a flash, leveled at his crotch. "Twenty-five points from Slytherin, Malfoy, and I swear the next time you come near me I'll hex you so bad Madame Pomfrey will have to charm it back on before you can pee again!"
Swiping at the blood dribbling down his neck, Draco shot her a look of pure venom. "Don't pretend you're too good for whoring, Granger. My father told me what a slut you are!"
"Did he really?" Hermione demanded, shaking with rage. "What exactly did he say? Anything you want to repeat in front of a Ministry inquiry?"
The contempt on his face flickered with just a touch of confusion before returning to his customary sneer. The Potions classroom door behind them opened suddenly, and they both swiftly adopted neutral expressions as Professor Cluny entered the corridor. He blinked at them, then smiled at Hermione, obviously sensing nothing amiss.
"Ah, Miss Granger. Madame Pomfrey was just on the floo, asking if you were still here. She wanted you to come up to the Hospital wing."
"Thank you, Professor. I'll be on my way, then. Unless there was something else I needed to explain to you, Draco?" she asked, sweet malice in her voice.
Not waiting for him to answer, she hitched her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the staircase that led out of the dungeons. She kept her wand at the ready in the folds of her robes, but Malfoy made no move to follow her.
Several long corridors and flights of stairs later, Hermione let herself into Madame Pomfrey's domain and stopped upon seeing Albus Dumbledore waiting for her. He was gazing out the tall mullioned windows, but turned when he heard the door open.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Are you feeling well?"
It was an appropriately general question to ask anyone entering the Hospital wing in the middle of the afternoon, but she knew the Headmaster was asking specifically about her situation. She nodded. Dumbledore offered a sweet from the ever-present bag pulled from a pocket of his robes, which she refused, then asked her to sit down. Hermione sat and pushed her bag under the legs of the chair with the scuffed toe of her shoe.
Looking around the room, answering Dumbledore's random comments with absent remarks of her own, her eyes were drawn to the neatly made bed at the end of the wing. A small table stood beside it, not unusual, but this table had a pewter goblet and a glass beaker of greenish fluid beside it, the tall sides beaded with condensation.
The door marked Isolation Ward opened, and Poppy Pomfrey closed it swiftly behind her as she saw the other occupants of the larger room. Her no- nonsense gaze fell on Hermione, but her first words were for Dumbledore.
"Professor Snape is resting, Albus. It was taxing for him, but I don't think he's made himself any worse. The potion is ready for you, Miss Granger."
Obediently Hermione rose and followed Pomfrey to the waiting table and bed, while Dumbledore took her abandoned chair and laced his fingers together in his lap, his attitude one of patient waiting.
Several screens rolled up at Pomfrey's summons and drifted into place around the cot. When she was satisfied with the placement of the screens, save the one that would close the patient off completely from the rest of the ward, the mediwitch placed a folded gown on the end of the bed. Next to it was a small pile of sanitary napkins, longer and wider than those supplied every month to the female students who had reached puberty.
The green fluid gurgled quietly as Pomfrey poured it into the pewter goblet. Almost immediately a haze of condensation formed on the sides, indicating how cold the contents were.
"You must drink this entirely, Miss Granger, as quickly as you can. When you're finished, I want you to put on this gown and get into bed." Pomfrey held out the goblet and Hermione took it automatically. The potion swirled in the container, bubbling at the edges where her fingers warmed the cold metal.
From the moment Madame Pomfrey had announced she was pregnant, Hermione had felt as though she were surrounded in an odd, disconnected haze. Even Malfoy's near assault in the Potions hallway had not been as real, as immediate and dangerous as it should have. The only thing that seemed entirely tangible at this moment was the frigid goblet in her hand. Against that biting cold, the potential child in her womb, the possible potions genius, loomed large in her imagination.
"I can't," she said quietly.
Madame Pomfrey huffed in annoyance.
"Miss Granger, you are seventeen years old."
"Eighteen," corrected Hermione.
"Eighteen then. The fact remains that you were not responsible for this pregnancy. No one could possibly think any less of you for taking that potion."
Steady footsteps behind her caused her to turn around and see the wise, unassuming face of Dumbledore, who merely raised a single gray eyebrow.
"Second thoughts, Miss Granger?"
"I don't know why. I simply can't." Abruptly she pushed the cup back into Pomfrey's hand and walked in a small circle, feeling trapped between the two authority figures. She took a deep breath and tried to put her thoughts into order, trying to make sense of her feelings.
"I've never really had an opinion on terminations before. It never seemed like something that concerned me. Ron's the only person I've ever thought about having as a lover, and I always thought I'd be clever enough to take precautions if I did."
"You are eighteen, Miss Granger," Dumbledore commented mildly. "It is your decision whether or not to bear this child."
Hermione crossed her arms under her breasts, noticing once more how tender they were. "Well. I've decided. To... go ahead and have the baby."
Just saying the words made her feel as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She fairly sure that it was the opposite of how she should feel, considering the difficulties she was sure to encounter, but the slow smile growing on Professor Dumbledore's face made her feel even better about her decision.
"For what it is worth, Hermione, I am heartily glad. A child is a blessing, regardless of the circumstances. You will have a difficult time ahead of you, there is no doubt, but be assured you have my full support and confidence in you." The smile grew until he positively beamed, and he patted her hand. "I'll be looking forward to seeing your child here at Hogwarts in eleven or so years."
Dumbledore left her in Madame Pomfrey's care, who tutted as she poured the potion into a large phial and stoppered it. "This potion will only be effective for the next thirty-six hours, Miss Granger. If you change your mind after that it will need to be brewed fresh. And the risks of taking it go up quite severely the further along you get."
"I won't change my mind," Hermione said firmly. She also knew from her reading that the potion was strictly discouraged after ten weeks of pregnancy, and she was already nine weeks along.
The older woman insisted on pulling the screens together and giving her a full physical, which was more thorough than any Hermione had endured before. Once she was dressed again, Hermione was ushered into Madame Pomfrey's office, where the mediwitch consulted a calendar and declared that the baby would most likely make an appearance in late July or early August.
"Being pregnant in the summer is a misery, my dear. The only advice I can give you is that you'll be so uncomfortable that you'll quite ready to have the entire thing over with by then. I think Mother Nature planned it that way, actually."
Relieved that the baby would not be born until after she had completed her classes, Hermione mentioned as much to Madame Pomfrey. She received a long look in return.
"This doesn't mean you're going to carry on as normal, Miss Granger. You'll have to make several adjustments. I'll send notes to your teachers, but the first change you'll make is no more potions testing. No dueling practices, no charms performed on you, and most definitely no transfigurations of your person. You're young and healthy, but turning yourself into a potted plant while you're pregnant is something not even Minerva would attempt. Far too dangerous."
"Does this mean I won't be able to take Apparation lessons?" asked Hermione, horrified. "I've just started the class!"
"Of course you won't," declared Madame Pomfrey. "Getting splinched during a pregnancy is just asking for a disaster. Absolutely out of the question."
Ignoring Hermione's dismay, she gave the girl a bottle of vitamin potion to take every morning and a recommendation that she do some reading in the library. Finally, she stopped fussing and let Hermione gather her things, then surprised her completely by giving her a fond pat on the cheek. "Having a baby is a great deal of work, have no doubt about that, but it does has its rewards. Now then, just use your common sense, take care of yourself, and come back to see me every three weeks. It's been a long time since I've been a midwife, but I'm still certified. If any problems come up, we can get you to St. Mungo's in no time."
Two steps away from the door, a thought crossed Hermione's mind and she stopped abruptly. Madame Pomfrey gave her a curious look.
"Professor Snape," Hermione said in a bleak voice. "He ought to know."
Pomfrey's lips pursed in thought, but she dismissed it. "He's resting now. I'll inform him of your decision later."
Hermione's back stiffened. "I think I ought to tell him personally, don't you?"
With a sniff, Madame Pomfrey gave in. Her heels clicked across the wooden floor as she led the way to the Isolation ward, where she told Hermione to wait a moment while she checked on the Professor. A few moments later she reappeared in the doorway and motioned Hermione to go through.
The inner archway was open, the room beyond it as dark and dismal as it had been several days before. A black form sat in the same chair.
"Professor Snape? May I speak to you, please?"
"I can hardly prevent you, Miss Granger." For Snape, the curt remark was positively mild, but the fact that he would not face her still made her uneasy. "You should be lying down," he added. "The potion you drank will take effect within an hour."
"I didn't take the potion."
The dark man startled slightly, betrayed only by the slight tilt of his head. "That is extremely foolish, Miss Granger. You cannot be blamed for what happened to you, and you should not have to deal the consequences of that night. Do not let Gryffindor sentimentality cloud your judgement."
"I didn't make this decision out of sentimentality or morality or anything other than my own wishes. Everyone keeps saying it's my decision, and I'm not going to change my mind. I simply wanted you to be aware of the fact."
"And now that I am aware, what do you want of me?"
Irritation flared, effectively killing any sympathy she had for the man. "I don't want anything from you, Professor. I'm not asking for anything, and I'm not expecting anything. Professor Dumbledore said that you had the right to know, and I agreed."
"Have you considered, Miss Granger, that having a Deatheater's child is a sure invitation for calamity?"
"I've no intention of letting anyone know who the father is, Professor Snape. I think we're both too squeamish for even part of the truth to be known."
Snape nodded stiffly. Hermione turned to go, but turned back as another thought occurred to her.
"Professor Snape?"
"I'm tired, Miss Granger."
"I wanted to ask you for your version of the events on Halloween night," she interrupted flatly.
Silence greeted her words, and Snape hunched over himself even further. "Your memory will return, Miss Granger," he said after a moment. "I hardly see the point in rehashing history from my point of view."
"I understand that this is difficult for you," she managed. "But no more so than for me."
He glanced at her, then away. "What has Dumbledore told you?"
"That I was taken by Deatheaters when I left the Three Broomsticks that afternoon. That you were summoned to join them, and Lucius Malfoy turned on you and cast an Imperious."
Snape nodded. "That is, at its most basic, what happened. If you wish to know the more unsavory details, Miss Granger, my recommendation would be that you wait until your memory returns. I promise you that you will not regret having gone ignorant for a longer period - in fact, you may well wish you had never regained your memories of that night."
"It's just that I don't remember anything. I simply woke up the other day. and found I was going to have a baby."
"And I tell you again that that is a preferable option. Is that all, Miss Granger?"
"No, sir, it is not," she snapped, stung by his dismissal. "If you're going to turn into a dishrag, kindly do so and get it out of your system. There's a war on."
"So I've heard," he replied in a colorless voice. Hermione was shocked at her own outburst, but plunged on.
"I also wanted to tell you that I don't blame you for anything you did that night. Professor Dumbledore told me that you were under an Imperious curse, and aren't responsible for your actions. After some thought, I have come to agree with him. I may not have liked you much, but I've always respected you. Don't think I've changed my mind, whatever has happened."
Another stiff nod acknowledged her outburst. With as much dignity as she could muster, Hermione left the ward, unconsciously mimicking his trademark sweep. As she passed Madame Pomfrey the older woman gave her a scandalized glance, but Hermione ignored her on her way out the door.
Long after she had left, Severus Snape stared at the empty doorway, lost in thought.