At Madame Pomfrey's exit, pure silence settled into the small laboratory.
Even Snape's breathing was silent, though Hermione could see his chest
rising and falling in shallow respiration when she stole a quick glance at
him. The man seemed absorbed in the view of the courtyard out the tall
windows. When she looked, Hermione could see nothing other than the grassy
square where Madame Hooch taught first years how not to crash on their
first brooms.
To distract herself, Hermione reached out and retrieved the parchment from beside Snape's arm. The light scraping noise and the sudden movement startled him badly, and in return his reaction startled her. The apology died in her throat, however, as he let out a hiss and pressed the heel of his hand into his pectoral muscle, eyes closed against the sudden pain. Worse was the way his already pale lips turned a bluish-gray as they parted over his clenched teeth.
"Professor! Are you all right?"
Unable to speak, Snape hunched his shoulders and rode out the pain. Below the ringing in his ears he could hear Hermione calling his name, then for Madame Pomfrey, but there was nothing to be done but try to keep his lungs working while enduring the waves of subsiding agony that accompanied each beat of his heart.
As the tightness eased, he realized Hermione Granger's hands were on his shoulders, and were if fact the only thing keeping him from keeling over completely. There was nothing he loathed so much as helplessness, and for her of all people to see him like this was beyond humiliating. The concern in her face when he so little deserved it was even more galling.
"I'll be fine, Miss Granger," he managed, forcing his uncooperative body upright and away from her, the receding pain making his tone bitter. "I don't need any help from you."
Whether he had intended to emphasize his words just that way or not, Hermione stiffened as if slapped. "Very well, Professor. If you find my presence so repulsive, I will relieve you of it."
Snape could have kicked himself. The very sight of Hermione Granger was like sandpaper to his already strung-out nerves, but he had not intended to offend her further. "Miss Granger!" he called to her retreating back. She paused, but did not turn around.
"Miss Granger," he repeated, doing his best to keep from sounding like a total ass. "On the contrary. Your presence is merely excruciating." Severus pressed on, knowing he had to say this while he still had the chance. For over two months the memory of Halloween night had haunted him, waking and sleeping, replacing his usual nightmares with lurid recreations of what had happened. The guilt that threatened to drown him in the middle of the night rose again, choking him, and he cleared his throat roughly. "I can only marvel at the courage it must take for you to be even remotely civil to the man who is the cause of your present condition."
It was the first mention of her pregnancy he'd made since he'd learned of its existence, but her reply surprised him.
"Lucius Malfoy is the cause of my condition."
"He is not the man who raped you and got you with child," he stated bluntly. "I did that."
Hermione half-turned in the doorway, leaning her back against the frame. "You're only the tool he used. I told you, don't hate you, Professor." She swallowed hard, and crossed her arms defensively over her breasts. "You forget that Ginny Weasley is one of my closest friends. Every fall, just before school starts up, she has loads of nightmares about that damned Chamber of Secrets, and Lucius Malfoy can be thanked for that as well."
She turned around finally, her face as stern and proud as Boadicea. "One day he's going to pay for what he's done. I just hope I'm there to see it."
"As do I, Miss Granger." He cautiously took a few deeper breaths, feeling the pain in his chest ease a little more. Silence again fell between them, but the former tension had evaporated. Looking at Hermione carefully, he noted the circles under her eyes and the stray tendrils of curly hair that had escaped from the band at the nape of her neck.
"Please. Sit down," he asked, indicating the other stool tucked into the corner of the room. She retrieved it and set it at the end of the workbench, seating herself carefully and tucking her robes around her.
"The last time we spoke, you asked me for an accounting. I was rather short with you. I apologize. I realize you have every right to demand the information you asked for."
"I wasn't demanding," she protested mildly.
"No. Even more reason for me to tell you the truth, as I know it. You are aware I've been a double agent for some time, correct?"
Hermione nodded. He paused, then began talking to the surface of the table, both unable and unwilling to look at her while he spoke.
"The night you were kidnapped. Lucius Malfoy requested my presence at a remote holding of his. We - the senior Deatheaters - had met there on several occasions to plan - our activities. Once I arrived, he outlined his intention to violate and murder you, leaving your body near the front gates of Hogwarts as a message to Dumbledore."
Still stumbling slightly over various words, he stared intently at the far wall as he continued in a dispassionate voice. "When I proved less than enthusiastic for his plan, he turned on me. I was caught unaware, and Malfoy cast an Imperius curse on me." Snape snorted dryly. "I had invested nearly three years convincing Voldemort of my sincere devotion, winning a place in his inner circle, only to have someone more ambitious stab me in the back for my place of power."
"Harry can resist the Imperius," Hermione commented. "I thought you would have enough self control to be able to resist."
"After a moment, yes. But the delay was enough for his leviathan cronies to add their Imperius to his. Goyle and Crabbe are as stupid as their offspring, but they are a dab hand at the casting of the Unforgivables. I was commanded to... assault you."
Snape swallowed harshly. Dumbledore had been his confessor for so many years, it was at once more painful and yet oddly liberating to say these things without the Headmaster, however well-meaning, as an audience. "After providing their. entertainment, my continued existence was no longer desired. They attempted to kill me, but not surprisingly, proved incompetent at that as well."
Hermione frowned. "How did we escape?"
"I have no idea, Ms. Granger. I was unconscious at the time." When she opened her mouth to protest, he continued, cutting her off. "I know only that the two of us appeared at the Three Broomsticks, and were taken to Hogwarts to receive medical attention. I would surmise that you somehow saved my life, for which I should be more grateful than I am."
"I saved your life?" she asked, amazed. He nodded.
The saturnine man fell silent, and Hermione sat at the table, watching him. How much time passed, she did not know, but she finally stirred. "Professor... I realize you must find this -- our situation -- very awkward. Personally I find the entire thing ridiculous when I'm not caught in the grips of panic, myself."
Another soft snort let her know he saw the humor of her comment. "I've told you, I don't remember anything, and I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will. You should know I've been thinking about this and if you did - what you did - under an Imperius curse, then your guilt is unnecessary."
If it had been anyone else, any subject less volatile, Hermione might have put her hand on his arm. As it was, the best she could do was flattened her palm on the table near his. "As far as I'm concerned, I woke up pregnant. Malfoy's the only one I blame."
Snape glanced down at the small hand next to his own, and when he spoke, it was for once completely devoid of sarcasm or the self-loathing that had so typified his earlier conversations. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I do not deserve your compassion, but... thank you."
"Madame Pomfrey?" queried a young voice from the outer room.
Snape stiffened. "Go. None of the students should know I'm here."
Hermione agreed quickly and left the laboratory, closing the door behind her. In the main ward, a second-year Ravenclaw boy was clutching his arm and trying very hard not to let his lower lip quiver. A staircase had decided to move while he was rushing down it and he'd lost his footing, tumbling down the last few treads and crashing to the floor on his elbow.
A quick rummage through the cabinets produced a small towel, which wasn't the ice bag she'd been looking for but still held the ice cubes she summoned with her wand. A short time later, Madame Pomfrey returned to find the boy carefully wiggling his fingers while Hermione held the makeshift compress to his elbow. The dusty wine bottle Pomfrey had liberated from Dumbledore's private stock was thrust into Hermione's hands while the mediwitch took possession of the bag of ice.
Wishing she were even half so adept at her wand work, Hermione watched while Pomfrey performed several diagnostic charms and determined the exact nature and extent of the boy's injury. She knew the other woman had several more decades of experience but couldn't help but wonder how long it would take to reach the same level of competence.
"There you are," Pomfrey assured the boy as she put a sling around the boy's arm. "Just a sprain. It will be sore for a day or two, but I've charmed most of the swelling down and you'll be right as rain by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you Madame Pomfrey," the boy said politely, and did his best to keep from looking a bit pleased at the visible evidence of his injury. Hermione hid a smile at his reaction; no doubt he'd be the center of attention at the dinner table that evening.
After ushering the boy from the ward, Madame Pomfrey sent the wet, icy towel towards the laundry cart with a flick of her wand, then gave Hermione a long look. "That was excellent thinking, Miss Granger. Thank you for watching over things while I was gone."
"It's just Muggle first aid. Not complicated."
"No. But wizard-born children are used to having things taken care of right away. Ever thought about becoming a mediwitch?"
Hermione was pleased with the implied compliment, but shook her head. "No. I'm really interested in so many things I haven't yet made up my mind what to specialize in."
"Well," Madame Pomfrey said stoutly, repossessing the wine bottle, "if Severus trusts you to brew this elixir for him, you must be good at potions. You were a godsend when the students all brought the influenza back to school with them."
"I did get three owls for Potions," Hermione admitted. She did not add that just this year, before his 'sabbatical' began, Snape had allowed her to brew several of the more advanced recipes listed in her "Preparing for Your Newts" book. His inability to find any errors in her work had been a personal triumph, especially when he'd announced that the potions shouldn't be wasted and ordered her to bottle them for future use.
Snape was still sitting at the worktable when the two women came back into the laboratory. From somewhere he'd dug up several sheets of foolscap and was filling one with ratio equations and other notes in his distinctive slashing handwriting. He cut off whatever greeting Madame Pomfrey had begun to offer and began issuing instructions.
"You'll want the silver cauldron from my office, Miss Granger. This iron bucket here will react to the tannic acid in the wine and throw the entire mixture off balance."
Madame Pomfrey was slightly surprised to see Hermione join Severus Snape and peruse his notes without a trace of their earlier hostility; but then again she'd never witnessed Hermione's reaction to a new and intriguing problem.
"I'll get a set of glass implements as well," she volunteered. "Though a steel knife should be fine for chopping things up. Or does the dragon heartstring need to be cut with a flint blade?"
"Possibly. The incantation isn't entirely solid in that area. Perhaps if the verb tense were changed; it seems it varies depending on whether it's addressing the aorta or the ventricle."
Bemused, Pomfrey set the bottle of wine down without another word and let them carry on. She had several tasks of her own to complete, including the need to update her latest patient's chart and gather together the last few issues of the Daily Prophet which were scattered across her desk.
Neither Severus nor Hermione noticed her leave.
As the last of her nervousness evaporated under their apparent truce, Hermione became completely engrossed in the intricacies of the elixir recipe. Her previous experiments had all been suggested from the standard Potions textbook, and had consisted of her making guesses and presenting Snape with the completed product for him to pass judgement. This time she was working with him, actually involved in the complex adjustments and the explanations of what worked and what did not from a true master. It was fascinating.
They worked through the list of ingredients one at a time, comparing the attributes of each alone and in combination with others. Most of the standard uses were obvious, but in passing Snape let drop some small tidbits that were not listed in the book. For instance, dragon heartstring stewed in a gold cauldron was the basis for creating an envy potion strong enough to drive most men insane. If Snape's comment were to be believed, jealous witches had added one of their own hairs and brewed it for their unfaithful husbands for centuries.
"Maybe that's why goblins love gold so much," Hermione commented, then mentally steeled herself for one of his sarcastic comments.
"Perhaps," Snape allowed, and immediately moved on to the next item.
By the time they had completed all the preliminary decisions and decided on the exact words of the incantation, Hermione's stomach was growling and Snape was getting gray around the mouth. Madame Pomfrey was not happy with either of them when she entered with a sandwich on a tray for Hermione.
"That's enough, the both of you. Miss Granger, you've missed dinner, so you'll eat this before you go. Severus, you're for bed, and I'll hear no argument."
"Oh, no," groaned Hermione, looking for and not seeing a clock on the walls. "I was supposed to meet Ginny to do some studying tonight."
"Enough for today, Miss Granger," Snape told her. "Loathe as I am to admit Poppy is correct, neither one of us is capable of clear thought now. You have classes all day tomorrow, do you not?"
"Yes, but it's just potions in the morning."
"Just potions?" he echoed pointedly.
"Yes," she replied evenly, refusing to react to his challenging emphasis.
"Very well then. In the morning. Madame Pomfrey will do doubt invent a plausible excuse for. who is it again?"
"Professor Cluny."
"Geoffrey Cluny?" He asked sharply.
"Yes, sir."
"I see," he said in arctic tones. Refusing to say another word, Snape left his stool and walked slowly to the door, where Madame Pomfrey slipped an uncompromising arm under his elbow and steered him towards the hidden ward.
Left alone, Hermione bemusedly ate her sandwich as she tidied the sheaf of notes spread across the worktable and made herself a list of things to retrieve from the dungeons. Once Pomfrey had bore witness that she had indeed finished her sandwich, she slung her worn bookbag over one shoulder and wandered up to Gryffindor tower.
"What was that, dear?" inquired the Fat Lady when Hermione yawned in the middle of supplying the password.
She repeated it, wishing she had half her normal energy. The fatigue that had lead to the discovery of her pregnancy came and went, but usually hit her the worst right after dinner.
Inside the common room, the comfortable red and gold furniture was dotted with students, but she didn't spy Ginny's vivid red hair among the throng. Asking if anyone had seen her proved fruitless, so Hermione found a sofa corner and dug out her Arithmancy book.
In what seemed like only moments, Harry Potter was shaking her shoulder and telling her to wake up. She sat up with a jerk, and blinked at the fire, which had been burning brightly when she'd sat down. Now it was little more than a pile of gray and red coals, and the room was almost empty.
"Are you finally awake?" Harry asked her with concern. "Where have you been? You were supposed to meet Ginny right after classes this afternoon."
Hermione stretched luxuriously in the warm spot her body had created on the sofa. "Well, the two of you seemed to have found something to do," she commented, noting the purple spot on his neck. "Had a good snog, did you?"
Harry flushed at this; his relationship with Ginny Weasley had continued despite all his efforts to convince her she'd be safer if it were otherwise. The girl possessed the Weasley stubbornness in full measure and steadfastly refused to believe Harry's protests, and had at last stormed Harry's final defenses. In surrender to the inevitable, he was happier than Hermione had ever known him to be.
"Yes, thank you," he managed with some dignity. "Ginny's already gone to bed. It's nearly curfew."
Panicked, Hermione glanced around to see that Harry was telling the truth. The only students still in the room were some sixth-years practicing some of the more complicated levitation skills and the Creevy brothers playing with their newest camera.
"Oh, damn. I haven't even started on my homework," Hermione complained. "I can't believe I fell asleep."
"Are you feeling all right these days?
"I'm just really tired, Harry. It's nothing."
Harry's vivid green eyes gave her a penetrating look. "You're been tired a lot the last few weeks, Hermione, and last week you bawled on me for half an hour. What's really going on?"
It could only be her fatigue that let the words slip out. "I'm pregnant."
"Holy." With a whosh, Harry let out a breath and slid down to sit beside her. "Have you told Ron yet?"
"It's not Ron's baby."
Harry stared at her. "Not Ron's. then who?"
"Harry. if I tell you, you've got to promise me you won't lose your temper." The Boy Who Lived was generally regarded as mild person, but his closest friends knew how volatile he could be when properly provoked.
"That depends on who it is, Hermione."
Blinking, Hermione stared into the grate as she tried to find the right words. "Last Halloween... I was coming back from Hogsmeade. They put someone under an Imperius, and he was ordered to."
She broke off as Harry stood abruptly and took a step towards the fireplace. "Does Snape know? About the baby?" he demanded.
Taken aback, she merely stared at him. Harry smiled without humor. "I'd heard that Snape had been at a dark revel of some sort on Halloween night, and that something went terribly wrong. Dumbledore told me he was nearly killed, but he never told me you were involved. That's something he will explain to me, I promise you."
The annoyed confidence in his voice shocked Hermione completely, and her expression must have shown it. Harry explained patiently.
"Dumbledore's been keeping me up to date on almost everything that happens in the fight against Voldemort. He has since the first day of term. I think he's training me to be his heir, if something happens to him."
"Harry! How can he expect you to take on that much responsibility? That's nonsense!"
"And who else are people going to look to if something happens to Dumbledore? Fudge?" Harry snorted derisively. "After all, I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember?"
Hermione could not stop staring. She'd seen flashes of Harry taking control in situations before, but she'd somehow missed seeing how his confidence had grown over the past few years. Harry shook his head dismissively and sat down beside her again, taking her hand.
"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Are you going to. get rid of it?"
"No." Hermione took a sudden breath and let it out quickly. "Seriously considered it, but I changed my mind."
"So what are you going to do?" he asked carefully.
"I don't know." It was a humiliating confession; Hermione Granger was supposed to be a know-it-all. She could feel tears prickling again, and Harry put an arm around her.
"You were going to try to get your Potions Mistress award right after school, weren't you? How can you go to school and take care of a baby?"
"I don't know! Honestly, Harry, please stop badgering me! I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm going to have a baby and try to go to school at the same time. I don't know where I'm going to live, or who's going to watch the baby while I'm in class. maybe I should just give it up for adoption."
"Have you thought about getting married?"
"Harry!" she protested in outrage. "This isn't the eighteen hundreds!"
"It might as well be, Hermione! Look around, next time you're in Diagon Alley, or even Hogsmeade. An unmarried witch having a baby simply isn't done!"
"So I should get married, then? To whom? You? Ginny would kill us both."
"There's Ron."
"Oh, please," she said rudely. "I'd rather marry Neville."
Harry gave her a sidelong glance. "I hate to say this, but if Snape's the father, maybe you should marry him and get him to help you."
Hermione wasn't sure if she should laugh or scream. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd encourage anyone to marry Severus Snape. Besides, it wasn't as though it were his idea to do this to me. I'm hardly going to ask him to empty his pension fund to support me!"
Harry gave her an odd look.
"You don't understand, Harry," she continued despondently. "IF I ever marry, I want it to be something like my parents. They're mad for each other, even after more than twenty years. I want something like that, not some quick fix that will end up making us both miserable."
"All right, don't get married. But Hermione - this is a wizard's world. They don't have public assistance. If you went Muggle, you could get on the dole or something, or maybe your parents could help you out."
Oh, Lord," Hermione groaned suddenly. "I still need to tell my parents about all this."
"Or maybe," Harry continued inexorably, "maybe I could give you a hand. I've got some money."
"Harry," she asked, "do you have any idea what you're going to do when you graduate? Where you're going to live?" Unaccountably, laughter bubbled up out of nowhere and she grinned at him. "One story in the Prophet about you and me and this baby and we'll all be ducking howlers for weeks!" Feeling better about everything just for having gotten it off her chest, Hermione gathered her things and stuffed them back into her bag.
"Seriously, Harry. Thank you, but don't bother. I'll figure something out." Impulsively she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You work on how to tell the Weasley brothers you're shagging their little sister, and I'll worry about the baby."
"I'm not shagging Ginny!" he protested.
To distract herself, Hermione reached out and retrieved the parchment from beside Snape's arm. The light scraping noise and the sudden movement startled him badly, and in return his reaction startled her. The apology died in her throat, however, as he let out a hiss and pressed the heel of his hand into his pectoral muscle, eyes closed against the sudden pain. Worse was the way his already pale lips turned a bluish-gray as they parted over his clenched teeth.
"Professor! Are you all right?"
Unable to speak, Snape hunched his shoulders and rode out the pain. Below the ringing in his ears he could hear Hermione calling his name, then for Madame Pomfrey, but there was nothing to be done but try to keep his lungs working while enduring the waves of subsiding agony that accompanied each beat of his heart.
As the tightness eased, he realized Hermione Granger's hands were on his shoulders, and were if fact the only thing keeping him from keeling over completely. There was nothing he loathed so much as helplessness, and for her of all people to see him like this was beyond humiliating. The concern in her face when he so little deserved it was even more galling.
"I'll be fine, Miss Granger," he managed, forcing his uncooperative body upright and away from her, the receding pain making his tone bitter. "I don't need any help from you."
Whether he had intended to emphasize his words just that way or not, Hermione stiffened as if slapped. "Very well, Professor. If you find my presence so repulsive, I will relieve you of it."
Snape could have kicked himself. The very sight of Hermione Granger was like sandpaper to his already strung-out nerves, but he had not intended to offend her further. "Miss Granger!" he called to her retreating back. She paused, but did not turn around.
"Miss Granger," he repeated, doing his best to keep from sounding like a total ass. "On the contrary. Your presence is merely excruciating." Severus pressed on, knowing he had to say this while he still had the chance. For over two months the memory of Halloween night had haunted him, waking and sleeping, replacing his usual nightmares with lurid recreations of what had happened. The guilt that threatened to drown him in the middle of the night rose again, choking him, and he cleared his throat roughly. "I can only marvel at the courage it must take for you to be even remotely civil to the man who is the cause of your present condition."
It was the first mention of her pregnancy he'd made since he'd learned of its existence, but her reply surprised him.
"Lucius Malfoy is the cause of my condition."
"He is not the man who raped you and got you with child," he stated bluntly. "I did that."
Hermione half-turned in the doorway, leaning her back against the frame. "You're only the tool he used. I told you, don't hate you, Professor." She swallowed hard, and crossed her arms defensively over her breasts. "You forget that Ginny Weasley is one of my closest friends. Every fall, just before school starts up, she has loads of nightmares about that damned Chamber of Secrets, and Lucius Malfoy can be thanked for that as well."
She turned around finally, her face as stern and proud as Boadicea. "One day he's going to pay for what he's done. I just hope I'm there to see it."
"As do I, Miss Granger." He cautiously took a few deeper breaths, feeling the pain in his chest ease a little more. Silence again fell between them, but the former tension had evaporated. Looking at Hermione carefully, he noted the circles under her eyes and the stray tendrils of curly hair that had escaped from the band at the nape of her neck.
"Please. Sit down," he asked, indicating the other stool tucked into the corner of the room. She retrieved it and set it at the end of the workbench, seating herself carefully and tucking her robes around her.
"The last time we spoke, you asked me for an accounting. I was rather short with you. I apologize. I realize you have every right to demand the information you asked for."
"I wasn't demanding," she protested mildly.
"No. Even more reason for me to tell you the truth, as I know it. You are aware I've been a double agent for some time, correct?"
Hermione nodded. He paused, then began talking to the surface of the table, both unable and unwilling to look at her while he spoke.
"The night you were kidnapped. Lucius Malfoy requested my presence at a remote holding of his. We - the senior Deatheaters - had met there on several occasions to plan - our activities. Once I arrived, he outlined his intention to violate and murder you, leaving your body near the front gates of Hogwarts as a message to Dumbledore."
Still stumbling slightly over various words, he stared intently at the far wall as he continued in a dispassionate voice. "When I proved less than enthusiastic for his plan, he turned on me. I was caught unaware, and Malfoy cast an Imperius curse on me." Snape snorted dryly. "I had invested nearly three years convincing Voldemort of my sincere devotion, winning a place in his inner circle, only to have someone more ambitious stab me in the back for my place of power."
"Harry can resist the Imperius," Hermione commented. "I thought you would have enough self control to be able to resist."
"After a moment, yes. But the delay was enough for his leviathan cronies to add their Imperius to his. Goyle and Crabbe are as stupid as their offspring, but they are a dab hand at the casting of the Unforgivables. I was commanded to... assault you."
Snape swallowed harshly. Dumbledore had been his confessor for so many years, it was at once more painful and yet oddly liberating to say these things without the Headmaster, however well-meaning, as an audience. "After providing their. entertainment, my continued existence was no longer desired. They attempted to kill me, but not surprisingly, proved incompetent at that as well."
Hermione frowned. "How did we escape?"
"I have no idea, Ms. Granger. I was unconscious at the time." When she opened her mouth to protest, he continued, cutting her off. "I know only that the two of us appeared at the Three Broomsticks, and were taken to Hogwarts to receive medical attention. I would surmise that you somehow saved my life, for which I should be more grateful than I am."
"I saved your life?" she asked, amazed. He nodded.
The saturnine man fell silent, and Hermione sat at the table, watching him. How much time passed, she did not know, but she finally stirred. "Professor... I realize you must find this -- our situation -- very awkward. Personally I find the entire thing ridiculous when I'm not caught in the grips of panic, myself."
Another soft snort let her know he saw the humor of her comment. "I've told you, I don't remember anything, and I'm beginning to wonder if I ever will. You should know I've been thinking about this and if you did - what you did - under an Imperius curse, then your guilt is unnecessary."
If it had been anyone else, any subject less volatile, Hermione might have put her hand on his arm. As it was, the best she could do was flattened her palm on the table near his. "As far as I'm concerned, I woke up pregnant. Malfoy's the only one I blame."
Snape glanced down at the small hand next to his own, and when he spoke, it was for once completely devoid of sarcasm or the self-loathing that had so typified his earlier conversations. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I do not deserve your compassion, but... thank you."
"Madame Pomfrey?" queried a young voice from the outer room.
Snape stiffened. "Go. None of the students should know I'm here."
Hermione agreed quickly and left the laboratory, closing the door behind her. In the main ward, a second-year Ravenclaw boy was clutching his arm and trying very hard not to let his lower lip quiver. A staircase had decided to move while he was rushing down it and he'd lost his footing, tumbling down the last few treads and crashing to the floor on his elbow.
A quick rummage through the cabinets produced a small towel, which wasn't the ice bag she'd been looking for but still held the ice cubes she summoned with her wand. A short time later, Madame Pomfrey returned to find the boy carefully wiggling his fingers while Hermione held the makeshift compress to his elbow. The dusty wine bottle Pomfrey had liberated from Dumbledore's private stock was thrust into Hermione's hands while the mediwitch took possession of the bag of ice.
Wishing she were even half so adept at her wand work, Hermione watched while Pomfrey performed several diagnostic charms and determined the exact nature and extent of the boy's injury. She knew the other woman had several more decades of experience but couldn't help but wonder how long it would take to reach the same level of competence.
"There you are," Pomfrey assured the boy as she put a sling around the boy's arm. "Just a sprain. It will be sore for a day or two, but I've charmed most of the swelling down and you'll be right as rain by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you Madame Pomfrey," the boy said politely, and did his best to keep from looking a bit pleased at the visible evidence of his injury. Hermione hid a smile at his reaction; no doubt he'd be the center of attention at the dinner table that evening.
After ushering the boy from the ward, Madame Pomfrey sent the wet, icy towel towards the laundry cart with a flick of her wand, then gave Hermione a long look. "That was excellent thinking, Miss Granger. Thank you for watching over things while I was gone."
"It's just Muggle first aid. Not complicated."
"No. But wizard-born children are used to having things taken care of right away. Ever thought about becoming a mediwitch?"
Hermione was pleased with the implied compliment, but shook her head. "No. I'm really interested in so many things I haven't yet made up my mind what to specialize in."
"Well," Madame Pomfrey said stoutly, repossessing the wine bottle, "if Severus trusts you to brew this elixir for him, you must be good at potions. You were a godsend when the students all brought the influenza back to school with them."
"I did get three owls for Potions," Hermione admitted. She did not add that just this year, before his 'sabbatical' began, Snape had allowed her to brew several of the more advanced recipes listed in her "Preparing for Your Newts" book. His inability to find any errors in her work had been a personal triumph, especially when he'd announced that the potions shouldn't be wasted and ordered her to bottle them for future use.
Snape was still sitting at the worktable when the two women came back into the laboratory. From somewhere he'd dug up several sheets of foolscap and was filling one with ratio equations and other notes in his distinctive slashing handwriting. He cut off whatever greeting Madame Pomfrey had begun to offer and began issuing instructions.
"You'll want the silver cauldron from my office, Miss Granger. This iron bucket here will react to the tannic acid in the wine and throw the entire mixture off balance."
Madame Pomfrey was slightly surprised to see Hermione join Severus Snape and peruse his notes without a trace of their earlier hostility; but then again she'd never witnessed Hermione's reaction to a new and intriguing problem.
"I'll get a set of glass implements as well," she volunteered. "Though a steel knife should be fine for chopping things up. Or does the dragon heartstring need to be cut with a flint blade?"
"Possibly. The incantation isn't entirely solid in that area. Perhaps if the verb tense were changed; it seems it varies depending on whether it's addressing the aorta or the ventricle."
Bemused, Pomfrey set the bottle of wine down without another word and let them carry on. She had several tasks of her own to complete, including the need to update her latest patient's chart and gather together the last few issues of the Daily Prophet which were scattered across her desk.
Neither Severus nor Hermione noticed her leave.
As the last of her nervousness evaporated under their apparent truce, Hermione became completely engrossed in the intricacies of the elixir recipe. Her previous experiments had all been suggested from the standard Potions textbook, and had consisted of her making guesses and presenting Snape with the completed product for him to pass judgement. This time she was working with him, actually involved in the complex adjustments and the explanations of what worked and what did not from a true master. It was fascinating.
They worked through the list of ingredients one at a time, comparing the attributes of each alone and in combination with others. Most of the standard uses were obvious, but in passing Snape let drop some small tidbits that were not listed in the book. For instance, dragon heartstring stewed in a gold cauldron was the basis for creating an envy potion strong enough to drive most men insane. If Snape's comment were to be believed, jealous witches had added one of their own hairs and brewed it for their unfaithful husbands for centuries.
"Maybe that's why goblins love gold so much," Hermione commented, then mentally steeled herself for one of his sarcastic comments.
"Perhaps," Snape allowed, and immediately moved on to the next item.
By the time they had completed all the preliminary decisions and decided on the exact words of the incantation, Hermione's stomach was growling and Snape was getting gray around the mouth. Madame Pomfrey was not happy with either of them when she entered with a sandwich on a tray for Hermione.
"That's enough, the both of you. Miss Granger, you've missed dinner, so you'll eat this before you go. Severus, you're for bed, and I'll hear no argument."
"Oh, no," groaned Hermione, looking for and not seeing a clock on the walls. "I was supposed to meet Ginny to do some studying tonight."
"Enough for today, Miss Granger," Snape told her. "Loathe as I am to admit Poppy is correct, neither one of us is capable of clear thought now. You have classes all day tomorrow, do you not?"
"Yes, but it's just potions in the morning."
"Just potions?" he echoed pointedly.
"Yes," she replied evenly, refusing to react to his challenging emphasis.
"Very well then. In the morning. Madame Pomfrey will do doubt invent a plausible excuse for. who is it again?"
"Professor Cluny."
"Geoffrey Cluny?" He asked sharply.
"Yes, sir."
"I see," he said in arctic tones. Refusing to say another word, Snape left his stool and walked slowly to the door, where Madame Pomfrey slipped an uncompromising arm under his elbow and steered him towards the hidden ward.
Left alone, Hermione bemusedly ate her sandwich as she tidied the sheaf of notes spread across the worktable and made herself a list of things to retrieve from the dungeons. Once Pomfrey had bore witness that she had indeed finished her sandwich, she slung her worn bookbag over one shoulder and wandered up to Gryffindor tower.
"What was that, dear?" inquired the Fat Lady when Hermione yawned in the middle of supplying the password.
She repeated it, wishing she had half her normal energy. The fatigue that had lead to the discovery of her pregnancy came and went, but usually hit her the worst right after dinner.
Inside the common room, the comfortable red and gold furniture was dotted with students, but she didn't spy Ginny's vivid red hair among the throng. Asking if anyone had seen her proved fruitless, so Hermione found a sofa corner and dug out her Arithmancy book.
In what seemed like only moments, Harry Potter was shaking her shoulder and telling her to wake up. She sat up with a jerk, and blinked at the fire, which had been burning brightly when she'd sat down. Now it was little more than a pile of gray and red coals, and the room was almost empty.
"Are you finally awake?" Harry asked her with concern. "Where have you been? You were supposed to meet Ginny right after classes this afternoon."
Hermione stretched luxuriously in the warm spot her body had created on the sofa. "Well, the two of you seemed to have found something to do," she commented, noting the purple spot on his neck. "Had a good snog, did you?"
Harry flushed at this; his relationship with Ginny Weasley had continued despite all his efforts to convince her she'd be safer if it were otherwise. The girl possessed the Weasley stubbornness in full measure and steadfastly refused to believe Harry's protests, and had at last stormed Harry's final defenses. In surrender to the inevitable, he was happier than Hermione had ever known him to be.
"Yes, thank you," he managed with some dignity. "Ginny's already gone to bed. It's nearly curfew."
Panicked, Hermione glanced around to see that Harry was telling the truth. The only students still in the room were some sixth-years practicing some of the more complicated levitation skills and the Creevy brothers playing with their newest camera.
"Oh, damn. I haven't even started on my homework," Hermione complained. "I can't believe I fell asleep."
"Are you feeling all right these days?
"I'm just really tired, Harry. It's nothing."
Harry's vivid green eyes gave her a penetrating look. "You're been tired a lot the last few weeks, Hermione, and last week you bawled on me for half an hour. What's really going on?"
It could only be her fatigue that let the words slip out. "I'm pregnant."
"Holy." With a whosh, Harry let out a breath and slid down to sit beside her. "Have you told Ron yet?"
"It's not Ron's baby."
Harry stared at her. "Not Ron's. then who?"
"Harry. if I tell you, you've got to promise me you won't lose your temper." The Boy Who Lived was generally regarded as mild person, but his closest friends knew how volatile he could be when properly provoked.
"That depends on who it is, Hermione."
Blinking, Hermione stared into the grate as she tried to find the right words. "Last Halloween... I was coming back from Hogsmeade. They put someone under an Imperius, and he was ordered to."
She broke off as Harry stood abruptly and took a step towards the fireplace. "Does Snape know? About the baby?" he demanded.
Taken aback, she merely stared at him. Harry smiled without humor. "I'd heard that Snape had been at a dark revel of some sort on Halloween night, and that something went terribly wrong. Dumbledore told me he was nearly killed, but he never told me you were involved. That's something he will explain to me, I promise you."
The annoyed confidence in his voice shocked Hermione completely, and her expression must have shown it. Harry explained patiently.
"Dumbledore's been keeping me up to date on almost everything that happens in the fight against Voldemort. He has since the first day of term. I think he's training me to be his heir, if something happens to him."
"Harry! How can he expect you to take on that much responsibility? That's nonsense!"
"And who else are people going to look to if something happens to Dumbledore? Fudge?" Harry snorted derisively. "After all, I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember?"
Hermione could not stop staring. She'd seen flashes of Harry taking control in situations before, but she'd somehow missed seeing how his confidence had grown over the past few years. Harry shook his head dismissively and sat down beside her again, taking her hand.
"We're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Are you going to. get rid of it?"
"No." Hermione took a sudden breath and let it out quickly. "Seriously considered it, but I changed my mind."
"So what are you going to do?" he asked carefully.
"I don't know." It was a humiliating confession; Hermione Granger was supposed to be a know-it-all. She could feel tears prickling again, and Harry put an arm around her.
"You were going to try to get your Potions Mistress award right after school, weren't you? How can you go to school and take care of a baby?"
"I don't know! Honestly, Harry, please stop badgering me! I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm going to have a baby and try to go to school at the same time. I don't know where I'm going to live, or who's going to watch the baby while I'm in class. maybe I should just give it up for adoption."
"Have you thought about getting married?"
"Harry!" she protested in outrage. "This isn't the eighteen hundreds!"
"It might as well be, Hermione! Look around, next time you're in Diagon Alley, or even Hogsmeade. An unmarried witch having a baby simply isn't done!"
"So I should get married, then? To whom? You? Ginny would kill us both."
"There's Ron."
"Oh, please," she said rudely. "I'd rather marry Neville."
Harry gave her a sidelong glance. "I hate to say this, but if Snape's the father, maybe you should marry him and get him to help you."
Hermione wasn't sure if she should laugh or scream. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd encourage anyone to marry Severus Snape. Besides, it wasn't as though it were his idea to do this to me. I'm hardly going to ask him to empty his pension fund to support me!"
Harry gave her an odd look.
"You don't understand, Harry," she continued despondently. "IF I ever marry, I want it to be something like my parents. They're mad for each other, even after more than twenty years. I want something like that, not some quick fix that will end up making us both miserable."
"All right, don't get married. But Hermione - this is a wizard's world. They don't have public assistance. If you went Muggle, you could get on the dole or something, or maybe your parents could help you out."
Oh, Lord," Hermione groaned suddenly. "I still need to tell my parents about all this."
"Or maybe," Harry continued inexorably, "maybe I could give you a hand. I've got some money."
"Harry," she asked, "do you have any idea what you're going to do when you graduate? Where you're going to live?" Unaccountably, laughter bubbled up out of nowhere and she grinned at him. "One story in the Prophet about you and me and this baby and we'll all be ducking howlers for weeks!" Feeling better about everything just for having gotten it off her chest, Hermione gathered her things and stuffed them back into her bag.
"Seriously, Harry. Thank you, but don't bother. I'll figure something out." Impulsively she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You work on how to tell the Weasley brothers you're shagging their little sister, and I'll worry about the baby."
"I'm not shagging Ginny!" he protested.