With the relief most men felt when greeting an old friend, Severus Snape
buttoned the black vest over his white linen shirt, tugged it straight, and
pulled on the high-collared frock coat. He left off the usual black neck-
cloth and the coat remained unbuttoned; he'd only just become reacquainted
with breathing easily and was unwilling to restrict his airway now.
The freedom to breathe deeply; to lean over without becoming light-headed or feel the blood pounding in his throat--all were sensations he'd sorely missed. By the calendar it was January 31st, but for Severus the New Year had not really started until just the last few days. He was not so sentimental as to consider himself having a new lease on life, but his rapidly recovering health was allowing him to view things in a larger frame of reference once more. Other luxuries were nice as well, such as puttering around in his pokey little room or using any of the fixtures in the small bath without Pomfrey twittering about just outside the door, waiting to hear him drown himself. The mere idea of dying in the bathtub had been mortifying enough to make him take great care not to overtax his once temperamental heart.
During the Headmaster's last visit, their conversation had centered on some research Severus had never before had time to indulge. Potions that had been suggested by recent articles in Ars Alchemea and Potions Monthly had teased the imagination and promised remarkable results, and Dumbledore had given his full support to those efforts. Severus was fully aware it was merely a sop to the fact that he was still essentially a prisoner, kept in protective custody. The small suite of rooms that comprised his current domain were more pleasant than Azkaban, to be sure, but they were still cramped.
But still - with a fairly complete laboratory and an able assistant, he itched to get started on several projects he'd put off. And one would need to look long and hard to find a more able assistant than Hermione Granger.
To give credit where it was due, the girl - young woman, he corrected himself - had saved his life. Miss Granger had the potential of a fine Potions Mistress. Her recent quick mastery of the basic medicinal potions had led him to broaden his plans. Straightening his cuffs and settling the weight of the fabric over his shoulders, Severus allowed himself to consider Hermione for a moment. Like a vicious scab on his psyche, his mind had returned again and again to worry at the situation that was Hermione Granger, at least until the discomfort of thinking about her caused his thoughts to veer off in another direction once more.
When he had first regained consciousness in Pomfrey's care, Severus had been unable to tell Dumbledore what had gone wrong, and several days had passed before he'd remembered any details at all. The full recall had burst upon him during one of Dumbledore's quiet, probing conversations, and he finally understood what the Headmaster had been so carefully tiptoeing around.
He'd raped Hermione Granger.
The sudden full return of his memory had left him retching helplessly, tearing the recently repaired injuries to his stomach and sides until blood had mixed with the bile he brought up. Pomfrey had shouted at the Dumbledore, something she almost never did, and cast a spell on him that rendered him insensate.
Once he'd regained consciousness, Severus had clamped down all emotion. The cold anger that had once been his safety valve required too much energy for his injured body to maintain for more than a sharp retort or two. Mostly he'd ignored Dumbledore's continued efforts to draw him from the bleak depression, just as he ignored Pomfrey's efforts to involve him in the healing of his body. As he saw it, his body had betrayed him, and it deserved no better treatment. Despite the fact that Malfoy had cast the Imperius, it was his body that had violated hers, and his child currently growing inside her.
The news of Hermione's unexpected pregnancy had nearly been the final blow for Severus. Falling back on his normal caustic behavior had made her respond in kind, but her refusal to blame him was as unanticipated as it was misguided. Although he had wronged her in the worst way imaginable, she had instead aimed her revulsion at Lucius Malfoy, and this left Severus uncertain how to react. Additionally, he'd seen first hand that she had a temper when provoked, which would lead a prudent man to curb his tendency to snarl.
During the past two weeks they had worked together without friction, maintaining a respectful and frigidly polite distance. He'd refrained from snapping at the least provocation, and she had in turn had behaved far more professionally than he had any right to expect. This gave him the faint hope that she might be willing to assist him further with his research and keep him from chafing too much while confined in Pomfrey's keeping.
Impatient to begin his work, Severus gave up working at the last crease of his cuff and waved his hand. The false wall between his quarters and the dusty Isolation Ward dissolved, and on the other side of the room that wall, too, shimmered out of existence and led straight into the laboratory. When he stepped through, the illusion of solid wall remained behind him. The staircases were not the only things about Hogwarts that got restless, and the old heap would occasionally accommodate the Headmaster's request and reform a wall here and there.
Severus had barely begun to survey the newly arranged laboratory when he heard a female voice calling urgently for Madame Pomfrey. It was a bit earlier than most students showed up, and he knew for a fact Poppy was not in the Hospital Wing yet that morning. The voice was familiar, and as he opened the laboratory door covertly and peered through the gap, his assumption was proved correct as he caught sight of Hermione Granger standing just inside the Infirmary.
Standing was perhaps too optimistic a word; Miss Granger held herself upright with a hand against the doorframe. The other was clenched over her stomach, but quickly went to her mouth as another wave of nausea racked her. She bolted suddenly for the lavatory and the sounds of her violent retching echoed from the tiled walls.
**
Hermione had barely opened her eyes when the morning sickness, which so far had been only a few fleeting moments of disquiet, suddenly manifested with a vengeance. She'd had to run to the lav and be sick, and had barely made it in time. Brushing her teeth and drinking a little cold water had helped, but even finding her school uniform had been interrupted twice by unplanned prayers to the porcelain gods. In surrender, she'd dragged on the first thing that came to hand - an old cotton shirt and a pair of leggings, then threw her school robes on over the top of that and headed for the Hospital Wing.
Just passing by the Great Hall and getting a whiff of the food had sent her hurtling towards the bathrooms again. The climb up the staircases had left her gray and sweating, and once inside the door the impending nausea had sent her lurching towards the nearest toilet, where she clutched the cold white bowl as the spasms racked her body. When the worst was over, she leaned weakly against the wall and rested her forehead on the bowl, willing her head to stop pounding.
A cold touch on the back of her neck made her jump, but the pressure of long fingers on the flannel kept her head down.
"Stay still, Miss Granger. Wait until you're sure it has passed." Snape's deep voice lacked any mockery, and she put her head back down gratefully. Another damp cloth, this one comfortingly warm, was pressed into her hand and she used it to wipe her mouth and runny nose.
After a few minutes, she cautiously sat up and pushed her hair back. Muscles in her back and abdomen protested, but her stomach remained quiet while she mopped her face again and tried, not very successfully, to put herself to rights. When her hands were washed and her robes buttoned properly, she left the small lavatory and was surprised to see Snape holding out a steaming mug.
"What is it?" she questioned, taking it gingerly and sniffing at the fragrant steam.
"An exotic blend -- peppermint tea and licorice root, with a spoon of honey. It should calm your stomach, and there is no risk of any side- effects harming you."
"Thank you," she murmured weakly, and attempted a small sip. It was hot, but the warmth soothed her throat and settled in her stomach without argument.
Severus held open the door to the small laboratory and indicated that Hermione should proceed him. She settled limply on one of the stools and leaned on the workbench.
"I don't think I'm going to make it to Potions on time this morning," she observed.
"No loss," he commented without inflection.
Hermione shrugged, and sipped cautiously at her tea. When the silence got to her, she inquired, "May I ask you something?"
He nodded marginally.
"Are you going to come back to teaching Potions?"
"No," he answered quickly, then added, "I taught only as a favor to the Headmaster, and my position in Hogwarts gave Voldemort supposed access to the goings-on here."
"I see."
**
Though her reply was merely polite, Severus could hear the faint disappointment in her voice. He knew better than to expect that it was his person that prompted such emotion, but the loss of actually learning anything in the class.
"There is some possibility I might have enjoyed teaching if the average student were remotely interested in the subject. As it was, there were too many Longbottoms and not enough students like yourself."
"I thought you hated me," Hermione blurted out. Before he could formulate an answer to that, she abruptly paled and bolted for the bathroom once more. Left staring after her, Severus went in search of another face- cloth.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Hermione declared weakly when he appeared in the doorway. She took the wet cloth he offered and pressed it to her forehead. "You just have to let it come, and not fight it."
"I'll take your word for it, but you'll not be going anywhere this morning but into one of these beds. If you're finished here, that is."
When Hermione nodded, Severus caught her under one elbow and hauled her upright, frowning a bit at the lack of weight. The girl wasn't terribly tall, but if she weighed more than six stone he'd be very much surprised. He led her to the cot opposite the door to his laboratory, where he'd be able to hear her if she called. Madame Pomfrey would no doubt soon make her appearance, followed soon by the morning contingent of sickly brats, but until then he wanted to keep an eye on things. At Hermione's request, he put one of the ever-present screens between the cot and the rest of the ward.
When he turned around, the black student's robe lay across the foot of the bed and he was momentarily taken aback by the sight of one of his most studious pupils in an oversized cotton shirt emblazoned with a smiley-faced tooth. Once she'd pulled up the covers and gotten comfortable, he made sure a pail was within easy reach and turned to go. Hermione's quiet voice stopped him.
"May I ask you something else?"
"Hermione," he began, then steeled himself. "You may ask for anything that is in my power to give."
"Oh," she replied, and when he glanced at her, she appeared faintly puzzled. "I was just going to say that I had overheard Professor Dumbledore tell Madame Pomfrey that you're going to be starting some research projects." Her voice quieted deferentially. "I was hoping you'd allow me to assist you."
"You wish to continue working with me?" He queried, somewhat astonished.
"Yes, please. The NEWTS are only a few months away, and I need to get a good enough score in potions to be admitted to Aleford."
"Cluny would be of no use in preparing you for your exams, Miss Granger, but surely you must know that you'd no doubt pass if you took the NEWTS tomorrow."
Hermione ignored the implied compliment and pressed on. "I'm going to need to win a scholarship, professor. My parents aren't well-to-do and to tell the truth, they're not all that happy at the thought of my going to university in the wizards' world."
"Have you written to them? About the pregnancy," he clarified, masking his tense anxiety with a mild tone.
"No," she admitted, ducking her head slightly. "I'm still trying to figure out what to say."
Unable to make an answer to that, Snape returned to the previous question. "I have no objection whatever to your involvement, Miss Granger. Actually, I had hoped to ask you for your assistance. Madame Pomfrey needs little help with her actual mediwitch duties; keep her supplies up and she'll give you carte blanche on your time here."
"Thank you, sir. You don't know how much I appreciate this." Hermione drew the rough blanket up under her arms and lay back. Her face was a close match to the white pillowcase, and even from the foot of the bed Severus could make out the few freckles across the bridge of her nose.
"It's my turn, I believe, to ask you a personal question, Miss Granger. Have you decided what you will do -- with the baby, I mean?" He still stuttered slightly when he said the word.
Hermione plucked at the blanket and didn't answer immediately. "Not really. Professor Dumbledore tells me that there are some wizard families who might be interested in adopting a wizard baby. And between your genetics and mine, there's not much chance he'll be a squib, is there? But I'm not comfortable with that option, because the way things are I don't really feel like I can be sure the family who would take a baby would be the right sort of family."
"Not a Death Eater family or the like, is that it?"
"Exactly. I couldn't live with myself if I thought my child might end up in a family like the Malfoys." Hermione sighed heavily, and Snape could tell she was exhausted. "I can't seem to concentrate on all that, for some reason. There's still Voldemort to worry about. If we defeat him, then I'm sure something will work out. If we don't defeat him, well, then, I'll have more to worry about than the sprog, won't I?"
Her eyes were drifting shut, and Snape forbore mentioning that the latest message to Dumbledore from the Centaurs had claimed the signs point towards this new year as being the one during which the final battle would be waged with Voldemort.
Hermione was still talking, barely awake. "And if witches and wizards live as long as people say... Then taking care of a child until they're ready for Hogwarts won't be too terribly long, in the long run, will it?"
"Sleep, Miss Granger. I'll be sure you're excused from classes today."
He received only an indistinct murmur in reply.
*****
Not until after student curfew that evening could Severus leave the confines of the Hospital Wing and wander the hallways of Hogwarts. He used the do-not-notice spell and put a muffling charm on his boots, but those were only minor inconveniences he had endured many times before. Not even Mrs. Norris, sniffing around the corridors for students out of bed, caught a whiff of his scent.
The gargoyle let him onto the spiral stair to the Headmaster's office, and he took the steps two at a time, just because he could. Dumbledore offered him tea and biscuits and more of his horrid Muggle candies. They discussed nothing in particular for some time, until Severus was tapping his fingers on the overstuffed arm of his chair and beginning to feel the need for the loo.
"And how are you and Miss Granger getting on?" Dumbledore asked out of the blue.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mentioned Miss Granger. You told me she'd learned all the potions she'll need to brew to assist Poppy. If you're managing to work together, you might consider making her an assistant for your research."
"Yes. I had considered that," Severus managed thinly. "She's agreed to work with me, so long as it helps her NEWTS score.
"Ah, yes. The bane of seventh-years everywhere. Well, then. Miss Granger appears to be dealing as well as can be expected with her extraordinary circumstances. She'll no doubt cope just dandy with the baby."
It was the jovial use of 'dandy' that made his palms itch with the urge to strangle the old wizard. "Cope, you say. That foolish girl! I offered her anything, and she wants better NEWTS scores."
Dumbledore hmmed and stirred his tea, the silver spoon making small tinks against the fine china walls of his cup.
"There must be a way to make her realize the gravity of her situation," Severus continued, although he'd not truly considered making Hermione Granger do anything of the sort until now.
"Perhaps she doesn't want anything you have to offer."
"She has every right to ask. Either she truly has no idea of my financial situation, or she's being incredibly brave and stubborn."
"Severus," warned Dumbledore, brandishing his spoon threateningly, "if you say 'how Gryffindor' of her, I shall thump you."
He glared at the older man and held his silence, since he'd been on the verge of saying exactly that. Settling for action, he refilled his cup and drank the cold, bitter dregs with a grim satisfaction.
"If you wish to give your child anything, I suggest a father and a name would be the best choice," Dumbledore suggested gravely.
Severus kept a sneer out of his voice with some difficulty. "Your confidence is my continued existence is touching, Headmaster. Not to mention your rather optimistic assumption Miss Granger would take leave of her exceptional senses to have me."
"I was given to understand your mother has been nagging you to provide an heir for some time."
"Let the name of Snape die."
Dumbledore sighed. "Do stop being so melodramatic, Severus. One would think you were a second year who hadn't get asked to the Yule ball." Snape merely glowered at Dumbledore, who responded with a genial smile. "If you don't want to give the child your name, don't. It was merely a suggestion." He finished his tea with a slurp. "Although I must say I prefer Granger anyway."
Ignoring the jibe, Severus scowled thoughtfully. "Perhaps there's a way to include Hermione and the child in my will. Then if something unfortunate should happen to me, which it most likely will," he drawled, "I can leave her very comfortable."
"And the moment that codicil is filed with the Ministry, both she and the baby will become a target for all those who hold you in less than high esteem, my boy," countered Dumbledore. "Not to mention what an official inquest will do about the child's irregular occurrence. You know how the Ministry is about illegitimate births among purebred families.
"One would think with a population as devastated as ours has been, those old codgers would be more willing to forgive how additional population came into being. But no, they want purebloods marrying purebloods and spawning pureblood families."
The Headmaster harrumphed at the stupidity of all ministers. "No, Hermione would be drowned in red tape, and the child would lucky to see any money at all before it was time for him to come here to Hogwarts. You'll simply have to see to it you live long enough to hand her the Galleons in person," he concluded in an offhand manner.
"And count my fingers afterwards? Miss Granger is as proud as she is intelligent, and she refuses to be intimidated by me any longer. I'd be lucky to survive even one attempt to give her money."
"Well, I'm sure you'll think of something."
Severus put down his teacup with a thump. He suspected the Headmaster was manipulating him, but could not decide in which direction.
The freedom to breathe deeply; to lean over without becoming light-headed or feel the blood pounding in his throat--all were sensations he'd sorely missed. By the calendar it was January 31st, but for Severus the New Year had not really started until just the last few days. He was not so sentimental as to consider himself having a new lease on life, but his rapidly recovering health was allowing him to view things in a larger frame of reference once more. Other luxuries were nice as well, such as puttering around in his pokey little room or using any of the fixtures in the small bath without Pomfrey twittering about just outside the door, waiting to hear him drown himself. The mere idea of dying in the bathtub had been mortifying enough to make him take great care not to overtax his once temperamental heart.
During the Headmaster's last visit, their conversation had centered on some research Severus had never before had time to indulge. Potions that had been suggested by recent articles in Ars Alchemea and Potions Monthly had teased the imagination and promised remarkable results, and Dumbledore had given his full support to those efforts. Severus was fully aware it was merely a sop to the fact that he was still essentially a prisoner, kept in protective custody. The small suite of rooms that comprised his current domain were more pleasant than Azkaban, to be sure, but they were still cramped.
But still - with a fairly complete laboratory and an able assistant, he itched to get started on several projects he'd put off. And one would need to look long and hard to find a more able assistant than Hermione Granger.
To give credit where it was due, the girl - young woman, he corrected himself - had saved his life. Miss Granger had the potential of a fine Potions Mistress. Her recent quick mastery of the basic medicinal potions had led him to broaden his plans. Straightening his cuffs and settling the weight of the fabric over his shoulders, Severus allowed himself to consider Hermione for a moment. Like a vicious scab on his psyche, his mind had returned again and again to worry at the situation that was Hermione Granger, at least until the discomfort of thinking about her caused his thoughts to veer off in another direction once more.
When he had first regained consciousness in Pomfrey's care, Severus had been unable to tell Dumbledore what had gone wrong, and several days had passed before he'd remembered any details at all. The full recall had burst upon him during one of Dumbledore's quiet, probing conversations, and he finally understood what the Headmaster had been so carefully tiptoeing around.
He'd raped Hermione Granger.
The sudden full return of his memory had left him retching helplessly, tearing the recently repaired injuries to his stomach and sides until blood had mixed with the bile he brought up. Pomfrey had shouted at the Dumbledore, something she almost never did, and cast a spell on him that rendered him insensate.
Once he'd regained consciousness, Severus had clamped down all emotion. The cold anger that had once been his safety valve required too much energy for his injured body to maintain for more than a sharp retort or two. Mostly he'd ignored Dumbledore's continued efforts to draw him from the bleak depression, just as he ignored Pomfrey's efforts to involve him in the healing of his body. As he saw it, his body had betrayed him, and it deserved no better treatment. Despite the fact that Malfoy had cast the Imperius, it was his body that had violated hers, and his child currently growing inside her.
The news of Hermione's unexpected pregnancy had nearly been the final blow for Severus. Falling back on his normal caustic behavior had made her respond in kind, but her refusal to blame him was as unanticipated as it was misguided. Although he had wronged her in the worst way imaginable, she had instead aimed her revulsion at Lucius Malfoy, and this left Severus uncertain how to react. Additionally, he'd seen first hand that she had a temper when provoked, which would lead a prudent man to curb his tendency to snarl.
During the past two weeks they had worked together without friction, maintaining a respectful and frigidly polite distance. He'd refrained from snapping at the least provocation, and she had in turn had behaved far more professionally than he had any right to expect. This gave him the faint hope that she might be willing to assist him further with his research and keep him from chafing too much while confined in Pomfrey's keeping.
Impatient to begin his work, Severus gave up working at the last crease of his cuff and waved his hand. The false wall between his quarters and the dusty Isolation Ward dissolved, and on the other side of the room that wall, too, shimmered out of existence and led straight into the laboratory. When he stepped through, the illusion of solid wall remained behind him. The staircases were not the only things about Hogwarts that got restless, and the old heap would occasionally accommodate the Headmaster's request and reform a wall here and there.
Severus had barely begun to survey the newly arranged laboratory when he heard a female voice calling urgently for Madame Pomfrey. It was a bit earlier than most students showed up, and he knew for a fact Poppy was not in the Hospital Wing yet that morning. The voice was familiar, and as he opened the laboratory door covertly and peered through the gap, his assumption was proved correct as he caught sight of Hermione Granger standing just inside the Infirmary.
Standing was perhaps too optimistic a word; Miss Granger held herself upright with a hand against the doorframe. The other was clenched over her stomach, but quickly went to her mouth as another wave of nausea racked her. She bolted suddenly for the lavatory and the sounds of her violent retching echoed from the tiled walls.
**
Hermione had barely opened her eyes when the morning sickness, which so far had been only a few fleeting moments of disquiet, suddenly manifested with a vengeance. She'd had to run to the lav and be sick, and had barely made it in time. Brushing her teeth and drinking a little cold water had helped, but even finding her school uniform had been interrupted twice by unplanned prayers to the porcelain gods. In surrender, she'd dragged on the first thing that came to hand - an old cotton shirt and a pair of leggings, then threw her school robes on over the top of that and headed for the Hospital Wing.
Just passing by the Great Hall and getting a whiff of the food had sent her hurtling towards the bathrooms again. The climb up the staircases had left her gray and sweating, and once inside the door the impending nausea had sent her lurching towards the nearest toilet, where she clutched the cold white bowl as the spasms racked her body. When the worst was over, she leaned weakly against the wall and rested her forehead on the bowl, willing her head to stop pounding.
A cold touch on the back of her neck made her jump, but the pressure of long fingers on the flannel kept her head down.
"Stay still, Miss Granger. Wait until you're sure it has passed." Snape's deep voice lacked any mockery, and she put her head back down gratefully. Another damp cloth, this one comfortingly warm, was pressed into her hand and she used it to wipe her mouth and runny nose.
After a few minutes, she cautiously sat up and pushed her hair back. Muscles in her back and abdomen protested, but her stomach remained quiet while she mopped her face again and tried, not very successfully, to put herself to rights. When her hands were washed and her robes buttoned properly, she left the small lavatory and was surprised to see Snape holding out a steaming mug.
"What is it?" she questioned, taking it gingerly and sniffing at the fragrant steam.
"An exotic blend -- peppermint tea and licorice root, with a spoon of honey. It should calm your stomach, and there is no risk of any side- effects harming you."
"Thank you," she murmured weakly, and attempted a small sip. It was hot, but the warmth soothed her throat and settled in her stomach without argument.
Severus held open the door to the small laboratory and indicated that Hermione should proceed him. She settled limply on one of the stools and leaned on the workbench.
"I don't think I'm going to make it to Potions on time this morning," she observed.
"No loss," he commented without inflection.
Hermione shrugged, and sipped cautiously at her tea. When the silence got to her, she inquired, "May I ask you something?"
He nodded marginally.
"Are you going to come back to teaching Potions?"
"No," he answered quickly, then added, "I taught only as a favor to the Headmaster, and my position in Hogwarts gave Voldemort supposed access to the goings-on here."
"I see."
**
Though her reply was merely polite, Severus could hear the faint disappointment in her voice. He knew better than to expect that it was his person that prompted such emotion, but the loss of actually learning anything in the class.
"There is some possibility I might have enjoyed teaching if the average student were remotely interested in the subject. As it was, there were too many Longbottoms and not enough students like yourself."
"I thought you hated me," Hermione blurted out. Before he could formulate an answer to that, she abruptly paled and bolted for the bathroom once more. Left staring after her, Severus went in search of another face- cloth.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Hermione declared weakly when he appeared in the doorway. She took the wet cloth he offered and pressed it to her forehead. "You just have to let it come, and not fight it."
"I'll take your word for it, but you'll not be going anywhere this morning but into one of these beds. If you're finished here, that is."
When Hermione nodded, Severus caught her under one elbow and hauled her upright, frowning a bit at the lack of weight. The girl wasn't terribly tall, but if she weighed more than six stone he'd be very much surprised. He led her to the cot opposite the door to his laboratory, where he'd be able to hear her if she called. Madame Pomfrey would no doubt soon make her appearance, followed soon by the morning contingent of sickly brats, but until then he wanted to keep an eye on things. At Hermione's request, he put one of the ever-present screens between the cot and the rest of the ward.
When he turned around, the black student's robe lay across the foot of the bed and he was momentarily taken aback by the sight of one of his most studious pupils in an oversized cotton shirt emblazoned with a smiley-faced tooth. Once she'd pulled up the covers and gotten comfortable, he made sure a pail was within easy reach and turned to go. Hermione's quiet voice stopped him.
"May I ask you something else?"
"Hermione," he began, then steeled himself. "You may ask for anything that is in my power to give."
"Oh," she replied, and when he glanced at her, she appeared faintly puzzled. "I was just going to say that I had overheard Professor Dumbledore tell Madame Pomfrey that you're going to be starting some research projects." Her voice quieted deferentially. "I was hoping you'd allow me to assist you."
"You wish to continue working with me?" He queried, somewhat astonished.
"Yes, please. The NEWTS are only a few months away, and I need to get a good enough score in potions to be admitted to Aleford."
"Cluny would be of no use in preparing you for your exams, Miss Granger, but surely you must know that you'd no doubt pass if you took the NEWTS tomorrow."
Hermione ignored the implied compliment and pressed on. "I'm going to need to win a scholarship, professor. My parents aren't well-to-do and to tell the truth, they're not all that happy at the thought of my going to university in the wizards' world."
"Have you written to them? About the pregnancy," he clarified, masking his tense anxiety with a mild tone.
"No," she admitted, ducking her head slightly. "I'm still trying to figure out what to say."
Unable to make an answer to that, Snape returned to the previous question. "I have no objection whatever to your involvement, Miss Granger. Actually, I had hoped to ask you for your assistance. Madame Pomfrey needs little help with her actual mediwitch duties; keep her supplies up and she'll give you carte blanche on your time here."
"Thank you, sir. You don't know how much I appreciate this." Hermione drew the rough blanket up under her arms and lay back. Her face was a close match to the white pillowcase, and even from the foot of the bed Severus could make out the few freckles across the bridge of her nose.
"It's my turn, I believe, to ask you a personal question, Miss Granger. Have you decided what you will do -- with the baby, I mean?" He still stuttered slightly when he said the word.
Hermione plucked at the blanket and didn't answer immediately. "Not really. Professor Dumbledore tells me that there are some wizard families who might be interested in adopting a wizard baby. And between your genetics and mine, there's not much chance he'll be a squib, is there? But I'm not comfortable with that option, because the way things are I don't really feel like I can be sure the family who would take a baby would be the right sort of family."
"Not a Death Eater family or the like, is that it?"
"Exactly. I couldn't live with myself if I thought my child might end up in a family like the Malfoys." Hermione sighed heavily, and Snape could tell she was exhausted. "I can't seem to concentrate on all that, for some reason. There's still Voldemort to worry about. If we defeat him, then I'm sure something will work out. If we don't defeat him, well, then, I'll have more to worry about than the sprog, won't I?"
Her eyes were drifting shut, and Snape forbore mentioning that the latest message to Dumbledore from the Centaurs had claimed the signs point towards this new year as being the one during which the final battle would be waged with Voldemort.
Hermione was still talking, barely awake. "And if witches and wizards live as long as people say... Then taking care of a child until they're ready for Hogwarts won't be too terribly long, in the long run, will it?"
"Sleep, Miss Granger. I'll be sure you're excused from classes today."
He received only an indistinct murmur in reply.
*****
Not until after student curfew that evening could Severus leave the confines of the Hospital Wing and wander the hallways of Hogwarts. He used the do-not-notice spell and put a muffling charm on his boots, but those were only minor inconveniences he had endured many times before. Not even Mrs. Norris, sniffing around the corridors for students out of bed, caught a whiff of his scent.
The gargoyle let him onto the spiral stair to the Headmaster's office, and he took the steps two at a time, just because he could. Dumbledore offered him tea and biscuits and more of his horrid Muggle candies. They discussed nothing in particular for some time, until Severus was tapping his fingers on the overstuffed arm of his chair and beginning to feel the need for the loo.
"And how are you and Miss Granger getting on?" Dumbledore asked out of the blue.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mentioned Miss Granger. You told me she'd learned all the potions she'll need to brew to assist Poppy. If you're managing to work together, you might consider making her an assistant for your research."
"Yes. I had considered that," Severus managed thinly. "She's agreed to work with me, so long as it helps her NEWTS score.
"Ah, yes. The bane of seventh-years everywhere. Well, then. Miss Granger appears to be dealing as well as can be expected with her extraordinary circumstances. She'll no doubt cope just dandy with the baby."
It was the jovial use of 'dandy' that made his palms itch with the urge to strangle the old wizard. "Cope, you say. That foolish girl! I offered her anything, and she wants better NEWTS scores."
Dumbledore hmmed and stirred his tea, the silver spoon making small tinks against the fine china walls of his cup.
"There must be a way to make her realize the gravity of her situation," Severus continued, although he'd not truly considered making Hermione Granger do anything of the sort until now.
"Perhaps she doesn't want anything you have to offer."
"She has every right to ask. Either she truly has no idea of my financial situation, or she's being incredibly brave and stubborn."
"Severus," warned Dumbledore, brandishing his spoon threateningly, "if you say 'how Gryffindor' of her, I shall thump you."
He glared at the older man and held his silence, since he'd been on the verge of saying exactly that. Settling for action, he refilled his cup and drank the cold, bitter dregs with a grim satisfaction.
"If you wish to give your child anything, I suggest a father and a name would be the best choice," Dumbledore suggested gravely.
Severus kept a sneer out of his voice with some difficulty. "Your confidence is my continued existence is touching, Headmaster. Not to mention your rather optimistic assumption Miss Granger would take leave of her exceptional senses to have me."
"I was given to understand your mother has been nagging you to provide an heir for some time."
"Let the name of Snape die."
Dumbledore sighed. "Do stop being so melodramatic, Severus. One would think you were a second year who hadn't get asked to the Yule ball." Snape merely glowered at Dumbledore, who responded with a genial smile. "If you don't want to give the child your name, don't. It was merely a suggestion." He finished his tea with a slurp. "Although I must say I prefer Granger anyway."
Ignoring the jibe, Severus scowled thoughtfully. "Perhaps there's a way to include Hermione and the child in my will. Then if something unfortunate should happen to me, which it most likely will," he drawled, "I can leave her very comfortable."
"And the moment that codicil is filed with the Ministry, both she and the baby will become a target for all those who hold you in less than high esteem, my boy," countered Dumbledore. "Not to mention what an official inquest will do about the child's irregular occurrence. You know how the Ministry is about illegitimate births among purebred families.
"One would think with a population as devastated as ours has been, those old codgers would be more willing to forgive how additional population came into being. But no, they want purebloods marrying purebloods and spawning pureblood families."
The Headmaster harrumphed at the stupidity of all ministers. "No, Hermione would be drowned in red tape, and the child would lucky to see any money at all before it was time for him to come here to Hogwarts. You'll simply have to see to it you live long enough to hand her the Galleons in person," he concluded in an offhand manner.
"And count my fingers afterwards? Miss Granger is as proud as she is intelligent, and she refuses to be intimidated by me any longer. I'd be lucky to survive even one attempt to give her money."
"Well, I'm sure you'll think of something."
Severus put down his teacup with a thump. He suspected the Headmaster was manipulating him, but could not decide in which direction.