As the month of May wore on, Hermione's baby grew bigger, and she could
swear the stairs at Hogwarts became longer with each passing day. The
steps she'd traipsed easily up and down in the earlier years of her
education had now become a daily endurance test. More and more she blessed
the existence of the virtually weightless black leather satchel that had
been Severus' first gift. The little 'HS' monogram on the front was
polished on a regular basis.
This particular Friday afternoon, however, Hermione had trudged up the stairs as fast as her swelling ankles could take her, grateful that Madame Pomfrey had no need of her. Her schedule had been adjusted to the point that she had the latter part of her afternoons free, and even the ones devoted to Madame Pomfrey could be skivved off as long as the mediwitch was satisfied with the potions stores.
All of which explained her current position, flat on her back with her feet up on a pile of pillows, her school robes in a crumpled heap on the floor while she herself wore only a loose shirt and her underwear. Crookshanks also occupied part of the bed, demanding an occasional petting as he lay sprawled across one of the open textbooks. His witch, meanwhile, was half- heartedly attempting to review her study notes but was mostly lying still and feeling her baby move. And moping, Hermione confessed to herself. She missed Severus more than she had thought she would, if not precisely WHEN she had anticipated.
It was not at night, when she lay in her huge, empty bed with only Crookshanks for company, though she missed him then as well. It was during her quiet study times that she found herself mourning his absence, when her mind swam in strong currents of thought and she wanted to ask him things, discuss all manner of subjects with him, and to hear his deep, resonant voice pour out sarcastic and devastatingly accurate observations. She missed being able to verbally explore a subject without first having to explain what it was she was actually talking about, or be able draw obscure parallels between, for instance, pure-blood wizards and the royal families of Europe without having to explain about recessive genes. Ron Weasley might have been able to recite the name of every Chudley Cannons Keeper for the last twenty years, but he couldn't have come up with the nationality of Catherine the Great if he'd been tied up and tortured.
*****
Somewhere in the forests of Broughton Moor in the Lake District of England, three men huddled around a sullen campfire and waited, individually and collectively, for various things to happen. Remus Lupin was waiting for the teakettle to heat up. Personally he had no objection to magically heated water, but his two companions, in a very odd moment of solidarity, both complained that water heated by magic simply tasted horrible, and would rather taste smoke in their tea than compromise.
Severus Snape lounged on a fallen tree trunk on the other side of the fire, waiting for the expected owl delivery. He wore his usual black trousers, vest, and white shirt, but had at last deigned to take off his black coat. While the three of them weren't exactly living rough, his formal frock coat was unequal to the rigors of tramping through the forest.
As for Sirius Black, morosely poking the small fire as he sat beside Remus, he was evidently waiting for hell to freeze over before he stopped acting like a prat. "I still don't understand how you could have allowed Hermione to marry him," Sirius told his friend. "Hell, you should have married her instead!"
Remus had been attempting to ignore him, having long since tired of explaining the situation, but the last accusation was a bit much.
"Hermione Granger is going to have a baby, Padfoot. If you can think of a better alternative than having her marrying the actual father of that child, rather than a werewolf, then I'd be delighted to hear it." He shot his oldest friend an irritated look. "As a matter of fact, I'd be glad to hear just about anything as long as you quit whinging about it."
They were distracted from their argument by the sight of a white owl winging through the late twilight, weaving through the trees and heading straight for them. Sirius held up his arm as a landing perch, but Harry's owl passed right by him and instead landed neatly on the log beside Severus and presented her leg.
"Hedwig," Severus greeted the owl blandly, concealing any surprise by long practice. Untying the tightly rolled letters, he examined each. One bore the messy scrawl of Harry, and he flicked it over the flames to Sirius. The second, with Dumbledore's spidery hand, he gave to Remus. The third scroll had tidy round writing and was addressed to him.
Remus opened his missive first, and quickly related with some relief the fact that Death Eaters had apparently taken Beltane night off and no attacks had been reported. The letter had other instructions, all to do with their assignment, though none of it was much of a surprise.
Sirius laughed a bit as he read the letter from his godson, telling some of the amusing bits to Remus.
Severus, however, was absorbed with the letter from Hermione. It wasn't long, containing only one nervous reference to the NEWTS, now only three weeks away. She told him how her new status was accepted and the occasional perks thereof, and the gift and correspondence she'd received from his mother. Fully half the sheet was used to ask a rather technical question on potions, and she ended it with one short, personal paragraph.
I won't ask where you are, or when you'll be back, but I wanted you to know that I think of you often. I miss you.
All my love,
Hermione
Across the fire, Black noticed the intense concentration with which Severus was reading his mail and could not pass up the opportunity. "What, another love letter from your schoolgirl bride? Tell me, does she sign it with X's and O's for hugs and kisses?"
Severus merely arched an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if that was the best he could do.
"You know," Sirius continued, "covert operation really means being covert. As in discreet. You can't be passing notes to your little girlfriend every afternoon, I think someone might notice."
Having heard just about enough, Remus kicked Sirius where he judged it would do the most good.
"Ow!" yelped Sirius quietly, rubbing his sore butt cheek. "What was that for?"
"He's sent her one bloody letter in four weeks, Padfoot," Remus hissed back, taking care that his voice didn't carry over to the other side of the fire. "You've written to Harry three times! When are you going to bloody well grow up?"
"I've spent twelve years in prison, Moony. It's called arrested development."
"It's called being an arse. Get over it already. You're here, and I'm here. Don't you think it's time you forgive Severus for being here as well? Even if James isn't?"
"How's that new wand working for you, Black?" Severus asked in a benign voice. He could hear the two of them yammering furtively at each other, presumably about himself, but really couldn't be bothered to wonder what the exact words were.
One bitterly ironic side benefit of investigating Death Eaters and their activities was the wands which were sometimes overlooked. Some had belonged to the victims, and some were the wands of Death Eaters who wouldn't be needing them any longer after displeasing their Dark Lord. Dumbledore had a drawer full of them, and once school was over, Harry would be shown the collection in hopes of finding one that would work for him against Voldemort's.
Sirius went red around the neck, and made no answer. It was highly humiliating to be reminded he owed his new wand to Severus' habit of pinching wands.
"You see?" Remus added. "He found you a wand to use, for Merlin's sake!"
"You sound like Harry," Black observed sourly.
"Good," Lupin retorted. "I'd hate for Harry to sound like you."
"You don't really expect me to be mates with him, do you? He hates us both."
"And you tried to kill him, Padfoot. If Harry had ever pulled a stunt like that, you'd have flogged him senseless."
Sirius had no answer to this. Instead he looked at the spare man across the fire from him, reading his parchment. The last few times they'd been forced to work together Severus Snape had been a tightly wound bundle of self control and buzzing nerves, all of which had been exhausting to be around. By contrast, the Potions Master actually appeared to be somewhat relaxed at the moment.
"Do you realize you've never once said you're sorry for that horrid prank?" Remus asked.
"I've said it dozens of times, Moony."
"To me. Not to him." At Sirius' stubborn frown, Lupin sighed and gave up prodding. Instead, he raised his voice enough for Severus to hear him. "How is Hermione?" he asked genially. "She's not studying too hard, is she?"
"Actually, she's come up with something of a brilliant idea," Severus told him, reading the central portion of the letter once more. "Professor Cluny made a particularly stupid comment in class, and they had a rather heated debate, you should forgive the pun, over the reaction of certain potions to the metal of their cauldron. She's hypothesizing that a cauldron made of glass would make certain potions much easier to brew. Such as the Wolfsbane potion," he added with deceptive mildness.
"Would a non-reactive cauldron really make a difference?" Lupin asked immediately.
"At the very least, it might make it more palatable, but I'm not sure. It will require some study, since silver is a major factor in the Wolfsbane, but all my references are at Hogwarts. For another matter, however, vessels made of glass would likely cut the frequency of cauldrons being melted by caustic reactions."
"How can glass possibly withstand the heat?"
"Apparently Muggles have developed a type of glass which will stand a tremendous amount of temperature stress. Hermione says her mother has a set of pots for the cooker, all made of this same glass."
"What about breakage? Wouldn't a glass cauldron exploding be dangerous?"
"Any worse than a pewter one? Actually, glass takes unbreakable charms much easier than metal, and if I remember correctly, glass cuts respond to healing charms better as well, since the shards leave less trace elements behind in the wound. Another point to research. Damn it all, I need my references." He made a mental note to direct Hermione towards Madame Pomfrey on the medical question, and to question Flitwick regarding the unbreakable charm.
"Where would we get this - what is it called?" Black asked, curious despite himself.
"Pyrex." Severus searched the letter again. "She's not sure. Says she'll have to contact Percy Weasley. Apparently he's some sort of expert on cauldron imports."
Turning his shoulder on his two compatriots, Severus leaned against a tree and re-read the letter again. In the weeks since he'd seen Hermione, he'd ceased to be appalled at how often he thought of her. Waking or sleeping, she was never far from his thoughts. Whenever his eyes shut, memories overwhelmed him: of her face, her laugh, and that stubborn, Gryffindor temperament that both annoyed and engaged him. He reviewed their long conversations and considered new ones, imagining how she'd react to the many things he wanted to share with her. More than anything, Severus simply wanted to see her again.
Dumbledore had swore himself hoarse promising he'd notify Severus if anything should happen to Hermione or the baby. His baby. He was going to be a father, and that thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Soon, within two months, Hermione would give birth to his child. And within himself, Severus Snape was discovering a steely determination to see his child born, grow up, and live in a world that was safe from the depredations of the psychopathic monster to which he'd once swore allegiance.
A hand bumped his shoulder, and Severus opened his eyes with a start.
"Pinkus is back," Black told him, holding up the tattletale plastic cork charmed to light up when their quarry opened his front door. The blob of white plastic was glowing in the gloomy light under the trees.
The three of them stole quickly through the trees, circling around to the front of Sidney Pinkus' tiny cottage, where the novice Death Eater spent one weekend a month on what he told his wife was a spiritual retreat. In reality, the man met his mistress on the first Saturday of each month, regular as clockwork.
This month, however, he'd had to leave the witch fuming and unfulfilled while answering his master's summons. While it might have been detrimental to Pinkus' love life, Sirius Black had Apparated there earlier in the evening, once the man had left, and informed the mistress of the wife's imminent and entirely fictitious arrival. The mistress had departed post haste.
"Idiot hasn't even set a ward," Severus hissed with contempt. With Black and Lupin behind him, he strode to the front door of the little cottage and unceremoniously kicked the door in.
"Pinkus," he exclaimed genially, his wand pointed at the startled man. Pinkus dropped the silver mask he'd been bundling up in a gray robe. "How have you been, old son? Well, I hope?"
"S-S-Snape!" Sidney stuttered. "I thought you were dead!"
"No such thing," Severus replied. "Allow me to not introduce my companions. Don't worry, they're no loss as conversationalists. It's you I want to talk to."
"About what?" he asked nervously, eyeing the two men behind his fellow Death Eater. Past experience had shown the three operatives that the threatening presence of one spokesman backed by two silent, menacing figures created a more powerful impression than three separate speakers with highly antagonistic personalities.
Severus smiled without teeth, settling onto a piece of the rough furniture. "Many things. Voldemort, for starters."
Sidney Pinkus was not the first nor the last Death Eater identified by the Order who might have had second thoughts about taking the Dark Mark. While Voldemort required warm bodies to build an army, he could not watch each and every one of them as closely as he perhaps should have. And every one that saw Severus Snape alive, out of the clutches of his former companions and walking about hale and healthy was another Death Eater who would question the unthinking allegiance demanded by Voldemort.
It was tedious and nerve-wracking work, and progress was measured in tiny increments. But each Death Eater who doubted was a crack in the crucible of Voldemort's power. Day after day the three men, in one form or another, did all within their power to eat away at Voldemort's support. And even those who resisted Snape's carefully thought out propaganda could be overwhelmed, dosed with Veritaserum, and then Obliviated after being thoroughly interrogated.
As it turned out, Severus Snape had discovered he did, indeed, share at least one characteristic with Remus Lupin and Severus Black. They were all three quite capable of ruthlessness, and all three had their consciences on a short leash. Those consciences sat up or laid down on command, and had been known to play dead with convincing ease.
******
The final Hogsmeade weekend of the year was announced for the first full weekend of June. Hermione had not originally planned to go, buried as she was in the NEWTS studying that occupied nearly every waking moment, but Ron and Harry were persistent. Refusing to take no for an answer, they practically kidnapped her from her books and finally bullied her out of the castle for the first time in far too long.
Once out in the fresh air and bright sunshine, Hermione took a deep breath and forgave her friends immediately. The day was far too fine to pass up, and her long dormant appetite sat up and began instantly clamoring for Honeydukes' nougat.
They joined the other Hogwarts students on the path down to the village, robes flapping in the breeze and voices raised in enthusiastic innocence. Ron was extolling the virtues of the latest racing broom, arguing with Harry about innovations he endorsed and Harry did not.
"We can ask Gudgeon when we get to the broom shop," Ron said finally. "He'll set you right."
"And you're going to be on the cover of Witch Weekly," Harry retorted sarcastically. "Gudgeon knows better."
"Oh, honestly," Hermione exclaimed. "If you think I'm going to spend an hour standing around while you two argue about brooms, you're very much mistaken."
"Oh, and you expect us to wait while you go through every shelf at the bookstore?" Ron retorted.
"All right," Hermione told him. "No bookstore. But I do want to visit another shop, and I don't want to hear any complaining."
"Deal," Harry told her. "And don't worry, we won't spend too long looking at brooms. We've got to be back to school before three this afternoon."
"We do?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"'Course we do," Ron told her. "Didn't you read the notice?"
"All liberty weekends were short this year," Harry added. "Especially.well, especially after Halloween," he finished sympathetically. "And Dumbledore specifically wanted to be sure today doesn't have any surprises."
Harry nodded minutely towards the wizard lounging against a wall, reading a Daily Prophet and apparently ignoring the foot traffic around him. With newly observant eyes, Hermione saw the casually loitering wizards and witches along High Street, not on every corner but nearly.
"Aurors," Harry mouthed in her ear. "They're all off-duty volunteers. They've come here every time there's a Hogsmeade weekend, as a favor to Professor Dumbledore."
Suppressing a shiver and a rather uncharitable thought about hindsight, Hermione acquiesced to a short expedition and meekly followed her friends into the workshop that smelled of sawdust, green twig sap, and varnish.
Ron and the shop proprietor immediately began discussing the broom in question. To Ron's chagrin, Dave Gudgeon supported Harry's position that the designers had been tweaking what should have been left well enough alone. With smug, superior air, Harry let the debate rage on without him and found a stool for Hermione. She took a seat and made herself comfortable, expecting Harry to begin some extensive browsing. Somewhat to her surprise he remained at her side, though his fingers wandered over a stack of printed sheets on a nearby rack.
"What's that?" she asked, indicating the papers that held his attention.
"Professional Quidditch schedule," he told her, showing one of the sheets with the colorful emblems of the various teams. The Chudley Cannons' orange design was easy to pick out after years of listening to Ron, but she recognized a few others as well. Seemingly entranced, Harry gazed at the glossy sheet, his finger running down the list of game dates and times. "I got an owl from the English Quidditch Association," he confessed softly.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed happily, but he cut off her enthusiasm with a short chop of his hand.
"Don't," he told her. "I haven't told Ron. They wanted me to declare myself an eligible player; apparently the professional teams can't start any recruiting, even for a rookie player, unless they're listed."
"That's wonderful! The season doesn't start for months, right? So there must be some teams already wanting you to play for them!"
Harry pushed up his glasses. "Training camps start October first. But I'm not going to sign unless everything else works out first."
Appalled, Hermione stared at him. "Harry, you can't put your life on hold waiting for Voldemort. You can't!"
"I'm not waiting for him," Harry confided. "As soon as school is over, I'm going on the offensive."
Hermione cast about to be sure no one could hear them. "Are you out of your mind? This is Voldemort we're talking about! He's got an army of Death Eaters at his beck and call!"
"I don't care, Hermione. It's not just me anymore, you know that. The Ministry can deny things until they're all blue in the face, but it's gone too far to be ignored. Dumbledore has a lot of contacts in the Aurors, and they're all disgusted with how Fudge is running things. Once we figure out where he's hiding, we're going to take the fight to him."
"You can't even stand up straight when he's around you!" Hermione protested. "Your scar hurts too much! What are you going to do about that?" Harry grimaced; his scar had been red and burning off and on for months, and was a constant source of headaches. "Not to mention your wands don't work against each other!"
"All right, I'm not saying there aren't a couple of problems to figure out." Hermione snorted indelicately. "But I'm sick of this, Hermione," he said, his sincerity evident in tense lines of his wiry frame. "I'm tired of hearing about Death Eater attacks, and I'm tired of being afraid. No one else is going to go through what you have. I swear it."
Hermione frowned, dubious. "What does Professor Dumbledore say?"
Harry shoved his glasses up. "He doesn't agree with going on the offensive, but if you'll notice the final schedule came out last week. The end of term is the 19th of June, and the Express will take everyone home on the twentieth. We don't really expect Voldemort to do anything until later this summer, but if he wants to make a show of some sort on the Summer Solstice, at least there won't be any students around to be hurt."
"And then what?"
"And then I go to war," Harry said grimly.
This is the end, Hermione realized as she stared at the slender, black- haired young man before her. The end of an age. A stark thought, perhaps, but true. The last carefree afternoon, and the last Hogsmeade weekend. Once the students returned to the castle, the remainder of term would be spent in furious preparation for finals, and, for her and her fellow seventh-years, the NEWTS.
She was reminded of a folk song she'd once memorized about three friends enjoying a wonderful day. The Summer before the War, it was called, and the song's melancholy joy echoed in her heart as Harry waited for her to argue. Instead, she slid off her perch and hugged Harry awkwardly, pressing her face against his shoulder in an attempt to keep her tears from surfacing.
"Be careful," she whispered.
Harry's arms tightened around her briefly. "I will," he promised.
"What is this?" Ron's voice intruded, making them both pull back. "He's already spoken for, Hermione, but I can't blame you for wanting to trade up."
Hermione pulled back from Harry's embrace, and although it took every ounce of courage and resolve she had, she summoned a brilliant smile. "Sod off," she told him cheerfully.
Ron's jaw dropped at the casual profanity, making both Harry and Hermione to laugh. At that moment, she formed the determination that today, if it were to be their last carefree day together, the three of them would have as much fun as could possibly be had.
"C'mon," she told them. "Let's go to Zonko's."
It was Harry's turn to gape at her. "Hermione, are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," she insisted, tucking her hand through each one's arm. "I just want to get it over with. Is that all right?"
Fred and George Weasley had refused to admit how much money they'd invested at Zonko's, or even where they'd gotten the Galleons to begin with, but somehow the twins had convinced the elderly Mr. Zonko to allow himself to be bought out over time. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes currently occupied only a few tables in the crowded shop, and the twins were learning the intricacies of the business world under the indulgent eye of Zonko himself. Once the Wheezes were in full production, Zonko planned to retire and leave the shop to the younger generation of jokesters. Until then, he had someone to do the early openings and late closings and any other unpleasantness while he acted as an advisor. All three parties were particularly pleased with the arrangement, especially the gentleman who was now free to go fishing whenever the trout were running.
The twins were thrilled to see their brother and his friends, and their plans for refurbishing the shop were soon sketched out on the back of a sales flyer. They hoped to accomplish the work over the summer, in time for the new school year and all the eager students.
"Put this in one of Snape's potions," Fred said eagerly, holding out one of his new ideas, a suspicious-looking cylinder in bright fuscia paper. "Foaming Fantasies. Based on the Boggart principle, but the exact opposite. Dissolves instantly in any liquid, then makes a foam that assumes the shape of the closest person's fantasy snog. That'll take the starch out of the old bat!"
"If it works," Hermione said dangerously. "And if it does work, it bloody well better look like me." She smiled sweetly at the horrified look on Fred Weasley's face as he suddenly remembered the latest gossip from the school. "Besides, he doesn't teach Potions any longer. Haven't you heard?"
"We heard," George interjected, giving his twin a sound wallop on the back of the head. "Congratulations, Hermione. Always knew you had better sense than to hook up with our baby brother."
"Get stuffed, George," Ron told his sibling. "I see you haven't found your Dream Witch, either. Mum's beginning to wonder if you're Beating for the other team."
"He's not," Fred said quickly. "Just last week I caught him trying to sneak up the back stairs with this amazing bit of MMfhh!"
"He's lost his mind," George supplied easily, his hand holding his twin's mouth shut. "There's no girl. Really."
"Her name's Felicity," Fred shouted as he got his mouth free. George immediately jabbed with his elbow, and the two were off. Ron, Hermione and Harry watched the pair scuffle with some interest but no concern, since this same scene repeated every time one had a girlfriend and the other did not.
"If I had any money, I'd bet on Fred," Ron offered.
"No," Harry replied casually. "George, definitely."
"How will you be able to tell?" quipped Hermione.
In the end, one of the twins yelped in real pain. The other apologized glibly.
"Apology accepted, you git," said the first, and the spat was over until next time. Unfortunately, since they were wearing matching sweaters, it was impossible to now tell which was Fred and which was George.
"Let's go," Ron said finally, after another fruitless round of trying to tell the identical idiots apart. "Sorry, mates, but we're meeting Dean and some of the team in a bit."
As a farewell token, the twins handed Ron and Harry each a bag of their latest mischief. "Be sure to read the directions," warned Fred (or it might have been George) as the trio went out the door.
To Ron and Harry's relief, Hermione reiterated her intention to pass on visiting the bookstore. That gratitude was exhausted soon after as they tagged along, red-faced and fidgety, while Hermione went through soft blankets, little robes and tiny pointed hats at Wee Wizards and Witches.
Since she didn't know yet if she'd need the pink or blue version of the little robes, Hermione restrained herself. Also, the thought of Severus' face when he eventually saw the purchases helped her steer away from the more saccharine ducks and unicorns patterns. She settled for buying a few light robes in pale green and some small yellow blankets with red piping along the edges.
"Poor kid's going to clash something awful," commented Ron. "Only time he'll look good is during Christmas."
Honeydukes was next, where Hermione bought herself an obscene amount of nougat in hopes it would last her through the end of the year. Not likely, she thought, since she knew she was perfectly capable of consuming a huge quantity when the craving hit her in the middle of the night.
Once they finally made it to the Three Broomsticks, they found most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team there ahead of them. Natalie McDonald, Harry's fourth-year chaser, had commandeered a large table for everyone. A bit short for a chaser and altogether too delicate-looking, Natalie was a demon on a broom and Harry's hand-picked replacement for the captain of the team next year.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione piled in with the rest of the team, laughing at silly jokes and making outrageous proclamations in turn. Butterbeers were ordered, though Hermione had to shout to get Madame Rosemerta's attention when she wanted an apple cider instead. Her fellow Gryffindors immediately began teasing her, making thinly veiled references to her weight and girth and how that change had come about.
"Personally, I'd rather think about Hagrid's sex life," Ron confessed loudly. "The last thing I want to imagine is you and Snape!"
"Well, you'd have to imagine things, wouldn't you?" Hermione returned tartly, safely ensconced in the position of a woman who'd obviously had more sex than anyone else at the table. "You don't even have a sex life!"
"Hermione!" Ron protested. Hermione shrugged, unsympathetic. If you can't torture your best friends, who could you torture? Harry sniggered loudly amidst the shared laughter of the others, which earned a sour look from Ron.
"What are you laughing about, mate?" Ron demanded. "You and Ginny haven't gotten up to anything, either!"
"You believe that if it makes you feel better," Natalie told him. "Right, Hermione?"
Hermione grinned at the blush on both Harry and Ron's faces as they both waited to hear what she'd say; one hoping for denial, the other hoping for some discretion on her part.
"I don't know for sure that Harry is shagging Ginny," she began, aware of her audience. "But if I had to guess."
A chorus of 'oohs' rose from her audience when Hermione smiled knowingly and waggled her eyebrows, conveying with her expression what she did not want to say aloud.
"To Ginny!" exclaimed Natalie, holding up her glass. Harry's glass was the first of many to join the toast, which quickly got out of hand and resulted in spilled butterbeer all over the table amidst laughter and all other manner of silliness.
Just before three o'clock, the merry group broke up and made their way back to the castle. Somewhat tired and unable to walk quite as fast as she used, Hermione fell behind the others. Ron and Harry kept pace with her, talking and laughing about nothing in particular as the three of them walked up the path. Their familiar presence, the cadence of their jokes and conversation, all combined to fill Hermione with a sense of happy peace. She was content to listen to them, adding an occasional comment but more than anything simply enjoying their company.
In the distance, a furtive figure appeared on the path in front of them and spoke briefly to the students ahead. As the person came closer, they realized it was Colin Creevey.
"Filch," he called breathlessly as he came within earshot. "If you've got anything you want to keep, you'd better figure out how to hide it. He's in a right mood, and he's heard about your brothers' new stuff. The bugger's confiscating everything."
Harry and Ron gave each other a horrified look. Then they looked at the bag in Hermione's hands.
"No, No, Not like that!" Hermione told them seconds later. "Honestly, haven't you two learned anything from the twins? Take out the baby blanket, THEN put in your stuff."
When they reached the entrance to the castle it was to find Argus Filch standing guard in front of the huge door. He looked remarkably like the last seedy retainer of a great king, determined to defend the castle until his last breath. The caretaker turned a rheumy eye on Harry and Ron, who shrugged and pulled their pockets out to prove they were empty.
Hacking in disbelief, he then looked suspiciously towards Hermione. "Been shopping, 'ave you? And wha' 'ave you got there?"
"Just some things for the baby," she told the stringy caretaker, giving him the sweetest, most innocent look in her arsenal. "I've got the most darling little robes," she gushed.
Behind her, Harry elbowed Ron, who had made a choking noise and looked close to losing his lunch.
"I really need to go lie down," she announced to no one in particular. "My back is absolutely killing me." She put one hand in the small of her back and stretched, accentuating her front, then winced. "Oooh. Harry. The baby's kicking. Want to feel?"
Although Harry's glasses slid down his nose as a dubious expression crossed his face, it was barely noticeable compared to the unease displayed by Filch. He hemmed and cleared his throat, his stubbly, creased cheeks blanching gray as he was confronted with the round evidence of Hermione's condition.
"Get on wi' yeh," he grumbled finally, turning aside with a visible shudder.
Once safely inside, Ron and Harry burst out laughing. "Who would have thought Filch would be squeamish about a baby?" Ron demanded in disbelief. "Considering how many students he's probably caught snogging over the years!"
"Ha," Hermione proclaimed, ponderously climbing the stairs ahead of them. "I've noticed neither one of you have had the nerve to try and feel the baby moving." Her female classmates flocked to her side to feel the elusive flutterings, but most of the male Gryffindors acted as though they'd catch something if they went anywhere near Hermione. Seamus Finnegan was the lone exception, but he and Lavender were understandably intrigued.
"Hermione!" protested Ron soundly. "That's Snape's baby. Do you really think I want to feel his kid moving inside you?"
"FINE," she told him, affecting a slightly hurt manner. "Be that way." Nose in the air, oddly reminiscent of the telling off she'd given them as first-years, Hermione turned on her heel and started up the next flight of stairs with all the dignity of a galleon setting sail.
"Git," Harry told Ron, disgusted, slowly climbing the stairs in Hermione's wake.
"Get off it, Harry. Do you want to feel that kid moving?"
"Not really," Harry admitted. "But she's still got our stuff."
Leaning over the railing a flight above them, Hermione called down. "Hey! What's the first charm you two ever learned?"
Ron's face screwed up, but Harry answered. "Wingardium Leviosa. Why?"
"Think fast!" Hermione shouted as she chucked their packages over the stair.
*****
On a Friday afternoon a few weeks later, Hermione went straight to her rooms, stripped off the creased and stale school uniform and threw herself on the bed wearing nothing but her horrid maternity panties and an old cotton tee-shirt. The exams she'd both dreaded and eagerly looked forward to for the last two years were finally over - she'd just completed the very last NEWT she'd ever have to take. The release from the stress of anticipating the exams was finally over, and the stress of worrying about her results had not yet set in. In the valley between, Hermione wanted nothing more than to collapse into the oblivion of exhausted sleep her body demanded.
The nap was fairly short, but when Hermione slowly awoke she felt wonderfully rested. Snuggling into the cozy nest of her blankets, she could almost imagine a warm body next to hers. The imaginary body had a long arm which drifted over her gravid belly, drawing her against a lean, strong chest.
It had to be a dream, Hermione thought, and she didn't want to wake up until a familiar, insistent pressure against her derriere prompted her to arch back against him. Severus let out a low, deep chuckle as she inhaled sharply, fully awake. His lips grazed her ear and traced down the length of her neck, pressing soft kisses on the tender nape.
With a whimper she rolled abruptly and pulled his mouth to hers, frantic with relief that he was here, safe and whole.
"When did you get back?" she asked when she finally allowed him to breath again.
"This morning," he told her simply.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment before kissing him softly once more. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips. If she'd known that he were in the castle, she'd never have been able to concentrate on her examinations.
"You're welcome," he told her sincerely, while congratulating himself on guessing correctly. He'd been sure she'd have preferred it this way, but a part of him had worried, needlessly as it turned out, that she might have wanted to know the instant he came back to the castle.
With a frown, Hermione pulled her head back and looked at him critically. "What is this?" She demanded as she grabbed at the inch or so of black growth on his chin.
"Let go," Severus told her, pulling her hand away but grinning rakishly. Hermione gave him an arched eyebrow. He'd obviously been outdoors quite a bit recently; his arms were tan from the elbows down, and his face was full of healthy color above the scraggly beard.
"Now you do look like a Pikey."
"Exactly. And look," he told her, plucking his shirt from where it lay draped at the foot of the bed. The rough fabric looked like homespun, and was dingy beige in color.
Laughing helplessly, Hermione collapsed back onto the mattress, putting one hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the giggles. Severus scowled theatrically. When that failed to intimidate her, he contended himself with merely looking at the woman who had haunted his thoughts for the past month. Her hair was as curly as ever, and despite the shadows circling under her eyes, her face had filled out a little, along with the rest of her. Her collarbones no longer protruded painfully, and the extra curves further down were nice to see.
With something akin to reverence he drew the sheet off her torso and pushed up the cotton shirt to see her belly, his hand gently tracing the curved surface. A hearty movement beneath his hand startled him. Peering closely, he could actually see the surface of her skin move from the child within.
"You're huge," he murmured.
"So much for pillow talk," Hermione said with another chuckle.
He watched as a lump rose on one side of her belly and traversed several inches before subsiding under the dark line that ran from her bellybutton down. "Active little beggar," he commented.
"Always, especially in the middle of the afternoon. I was trying to take my Arithmancy final the other day and he gave me the hiccups."
One black eyebrow went up as if to say, 'So?'
"You try to concentrate with a double case of the hiccups," she challenged. "And there are some days I could swear he has some mates over for Cossack dancing."
Severus dropped a kiss on the smooth skin before moving up to kiss Hermione with all the longing he'd withheld earlier. She responded eagerly, hooking one ankle around his trouser-clad leg and pulling him as close as possible. The renewed pressure against her hip was familiar and sent a stab of longing through her.
To her surprise, Severus pulled back, groaning. "I apologize, Hermione. I know you're not up to this."
"Says who?" she demanded. "I'll have you know, Professor," she began in her most pedantic lecturing tones, "that I've done significant amount of research on this subject." She nodded towards the stack of books on her bedside table, most obtained by Cecilia Granger from the huge health section of their local Muggle bookstore. "Did you know a woman's body creates a dam of sorts behind the cervix? Nothing gets out, nothing gets in, and it doesn't go anywhere until she goes into labor."
He regarded her steadily. "So you're saying it's all right?"
"What I'm saying, Professor, that you'd best stop being so damned noble if you know what's good for you."
Severus grinned, but addressed his next comments to the expansive rise of her belly. "You're going to have to be quiet for a bit now. I've got some plans for your mother."
"Really?" asked Hermione archly.
"Really," he murmured, moving up to kiss her thoroughly and tugging at the hem of her shirt. Hermione ducked to allow him to draw the shirt over her head, and then moaned at the feel of his hands as they cupped her achingly full breasts.
For a moment she worried that he might find her current size unattractive or even revolting, but she quickly gave up the effort to think clearly and settled for feeling instead. Severus lay beside her on the bed, stroking, touching, apparently intent on rediscovering the texture and taste of every inch of her skin. Her stretchy knickers rolled down her hips and thighs, becoming a twisted rope that disappeared without a second thought into the tangle of bedclothes. At his whispered urging she rolled to her side, away from him, and he pulled her back towards his chest.
Hermione leaned into his strength, touching what she could of his arms as he ran his hands over her, teasing and arousing her until she whimpered with frustration. With a low chuckle at her impatience, Severus at last pushed her upper leg higher and reared over her, sliding into her from behind, his firm grip on her hip letting him control their gentle movement. Hermione pushed back, arching her spine to allow him deeper access. They rocked together, his fingers stroking her intimately from the front even as he surged into her from the back, his other arm cradling her firmly against him. Their passion mounted until Hermione gasped and clenched around him, feeling her womb tighten with the ecstasy that cascaded through her body. With a heavy groan, Severus joined her, breathing his completion on the back of her neck.
When she could move again, Hermione shifted around to lay her head on his shoulder, putting one knee across his thigh to ease the pressure on her hips. His arm held her close, his hand stroking the small of her back and the side of her belly where it supported the extra weight of their child. The full curve of her stomach pressed in against his waist.
"I see what you mean," he muttered after receiving his third swift kick in a minute.
"Told you," Hermione said quietly. "I don't suppose you mind terribly, making love to a beach ball?"
"Of course not," Severus replied smoothly. "After all, it's my beach ball." He raised an eyebrow as the baby, obviously displeased with being called a beach ball, kicked him in the kidney again. Hermione began to move away, but he tightened his arm around her to prevent it and she relaxed against him once more. Without conscious thought, he pulled her as close as possible and dropped a kiss on the curly head tucked under his chin.
"I've missed you," he said quietly, and Hermione felt a tear come to her eye as she realized how much it must have cost him to say those words. She tightened her arm across his chest and nestled into his side, terribly glad to be with him again.
"Hermione," Severus called softly.
"Hmm?"
His free hand found hers where it lay on his chest and toyed with the sapphire and diamond ring on her finger. "Would you consider going to meet my mother after you graduate?"
"Of course. Oh, wait. That's in Italy, right?"
"Yes. Near Rome."
"No, actually, I think you'll have to twist my arm a little harder," she laughed. "I'd love to go to Rome. Can we stay for a few days?"
"Certainly. Maybe even a week or more."
"Umm." Hermione's legs stretched languorously. "Rome in summer."
"I might need to leave you for a bit and take care of an errand for Albus," he warned her in an absent voice.
"You won't be gone long?"
"No, of course not," he answered, just a hair too swiftly.
She shifted in his embrace. "You're lying."
"No! Why would I lie?"
"Good question. Why don't you give me a good answer?" She lifted herself to one elbow so she could look him in the eye. "Tell me."
"Hermione. I can't-"
She cut him off. "You bloody well can, or I'm not stepping a single foot out-"
"You'll jolly well do what you're told!" he interrupted in turn, his onyx eyes snapping with anger.
"Don't you even try to take that tone with me, Severus! I've never left Harry when he needed me, and I'm not leaving you!"
"You're nearly eight months pregnant," he told her vehemently, sitting up. "Any contribution you could make is outweighed by how vulnerable you are."
The furious light in her eye let him know he'd really stepped in it this time. "If you think being pregnant makes me a useless liability."
"No, that's not what I meant." Letting out a groan of frustration, he pulled her resisting body closer to him and leaned forward until his face was buried against her neck. His black hair drifted across her skin as he shook his head.
"Please-PLEASE listen to me. I can't think properly if I know you're here where you might get hurt. I cannot take that risk." He swallowed hard, his hands tightening on her. "I'm asking you to stay safe, Hermione. I need to know that you and our child will be safe."
"What about after I have the baby?" she asked truculently. "What then?"
Severus raised his head to look at her, a wary look on his face. "It is highly likely that by the time you're up and around again, it should all be over, one way or the other. If the worst comes to pass, my mother will be able hide you both and protect you."
Frowning in confusion, Hermione searched his expression. "Don't tell me that bat in her tower of denial has made some prophecy?"
"Trelawney didn't make this prediction," he told her, a smile tugging at his mouth. Despite her skepticism, he found himself telling Hermione about the prophecy. She did not argue when he claimed ignorance of the actual words, and in return Severus did not tell her that Dumbledore was currently putting his affairs in order.
"How long?" Hermione asked, finally.
"We're not sure. Before the end of this summer, most likely in August."
"Harry's birthday is the 31 of July," she added pensively. "I'm due the week after that."
Severus kissed the tender skin below her ear rather than voice the possibility that Harry Potter would not live more than a month beyond his eighteenth birthday. At this exact moment, his most selfish, desperate desire was to see his child born before the final battle, to just once hold the tiny life in his hands before going to a battle that he had little hope of surviving.
He was gratified when Hermione relaxed against him, her hand drawing small patterns on his arm as she stared at nothing, deep in thought.
"I'll go to Italy," she agreed at last. "But I want you to swear you'll let me know what's going on."
"I will," he told her, having no intention of passing along any possibly devastating information until after she'd delivered. More than one woman had gone into premature labor after having been wildly upset by bad news. Honesty could wait until after the baby was safely born.
"When are you leaving?" she asked, her voice going thick as the war reasserted itself on their private interlude.
Her husband sighed. "I have only today, but I will try to make it back to the graduation, if just to give the rest of the staff heart failure."
Hermione giggled damply. "But I have you for today, right?" she sniffled even as she asked the question.
Severus tilted her face towards his, hating the pain he caused as her eyes welled with tears. "Yes, of course," he told her softly.
A single teardrop ran over Hermione's cheek, glistening as it streaked to her lip. One day, she thought, just like before. A single span of time to wring as much enjoyment as possible from. Carpe Diem, indeed.
Severus meant only to kiss her, reassure her and stop her bursting into tears, but the salt taste was like an aphrodisiac in his mouth. His lips sought hers hungrily, and Hermione responded in turn. She resisted his attempts to turn her, instead pressing him back to the pillows and moving over him.
They made love once more, her body over his, round with pregnancy. Her fingers clutched almost painfully at his shoulders as her full breasts swayed with her movements, nipples plump and swollen as ripe raspberries. Lying beneath his wife, Severus' passion was tinged with awe. She was an Earth Goddess, fertile and beautiful, her curls cascading over her shoulders and her head thrown back in bittersweet ecstasy.
*****
Two hours later, when Harry Potter knocked on Hermione's door to see if she were coming down to dinner, he was shocked to hear a man's deep voice shout "Bugger off!" and Hermione's unmistakable laughter.
Somewhat dazed, Harry obediently buggered off and made his way down to the hall, where he took his place next to Ron.
"Is Hermione coming?" Ron asked.
Harry stabbed his fork into his dinner. "Did you absolutely have to say it that way?" he asked.
*****
The late June sun was barely up when a heavy pounding on her door woke Hermione from a deep sleep. Stumbling across the room, avoiding the packing scattered on the floor as she dragged on her robe, she opened the door and managed to mumble "What?" around a massive yawn.
"We're going down to the pitch and fly for a while. Want to come?" asked Harry, looking disgustedly awake. His Firebolt was tucked under one arm and he was tugging his flying gloves on as he spoke. His hair was worse than usual and looked like a hedgehog caught in a windstorm.
"Have you two even slept?" Hermione demanded. She'd fallen asleep in the middle of the traditional seventh-year party the night before, despite the surrounding voices of their classmates, all of whom were reluctant to leave the celebration and acknowledge the end of their school days at Hogwarts. It had been well after midnight when Harry and Ron had all but carried her from the Gryffindor common room back to the Head Girl's suite and put her to bed.
"'Course we slept," chimed in Ron. His red Quidditch robes were slung over his shoulder. "I've had at least three hours meself."
Despite herself, Hermione smiled as she leaned against her door. "Honestly. You're both worse that Hagrid. I half expect to see the two of you clutching some old Gryffindor banner and howling like banshees on the train this afternoon."
"You are coming on the train today, aren't you?" Ron demanded suddenly. "It wouldn't be the same without you."
"Yes, of course. Severus sent me a letter a few days ago saying he didn't think he'd make it to graduation after all, so my parents are going to pick me up at the station. I'll be staying at their house for a few days, then he's taking me to meet his mother."
Ron shuddered. "Snape's mum. There's something to give you nightmares."
"Her letters were very nice," Hermione objected. "And she's my mother-in- law, so I'll have to make the best of it, won't I?"
"If you say so," interjected Harry, heading off the argument. "Are you coming down or aren't you? If we hurry we could have one last visit to Hagrid, as well."
"All right. Let me get dressed and I'll be right there."
The two exchanged a look, to Hermione's exasperation. "Oh, stop it. It's the last day of school. I'm perfectly capable of getting down to the pitch by myself. Go on -- I'll be down in five minutes. Just to watch, mind you. I'm not allowed on a broom these days."
Ron smirked. "The way you fly, you shouldn't be allowed on a broom anyway." Harry punched him on the shoulder, saving Hermione the trouble of responding.
"I'll be down soon," she promised.
The young men waved and headed down the corridor, laughing and jostling each other deliberately. Hermione shut the door and went to her bathroom, devoutly hoping she hadn't packed her hairbrush accidentally.
Five minutes later she'd cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair, and was settling a loose maternity gown over her bulging abdomen when another fist began pounding at her door. Exasperated, she yanked the door open.
"I don't even have my shoes on yet!" she scolded, and abruptly broke off when she saw who stood at her door.
It wasn't Harry.
*****
Author's Notes:
Connie Dover is one of the artists who has recorded "The Summer Before the War." It's been years since I've heard it and I can't quite remember the words, but they go something like this:
All on a Saturday, bright as a bell, Early and just for the ride. We took a trip, cycling down to the sea, You and your lady and I. Down through the narrow lanes Chasing the slow trains And the last of an age going by. One day, at Whitesun, the sea and the shore The summer before the war.
CARPE DIEM means "seize the day." (And that translation, for once, I'm sure of! :P )
And no, I've never been to the Lake District. I've never been outside the continental United States. But according to the web site I found, Broughton Moor is a "secluded forest set in dramatic scenery is to be found approximately five miles south-east of the village of Coniston. Access is by the unclassified public road from Torver to Broughton Mills. Two car parks offer fine views south to the Duddon Estuary whilst the third car park is close by the ancient settlement known as "The Hawk".
Sounds marvelous.
This particular Friday afternoon, however, Hermione had trudged up the stairs as fast as her swelling ankles could take her, grateful that Madame Pomfrey had no need of her. Her schedule had been adjusted to the point that she had the latter part of her afternoons free, and even the ones devoted to Madame Pomfrey could be skivved off as long as the mediwitch was satisfied with the potions stores.
All of which explained her current position, flat on her back with her feet up on a pile of pillows, her school robes in a crumpled heap on the floor while she herself wore only a loose shirt and her underwear. Crookshanks also occupied part of the bed, demanding an occasional petting as he lay sprawled across one of the open textbooks. His witch, meanwhile, was half- heartedly attempting to review her study notes but was mostly lying still and feeling her baby move. And moping, Hermione confessed to herself. She missed Severus more than she had thought she would, if not precisely WHEN she had anticipated.
It was not at night, when she lay in her huge, empty bed with only Crookshanks for company, though she missed him then as well. It was during her quiet study times that she found herself mourning his absence, when her mind swam in strong currents of thought and she wanted to ask him things, discuss all manner of subjects with him, and to hear his deep, resonant voice pour out sarcastic and devastatingly accurate observations. She missed being able to verbally explore a subject without first having to explain what it was she was actually talking about, or be able draw obscure parallels between, for instance, pure-blood wizards and the royal families of Europe without having to explain about recessive genes. Ron Weasley might have been able to recite the name of every Chudley Cannons Keeper for the last twenty years, but he couldn't have come up with the nationality of Catherine the Great if he'd been tied up and tortured.
*****
Somewhere in the forests of Broughton Moor in the Lake District of England, three men huddled around a sullen campfire and waited, individually and collectively, for various things to happen. Remus Lupin was waiting for the teakettle to heat up. Personally he had no objection to magically heated water, but his two companions, in a very odd moment of solidarity, both complained that water heated by magic simply tasted horrible, and would rather taste smoke in their tea than compromise.
Severus Snape lounged on a fallen tree trunk on the other side of the fire, waiting for the expected owl delivery. He wore his usual black trousers, vest, and white shirt, but had at last deigned to take off his black coat. While the three of them weren't exactly living rough, his formal frock coat was unequal to the rigors of tramping through the forest.
As for Sirius Black, morosely poking the small fire as he sat beside Remus, he was evidently waiting for hell to freeze over before he stopped acting like a prat. "I still don't understand how you could have allowed Hermione to marry him," Sirius told his friend. "Hell, you should have married her instead!"
Remus had been attempting to ignore him, having long since tired of explaining the situation, but the last accusation was a bit much.
"Hermione Granger is going to have a baby, Padfoot. If you can think of a better alternative than having her marrying the actual father of that child, rather than a werewolf, then I'd be delighted to hear it." He shot his oldest friend an irritated look. "As a matter of fact, I'd be glad to hear just about anything as long as you quit whinging about it."
They were distracted from their argument by the sight of a white owl winging through the late twilight, weaving through the trees and heading straight for them. Sirius held up his arm as a landing perch, but Harry's owl passed right by him and instead landed neatly on the log beside Severus and presented her leg.
"Hedwig," Severus greeted the owl blandly, concealing any surprise by long practice. Untying the tightly rolled letters, he examined each. One bore the messy scrawl of Harry, and he flicked it over the flames to Sirius. The second, with Dumbledore's spidery hand, he gave to Remus. The third scroll had tidy round writing and was addressed to him.
Remus opened his missive first, and quickly related with some relief the fact that Death Eaters had apparently taken Beltane night off and no attacks had been reported. The letter had other instructions, all to do with their assignment, though none of it was much of a surprise.
Sirius laughed a bit as he read the letter from his godson, telling some of the amusing bits to Remus.
Severus, however, was absorbed with the letter from Hermione. It wasn't long, containing only one nervous reference to the NEWTS, now only three weeks away. She told him how her new status was accepted and the occasional perks thereof, and the gift and correspondence she'd received from his mother. Fully half the sheet was used to ask a rather technical question on potions, and she ended it with one short, personal paragraph.
I won't ask where you are, or when you'll be back, but I wanted you to know that I think of you often. I miss you.
All my love,
Hermione
Across the fire, Black noticed the intense concentration with which Severus was reading his mail and could not pass up the opportunity. "What, another love letter from your schoolgirl bride? Tell me, does she sign it with X's and O's for hugs and kisses?"
Severus merely arched an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if that was the best he could do.
"You know," Sirius continued, "covert operation really means being covert. As in discreet. You can't be passing notes to your little girlfriend every afternoon, I think someone might notice."
Having heard just about enough, Remus kicked Sirius where he judged it would do the most good.
"Ow!" yelped Sirius quietly, rubbing his sore butt cheek. "What was that for?"
"He's sent her one bloody letter in four weeks, Padfoot," Remus hissed back, taking care that his voice didn't carry over to the other side of the fire. "You've written to Harry three times! When are you going to bloody well grow up?"
"I've spent twelve years in prison, Moony. It's called arrested development."
"It's called being an arse. Get over it already. You're here, and I'm here. Don't you think it's time you forgive Severus for being here as well? Even if James isn't?"
"How's that new wand working for you, Black?" Severus asked in a benign voice. He could hear the two of them yammering furtively at each other, presumably about himself, but really couldn't be bothered to wonder what the exact words were.
One bitterly ironic side benefit of investigating Death Eaters and their activities was the wands which were sometimes overlooked. Some had belonged to the victims, and some were the wands of Death Eaters who wouldn't be needing them any longer after displeasing their Dark Lord. Dumbledore had a drawer full of them, and once school was over, Harry would be shown the collection in hopes of finding one that would work for him against Voldemort's.
Sirius went red around the neck, and made no answer. It was highly humiliating to be reminded he owed his new wand to Severus' habit of pinching wands.
"You see?" Remus added. "He found you a wand to use, for Merlin's sake!"
"You sound like Harry," Black observed sourly.
"Good," Lupin retorted. "I'd hate for Harry to sound like you."
"You don't really expect me to be mates with him, do you? He hates us both."
"And you tried to kill him, Padfoot. If Harry had ever pulled a stunt like that, you'd have flogged him senseless."
Sirius had no answer to this. Instead he looked at the spare man across the fire from him, reading his parchment. The last few times they'd been forced to work together Severus Snape had been a tightly wound bundle of self control and buzzing nerves, all of which had been exhausting to be around. By contrast, the Potions Master actually appeared to be somewhat relaxed at the moment.
"Do you realize you've never once said you're sorry for that horrid prank?" Remus asked.
"I've said it dozens of times, Moony."
"To me. Not to him." At Sirius' stubborn frown, Lupin sighed and gave up prodding. Instead, he raised his voice enough for Severus to hear him. "How is Hermione?" he asked genially. "She's not studying too hard, is she?"
"Actually, she's come up with something of a brilliant idea," Severus told him, reading the central portion of the letter once more. "Professor Cluny made a particularly stupid comment in class, and they had a rather heated debate, you should forgive the pun, over the reaction of certain potions to the metal of their cauldron. She's hypothesizing that a cauldron made of glass would make certain potions much easier to brew. Such as the Wolfsbane potion," he added with deceptive mildness.
"Would a non-reactive cauldron really make a difference?" Lupin asked immediately.
"At the very least, it might make it more palatable, but I'm not sure. It will require some study, since silver is a major factor in the Wolfsbane, but all my references are at Hogwarts. For another matter, however, vessels made of glass would likely cut the frequency of cauldrons being melted by caustic reactions."
"How can glass possibly withstand the heat?"
"Apparently Muggles have developed a type of glass which will stand a tremendous amount of temperature stress. Hermione says her mother has a set of pots for the cooker, all made of this same glass."
"What about breakage? Wouldn't a glass cauldron exploding be dangerous?"
"Any worse than a pewter one? Actually, glass takes unbreakable charms much easier than metal, and if I remember correctly, glass cuts respond to healing charms better as well, since the shards leave less trace elements behind in the wound. Another point to research. Damn it all, I need my references." He made a mental note to direct Hermione towards Madame Pomfrey on the medical question, and to question Flitwick regarding the unbreakable charm.
"Where would we get this - what is it called?" Black asked, curious despite himself.
"Pyrex." Severus searched the letter again. "She's not sure. Says she'll have to contact Percy Weasley. Apparently he's some sort of expert on cauldron imports."
Turning his shoulder on his two compatriots, Severus leaned against a tree and re-read the letter again. In the weeks since he'd seen Hermione, he'd ceased to be appalled at how often he thought of her. Waking or sleeping, she was never far from his thoughts. Whenever his eyes shut, memories overwhelmed him: of her face, her laugh, and that stubborn, Gryffindor temperament that both annoyed and engaged him. He reviewed their long conversations and considered new ones, imagining how she'd react to the many things he wanted to share with her. More than anything, Severus simply wanted to see her again.
Dumbledore had swore himself hoarse promising he'd notify Severus if anything should happen to Hermione or the baby. His baby. He was going to be a father, and that thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. Soon, within two months, Hermione would give birth to his child. And within himself, Severus Snape was discovering a steely determination to see his child born, grow up, and live in a world that was safe from the depredations of the psychopathic monster to which he'd once swore allegiance.
A hand bumped his shoulder, and Severus opened his eyes with a start.
"Pinkus is back," Black told him, holding up the tattletale plastic cork charmed to light up when their quarry opened his front door. The blob of white plastic was glowing in the gloomy light under the trees.
The three of them stole quickly through the trees, circling around to the front of Sidney Pinkus' tiny cottage, where the novice Death Eater spent one weekend a month on what he told his wife was a spiritual retreat. In reality, the man met his mistress on the first Saturday of each month, regular as clockwork.
This month, however, he'd had to leave the witch fuming and unfulfilled while answering his master's summons. While it might have been detrimental to Pinkus' love life, Sirius Black had Apparated there earlier in the evening, once the man had left, and informed the mistress of the wife's imminent and entirely fictitious arrival. The mistress had departed post haste.
"Idiot hasn't even set a ward," Severus hissed with contempt. With Black and Lupin behind him, he strode to the front door of the little cottage and unceremoniously kicked the door in.
"Pinkus," he exclaimed genially, his wand pointed at the startled man. Pinkus dropped the silver mask he'd been bundling up in a gray robe. "How have you been, old son? Well, I hope?"
"S-S-Snape!" Sidney stuttered. "I thought you were dead!"
"No such thing," Severus replied. "Allow me to not introduce my companions. Don't worry, they're no loss as conversationalists. It's you I want to talk to."
"About what?" he asked nervously, eyeing the two men behind his fellow Death Eater. Past experience had shown the three operatives that the threatening presence of one spokesman backed by two silent, menacing figures created a more powerful impression than three separate speakers with highly antagonistic personalities.
Severus smiled without teeth, settling onto a piece of the rough furniture. "Many things. Voldemort, for starters."
Sidney Pinkus was not the first nor the last Death Eater identified by the Order who might have had second thoughts about taking the Dark Mark. While Voldemort required warm bodies to build an army, he could not watch each and every one of them as closely as he perhaps should have. And every one that saw Severus Snape alive, out of the clutches of his former companions and walking about hale and healthy was another Death Eater who would question the unthinking allegiance demanded by Voldemort.
It was tedious and nerve-wracking work, and progress was measured in tiny increments. But each Death Eater who doubted was a crack in the crucible of Voldemort's power. Day after day the three men, in one form or another, did all within their power to eat away at Voldemort's support. And even those who resisted Snape's carefully thought out propaganda could be overwhelmed, dosed with Veritaserum, and then Obliviated after being thoroughly interrogated.
As it turned out, Severus Snape had discovered he did, indeed, share at least one characteristic with Remus Lupin and Severus Black. They were all three quite capable of ruthlessness, and all three had their consciences on a short leash. Those consciences sat up or laid down on command, and had been known to play dead with convincing ease.
******
The final Hogsmeade weekend of the year was announced for the first full weekend of June. Hermione had not originally planned to go, buried as she was in the NEWTS studying that occupied nearly every waking moment, but Ron and Harry were persistent. Refusing to take no for an answer, they practically kidnapped her from her books and finally bullied her out of the castle for the first time in far too long.
Once out in the fresh air and bright sunshine, Hermione took a deep breath and forgave her friends immediately. The day was far too fine to pass up, and her long dormant appetite sat up and began instantly clamoring for Honeydukes' nougat.
They joined the other Hogwarts students on the path down to the village, robes flapping in the breeze and voices raised in enthusiastic innocence. Ron was extolling the virtues of the latest racing broom, arguing with Harry about innovations he endorsed and Harry did not.
"We can ask Gudgeon when we get to the broom shop," Ron said finally. "He'll set you right."
"And you're going to be on the cover of Witch Weekly," Harry retorted sarcastically. "Gudgeon knows better."
"Oh, honestly," Hermione exclaimed. "If you think I'm going to spend an hour standing around while you two argue about brooms, you're very much mistaken."
"Oh, and you expect us to wait while you go through every shelf at the bookstore?" Ron retorted.
"All right," Hermione told him. "No bookstore. But I do want to visit another shop, and I don't want to hear any complaining."
"Deal," Harry told her. "And don't worry, we won't spend too long looking at brooms. We've got to be back to school before three this afternoon."
"We do?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"'Course we do," Ron told her. "Didn't you read the notice?"
"All liberty weekends were short this year," Harry added. "Especially.well, especially after Halloween," he finished sympathetically. "And Dumbledore specifically wanted to be sure today doesn't have any surprises."
Harry nodded minutely towards the wizard lounging against a wall, reading a Daily Prophet and apparently ignoring the foot traffic around him. With newly observant eyes, Hermione saw the casually loitering wizards and witches along High Street, not on every corner but nearly.
"Aurors," Harry mouthed in her ear. "They're all off-duty volunteers. They've come here every time there's a Hogsmeade weekend, as a favor to Professor Dumbledore."
Suppressing a shiver and a rather uncharitable thought about hindsight, Hermione acquiesced to a short expedition and meekly followed her friends into the workshop that smelled of sawdust, green twig sap, and varnish.
Ron and the shop proprietor immediately began discussing the broom in question. To Ron's chagrin, Dave Gudgeon supported Harry's position that the designers had been tweaking what should have been left well enough alone. With smug, superior air, Harry let the debate rage on without him and found a stool for Hermione. She took a seat and made herself comfortable, expecting Harry to begin some extensive browsing. Somewhat to her surprise he remained at her side, though his fingers wandered over a stack of printed sheets on a nearby rack.
"What's that?" she asked, indicating the papers that held his attention.
"Professional Quidditch schedule," he told her, showing one of the sheets with the colorful emblems of the various teams. The Chudley Cannons' orange design was easy to pick out after years of listening to Ron, but she recognized a few others as well. Seemingly entranced, Harry gazed at the glossy sheet, his finger running down the list of game dates and times. "I got an owl from the English Quidditch Association," he confessed softly.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed happily, but he cut off her enthusiasm with a short chop of his hand.
"Don't," he told her. "I haven't told Ron. They wanted me to declare myself an eligible player; apparently the professional teams can't start any recruiting, even for a rookie player, unless they're listed."
"That's wonderful! The season doesn't start for months, right? So there must be some teams already wanting you to play for them!"
Harry pushed up his glasses. "Training camps start October first. But I'm not going to sign unless everything else works out first."
Appalled, Hermione stared at him. "Harry, you can't put your life on hold waiting for Voldemort. You can't!"
"I'm not waiting for him," Harry confided. "As soon as school is over, I'm going on the offensive."
Hermione cast about to be sure no one could hear them. "Are you out of your mind? This is Voldemort we're talking about! He's got an army of Death Eaters at his beck and call!"
"I don't care, Hermione. It's not just me anymore, you know that. The Ministry can deny things until they're all blue in the face, but it's gone too far to be ignored. Dumbledore has a lot of contacts in the Aurors, and they're all disgusted with how Fudge is running things. Once we figure out where he's hiding, we're going to take the fight to him."
"You can't even stand up straight when he's around you!" Hermione protested. "Your scar hurts too much! What are you going to do about that?" Harry grimaced; his scar had been red and burning off and on for months, and was a constant source of headaches. "Not to mention your wands don't work against each other!"
"All right, I'm not saying there aren't a couple of problems to figure out." Hermione snorted indelicately. "But I'm sick of this, Hermione," he said, his sincerity evident in tense lines of his wiry frame. "I'm tired of hearing about Death Eater attacks, and I'm tired of being afraid. No one else is going to go through what you have. I swear it."
Hermione frowned, dubious. "What does Professor Dumbledore say?"
Harry shoved his glasses up. "He doesn't agree with going on the offensive, but if you'll notice the final schedule came out last week. The end of term is the 19th of June, and the Express will take everyone home on the twentieth. We don't really expect Voldemort to do anything until later this summer, but if he wants to make a show of some sort on the Summer Solstice, at least there won't be any students around to be hurt."
"And then what?"
"And then I go to war," Harry said grimly.
This is the end, Hermione realized as she stared at the slender, black- haired young man before her. The end of an age. A stark thought, perhaps, but true. The last carefree afternoon, and the last Hogsmeade weekend. Once the students returned to the castle, the remainder of term would be spent in furious preparation for finals, and, for her and her fellow seventh-years, the NEWTS.
She was reminded of a folk song she'd once memorized about three friends enjoying a wonderful day. The Summer before the War, it was called, and the song's melancholy joy echoed in her heart as Harry waited for her to argue. Instead, she slid off her perch and hugged Harry awkwardly, pressing her face against his shoulder in an attempt to keep her tears from surfacing.
"Be careful," she whispered.
Harry's arms tightened around her briefly. "I will," he promised.
"What is this?" Ron's voice intruded, making them both pull back. "He's already spoken for, Hermione, but I can't blame you for wanting to trade up."
Hermione pulled back from Harry's embrace, and although it took every ounce of courage and resolve she had, she summoned a brilliant smile. "Sod off," she told him cheerfully.
Ron's jaw dropped at the casual profanity, making both Harry and Hermione to laugh. At that moment, she formed the determination that today, if it were to be their last carefree day together, the three of them would have as much fun as could possibly be had.
"C'mon," she told them. "Let's go to Zonko's."
It was Harry's turn to gape at her. "Hermione, are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," she insisted, tucking her hand through each one's arm. "I just want to get it over with. Is that all right?"
Fred and George Weasley had refused to admit how much money they'd invested at Zonko's, or even where they'd gotten the Galleons to begin with, but somehow the twins had convinced the elderly Mr. Zonko to allow himself to be bought out over time. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes currently occupied only a few tables in the crowded shop, and the twins were learning the intricacies of the business world under the indulgent eye of Zonko himself. Once the Wheezes were in full production, Zonko planned to retire and leave the shop to the younger generation of jokesters. Until then, he had someone to do the early openings and late closings and any other unpleasantness while he acted as an advisor. All three parties were particularly pleased with the arrangement, especially the gentleman who was now free to go fishing whenever the trout were running.
The twins were thrilled to see their brother and his friends, and their plans for refurbishing the shop were soon sketched out on the back of a sales flyer. They hoped to accomplish the work over the summer, in time for the new school year and all the eager students.
"Put this in one of Snape's potions," Fred said eagerly, holding out one of his new ideas, a suspicious-looking cylinder in bright fuscia paper. "Foaming Fantasies. Based on the Boggart principle, but the exact opposite. Dissolves instantly in any liquid, then makes a foam that assumes the shape of the closest person's fantasy snog. That'll take the starch out of the old bat!"
"If it works," Hermione said dangerously. "And if it does work, it bloody well better look like me." She smiled sweetly at the horrified look on Fred Weasley's face as he suddenly remembered the latest gossip from the school. "Besides, he doesn't teach Potions any longer. Haven't you heard?"
"We heard," George interjected, giving his twin a sound wallop on the back of the head. "Congratulations, Hermione. Always knew you had better sense than to hook up with our baby brother."
"Get stuffed, George," Ron told his sibling. "I see you haven't found your Dream Witch, either. Mum's beginning to wonder if you're Beating for the other team."
"He's not," Fred said quickly. "Just last week I caught him trying to sneak up the back stairs with this amazing bit of MMfhh!"
"He's lost his mind," George supplied easily, his hand holding his twin's mouth shut. "There's no girl. Really."
"Her name's Felicity," Fred shouted as he got his mouth free. George immediately jabbed with his elbow, and the two were off. Ron, Hermione and Harry watched the pair scuffle with some interest but no concern, since this same scene repeated every time one had a girlfriend and the other did not.
"If I had any money, I'd bet on Fred," Ron offered.
"No," Harry replied casually. "George, definitely."
"How will you be able to tell?" quipped Hermione.
In the end, one of the twins yelped in real pain. The other apologized glibly.
"Apology accepted, you git," said the first, and the spat was over until next time. Unfortunately, since they were wearing matching sweaters, it was impossible to now tell which was Fred and which was George.
"Let's go," Ron said finally, after another fruitless round of trying to tell the identical idiots apart. "Sorry, mates, but we're meeting Dean and some of the team in a bit."
As a farewell token, the twins handed Ron and Harry each a bag of their latest mischief. "Be sure to read the directions," warned Fred (or it might have been George) as the trio went out the door.
To Ron and Harry's relief, Hermione reiterated her intention to pass on visiting the bookstore. That gratitude was exhausted soon after as they tagged along, red-faced and fidgety, while Hermione went through soft blankets, little robes and tiny pointed hats at Wee Wizards and Witches.
Since she didn't know yet if she'd need the pink or blue version of the little robes, Hermione restrained herself. Also, the thought of Severus' face when he eventually saw the purchases helped her steer away from the more saccharine ducks and unicorns patterns. She settled for buying a few light robes in pale green and some small yellow blankets with red piping along the edges.
"Poor kid's going to clash something awful," commented Ron. "Only time he'll look good is during Christmas."
Honeydukes was next, where Hermione bought herself an obscene amount of nougat in hopes it would last her through the end of the year. Not likely, she thought, since she knew she was perfectly capable of consuming a huge quantity when the craving hit her in the middle of the night.
Once they finally made it to the Three Broomsticks, they found most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team there ahead of them. Natalie McDonald, Harry's fourth-year chaser, had commandeered a large table for everyone. A bit short for a chaser and altogether too delicate-looking, Natalie was a demon on a broom and Harry's hand-picked replacement for the captain of the team next year.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione piled in with the rest of the team, laughing at silly jokes and making outrageous proclamations in turn. Butterbeers were ordered, though Hermione had to shout to get Madame Rosemerta's attention when she wanted an apple cider instead. Her fellow Gryffindors immediately began teasing her, making thinly veiled references to her weight and girth and how that change had come about.
"Personally, I'd rather think about Hagrid's sex life," Ron confessed loudly. "The last thing I want to imagine is you and Snape!"
"Well, you'd have to imagine things, wouldn't you?" Hermione returned tartly, safely ensconced in the position of a woman who'd obviously had more sex than anyone else at the table. "You don't even have a sex life!"
"Hermione!" Ron protested. Hermione shrugged, unsympathetic. If you can't torture your best friends, who could you torture? Harry sniggered loudly amidst the shared laughter of the others, which earned a sour look from Ron.
"What are you laughing about, mate?" Ron demanded. "You and Ginny haven't gotten up to anything, either!"
"You believe that if it makes you feel better," Natalie told him. "Right, Hermione?"
Hermione grinned at the blush on both Harry and Ron's faces as they both waited to hear what she'd say; one hoping for denial, the other hoping for some discretion on her part.
"I don't know for sure that Harry is shagging Ginny," she began, aware of her audience. "But if I had to guess."
A chorus of 'oohs' rose from her audience when Hermione smiled knowingly and waggled her eyebrows, conveying with her expression what she did not want to say aloud.
"To Ginny!" exclaimed Natalie, holding up her glass. Harry's glass was the first of many to join the toast, which quickly got out of hand and resulted in spilled butterbeer all over the table amidst laughter and all other manner of silliness.
Just before three o'clock, the merry group broke up and made their way back to the castle. Somewhat tired and unable to walk quite as fast as she used, Hermione fell behind the others. Ron and Harry kept pace with her, talking and laughing about nothing in particular as the three of them walked up the path. Their familiar presence, the cadence of their jokes and conversation, all combined to fill Hermione with a sense of happy peace. She was content to listen to them, adding an occasional comment but more than anything simply enjoying their company.
In the distance, a furtive figure appeared on the path in front of them and spoke briefly to the students ahead. As the person came closer, they realized it was Colin Creevey.
"Filch," he called breathlessly as he came within earshot. "If you've got anything you want to keep, you'd better figure out how to hide it. He's in a right mood, and he's heard about your brothers' new stuff. The bugger's confiscating everything."
Harry and Ron gave each other a horrified look. Then they looked at the bag in Hermione's hands.
"No, No, Not like that!" Hermione told them seconds later. "Honestly, haven't you two learned anything from the twins? Take out the baby blanket, THEN put in your stuff."
When they reached the entrance to the castle it was to find Argus Filch standing guard in front of the huge door. He looked remarkably like the last seedy retainer of a great king, determined to defend the castle until his last breath. The caretaker turned a rheumy eye on Harry and Ron, who shrugged and pulled their pockets out to prove they were empty.
Hacking in disbelief, he then looked suspiciously towards Hermione. "Been shopping, 'ave you? And wha' 'ave you got there?"
"Just some things for the baby," she told the stringy caretaker, giving him the sweetest, most innocent look in her arsenal. "I've got the most darling little robes," she gushed.
Behind her, Harry elbowed Ron, who had made a choking noise and looked close to losing his lunch.
"I really need to go lie down," she announced to no one in particular. "My back is absolutely killing me." She put one hand in the small of her back and stretched, accentuating her front, then winced. "Oooh. Harry. The baby's kicking. Want to feel?"
Although Harry's glasses slid down his nose as a dubious expression crossed his face, it was barely noticeable compared to the unease displayed by Filch. He hemmed and cleared his throat, his stubbly, creased cheeks blanching gray as he was confronted with the round evidence of Hermione's condition.
"Get on wi' yeh," he grumbled finally, turning aside with a visible shudder.
Once safely inside, Ron and Harry burst out laughing. "Who would have thought Filch would be squeamish about a baby?" Ron demanded in disbelief. "Considering how many students he's probably caught snogging over the years!"
"Ha," Hermione proclaimed, ponderously climbing the stairs ahead of them. "I've noticed neither one of you have had the nerve to try and feel the baby moving." Her female classmates flocked to her side to feel the elusive flutterings, but most of the male Gryffindors acted as though they'd catch something if they went anywhere near Hermione. Seamus Finnegan was the lone exception, but he and Lavender were understandably intrigued.
"Hermione!" protested Ron soundly. "That's Snape's baby. Do you really think I want to feel his kid moving inside you?"
"FINE," she told him, affecting a slightly hurt manner. "Be that way." Nose in the air, oddly reminiscent of the telling off she'd given them as first-years, Hermione turned on her heel and started up the next flight of stairs with all the dignity of a galleon setting sail.
"Git," Harry told Ron, disgusted, slowly climbing the stairs in Hermione's wake.
"Get off it, Harry. Do you want to feel that kid moving?"
"Not really," Harry admitted. "But she's still got our stuff."
Leaning over the railing a flight above them, Hermione called down. "Hey! What's the first charm you two ever learned?"
Ron's face screwed up, but Harry answered. "Wingardium Leviosa. Why?"
"Think fast!" Hermione shouted as she chucked their packages over the stair.
*****
On a Friday afternoon a few weeks later, Hermione went straight to her rooms, stripped off the creased and stale school uniform and threw herself on the bed wearing nothing but her horrid maternity panties and an old cotton tee-shirt. The exams she'd both dreaded and eagerly looked forward to for the last two years were finally over - she'd just completed the very last NEWT she'd ever have to take. The release from the stress of anticipating the exams was finally over, and the stress of worrying about her results had not yet set in. In the valley between, Hermione wanted nothing more than to collapse into the oblivion of exhausted sleep her body demanded.
The nap was fairly short, but when Hermione slowly awoke she felt wonderfully rested. Snuggling into the cozy nest of her blankets, she could almost imagine a warm body next to hers. The imaginary body had a long arm which drifted over her gravid belly, drawing her against a lean, strong chest.
It had to be a dream, Hermione thought, and she didn't want to wake up until a familiar, insistent pressure against her derriere prompted her to arch back against him. Severus let out a low, deep chuckle as she inhaled sharply, fully awake. His lips grazed her ear and traced down the length of her neck, pressing soft kisses on the tender nape.
With a whimper she rolled abruptly and pulled his mouth to hers, frantic with relief that he was here, safe and whole.
"When did you get back?" she asked when she finally allowed him to breath again.
"This morning," he told her simply.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment before kissing him softly once more. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips. If she'd known that he were in the castle, she'd never have been able to concentrate on her examinations.
"You're welcome," he told her sincerely, while congratulating himself on guessing correctly. He'd been sure she'd have preferred it this way, but a part of him had worried, needlessly as it turned out, that she might have wanted to know the instant he came back to the castle.
With a frown, Hermione pulled her head back and looked at him critically. "What is this?" She demanded as she grabbed at the inch or so of black growth on his chin.
"Let go," Severus told her, pulling her hand away but grinning rakishly. Hermione gave him an arched eyebrow. He'd obviously been outdoors quite a bit recently; his arms were tan from the elbows down, and his face was full of healthy color above the scraggly beard.
"Now you do look like a Pikey."
"Exactly. And look," he told her, plucking his shirt from where it lay draped at the foot of the bed. The rough fabric looked like homespun, and was dingy beige in color.
Laughing helplessly, Hermione collapsed back onto the mattress, putting one hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle the giggles. Severus scowled theatrically. When that failed to intimidate her, he contended himself with merely looking at the woman who had haunted his thoughts for the past month. Her hair was as curly as ever, and despite the shadows circling under her eyes, her face had filled out a little, along with the rest of her. Her collarbones no longer protruded painfully, and the extra curves further down were nice to see.
With something akin to reverence he drew the sheet off her torso and pushed up the cotton shirt to see her belly, his hand gently tracing the curved surface. A hearty movement beneath his hand startled him. Peering closely, he could actually see the surface of her skin move from the child within.
"You're huge," he murmured.
"So much for pillow talk," Hermione said with another chuckle.
He watched as a lump rose on one side of her belly and traversed several inches before subsiding under the dark line that ran from her bellybutton down. "Active little beggar," he commented.
"Always, especially in the middle of the afternoon. I was trying to take my Arithmancy final the other day and he gave me the hiccups."
One black eyebrow went up as if to say, 'So?'
"You try to concentrate with a double case of the hiccups," she challenged. "And there are some days I could swear he has some mates over for Cossack dancing."
Severus dropped a kiss on the smooth skin before moving up to kiss Hermione with all the longing he'd withheld earlier. She responded eagerly, hooking one ankle around his trouser-clad leg and pulling him as close as possible. The renewed pressure against her hip was familiar and sent a stab of longing through her.
To her surprise, Severus pulled back, groaning. "I apologize, Hermione. I know you're not up to this."
"Says who?" she demanded. "I'll have you know, Professor," she began in her most pedantic lecturing tones, "that I've done significant amount of research on this subject." She nodded towards the stack of books on her bedside table, most obtained by Cecilia Granger from the huge health section of their local Muggle bookstore. "Did you know a woman's body creates a dam of sorts behind the cervix? Nothing gets out, nothing gets in, and it doesn't go anywhere until she goes into labor."
He regarded her steadily. "So you're saying it's all right?"
"What I'm saying, Professor, that you'd best stop being so damned noble if you know what's good for you."
Severus grinned, but addressed his next comments to the expansive rise of her belly. "You're going to have to be quiet for a bit now. I've got some plans for your mother."
"Really?" asked Hermione archly.
"Really," he murmured, moving up to kiss her thoroughly and tugging at the hem of her shirt. Hermione ducked to allow him to draw the shirt over her head, and then moaned at the feel of his hands as they cupped her achingly full breasts.
For a moment she worried that he might find her current size unattractive or even revolting, but she quickly gave up the effort to think clearly and settled for feeling instead. Severus lay beside her on the bed, stroking, touching, apparently intent on rediscovering the texture and taste of every inch of her skin. Her stretchy knickers rolled down her hips and thighs, becoming a twisted rope that disappeared without a second thought into the tangle of bedclothes. At his whispered urging she rolled to her side, away from him, and he pulled her back towards his chest.
Hermione leaned into his strength, touching what she could of his arms as he ran his hands over her, teasing and arousing her until she whimpered with frustration. With a low chuckle at her impatience, Severus at last pushed her upper leg higher and reared over her, sliding into her from behind, his firm grip on her hip letting him control their gentle movement. Hermione pushed back, arching her spine to allow him deeper access. They rocked together, his fingers stroking her intimately from the front even as he surged into her from the back, his other arm cradling her firmly against him. Their passion mounted until Hermione gasped and clenched around him, feeling her womb tighten with the ecstasy that cascaded through her body. With a heavy groan, Severus joined her, breathing his completion on the back of her neck.
When she could move again, Hermione shifted around to lay her head on his shoulder, putting one knee across his thigh to ease the pressure on her hips. His arm held her close, his hand stroking the small of her back and the side of her belly where it supported the extra weight of their child. The full curve of her stomach pressed in against his waist.
"I see what you mean," he muttered after receiving his third swift kick in a minute.
"Told you," Hermione said quietly. "I don't suppose you mind terribly, making love to a beach ball?"
"Of course not," Severus replied smoothly. "After all, it's my beach ball." He raised an eyebrow as the baby, obviously displeased with being called a beach ball, kicked him in the kidney again. Hermione began to move away, but he tightened his arm around her to prevent it and she relaxed against him once more. Without conscious thought, he pulled her as close as possible and dropped a kiss on the curly head tucked under his chin.
"I've missed you," he said quietly, and Hermione felt a tear come to her eye as she realized how much it must have cost him to say those words. She tightened her arm across his chest and nestled into his side, terribly glad to be with him again.
"Hermione," Severus called softly.
"Hmm?"
His free hand found hers where it lay on his chest and toyed with the sapphire and diamond ring on her finger. "Would you consider going to meet my mother after you graduate?"
"Of course. Oh, wait. That's in Italy, right?"
"Yes. Near Rome."
"No, actually, I think you'll have to twist my arm a little harder," she laughed. "I'd love to go to Rome. Can we stay for a few days?"
"Certainly. Maybe even a week or more."
"Umm." Hermione's legs stretched languorously. "Rome in summer."
"I might need to leave you for a bit and take care of an errand for Albus," he warned her in an absent voice.
"You won't be gone long?"
"No, of course not," he answered, just a hair too swiftly.
She shifted in his embrace. "You're lying."
"No! Why would I lie?"
"Good question. Why don't you give me a good answer?" She lifted herself to one elbow so she could look him in the eye. "Tell me."
"Hermione. I can't-"
She cut him off. "You bloody well can, or I'm not stepping a single foot out-"
"You'll jolly well do what you're told!" he interrupted in turn, his onyx eyes snapping with anger.
"Don't you even try to take that tone with me, Severus! I've never left Harry when he needed me, and I'm not leaving you!"
"You're nearly eight months pregnant," he told her vehemently, sitting up. "Any contribution you could make is outweighed by how vulnerable you are."
The furious light in her eye let him know he'd really stepped in it this time. "If you think being pregnant makes me a useless liability."
"No, that's not what I meant." Letting out a groan of frustration, he pulled her resisting body closer to him and leaned forward until his face was buried against her neck. His black hair drifted across her skin as he shook his head.
"Please-PLEASE listen to me. I can't think properly if I know you're here where you might get hurt. I cannot take that risk." He swallowed hard, his hands tightening on her. "I'm asking you to stay safe, Hermione. I need to know that you and our child will be safe."
"What about after I have the baby?" she asked truculently. "What then?"
Severus raised his head to look at her, a wary look on his face. "It is highly likely that by the time you're up and around again, it should all be over, one way or the other. If the worst comes to pass, my mother will be able hide you both and protect you."
Frowning in confusion, Hermione searched his expression. "Don't tell me that bat in her tower of denial has made some prophecy?"
"Trelawney didn't make this prediction," he told her, a smile tugging at his mouth. Despite her skepticism, he found himself telling Hermione about the prophecy. She did not argue when he claimed ignorance of the actual words, and in return Severus did not tell her that Dumbledore was currently putting his affairs in order.
"How long?" Hermione asked, finally.
"We're not sure. Before the end of this summer, most likely in August."
"Harry's birthday is the 31 of July," she added pensively. "I'm due the week after that."
Severus kissed the tender skin below her ear rather than voice the possibility that Harry Potter would not live more than a month beyond his eighteenth birthday. At this exact moment, his most selfish, desperate desire was to see his child born before the final battle, to just once hold the tiny life in his hands before going to a battle that he had little hope of surviving.
He was gratified when Hermione relaxed against him, her hand drawing small patterns on his arm as she stared at nothing, deep in thought.
"I'll go to Italy," she agreed at last. "But I want you to swear you'll let me know what's going on."
"I will," he told her, having no intention of passing along any possibly devastating information until after she'd delivered. More than one woman had gone into premature labor after having been wildly upset by bad news. Honesty could wait until after the baby was safely born.
"When are you leaving?" she asked, her voice going thick as the war reasserted itself on their private interlude.
Her husband sighed. "I have only today, but I will try to make it back to the graduation, if just to give the rest of the staff heart failure."
Hermione giggled damply. "But I have you for today, right?" she sniffled even as she asked the question.
Severus tilted her face towards his, hating the pain he caused as her eyes welled with tears. "Yes, of course," he told her softly.
A single teardrop ran over Hermione's cheek, glistening as it streaked to her lip. One day, she thought, just like before. A single span of time to wring as much enjoyment as possible from. Carpe Diem, indeed.
Severus meant only to kiss her, reassure her and stop her bursting into tears, but the salt taste was like an aphrodisiac in his mouth. His lips sought hers hungrily, and Hermione responded in turn. She resisted his attempts to turn her, instead pressing him back to the pillows and moving over him.
They made love once more, her body over his, round with pregnancy. Her fingers clutched almost painfully at his shoulders as her full breasts swayed with her movements, nipples plump and swollen as ripe raspberries. Lying beneath his wife, Severus' passion was tinged with awe. She was an Earth Goddess, fertile and beautiful, her curls cascading over her shoulders and her head thrown back in bittersweet ecstasy.
*****
Two hours later, when Harry Potter knocked on Hermione's door to see if she were coming down to dinner, he was shocked to hear a man's deep voice shout "Bugger off!" and Hermione's unmistakable laughter.
Somewhat dazed, Harry obediently buggered off and made his way down to the hall, where he took his place next to Ron.
"Is Hermione coming?" Ron asked.
Harry stabbed his fork into his dinner. "Did you absolutely have to say it that way?" he asked.
*****
The late June sun was barely up when a heavy pounding on her door woke Hermione from a deep sleep. Stumbling across the room, avoiding the packing scattered on the floor as she dragged on her robe, she opened the door and managed to mumble "What?" around a massive yawn.
"We're going down to the pitch and fly for a while. Want to come?" asked Harry, looking disgustedly awake. His Firebolt was tucked under one arm and he was tugging his flying gloves on as he spoke. His hair was worse than usual and looked like a hedgehog caught in a windstorm.
"Have you two even slept?" Hermione demanded. She'd fallen asleep in the middle of the traditional seventh-year party the night before, despite the surrounding voices of their classmates, all of whom were reluctant to leave the celebration and acknowledge the end of their school days at Hogwarts. It had been well after midnight when Harry and Ron had all but carried her from the Gryffindor common room back to the Head Girl's suite and put her to bed.
"'Course we slept," chimed in Ron. His red Quidditch robes were slung over his shoulder. "I've had at least three hours meself."
Despite herself, Hermione smiled as she leaned against her door. "Honestly. You're both worse that Hagrid. I half expect to see the two of you clutching some old Gryffindor banner and howling like banshees on the train this afternoon."
"You are coming on the train today, aren't you?" Ron demanded suddenly. "It wouldn't be the same without you."
"Yes, of course. Severus sent me a letter a few days ago saying he didn't think he'd make it to graduation after all, so my parents are going to pick me up at the station. I'll be staying at their house for a few days, then he's taking me to meet his mother."
Ron shuddered. "Snape's mum. There's something to give you nightmares."
"Her letters were very nice," Hermione objected. "And she's my mother-in- law, so I'll have to make the best of it, won't I?"
"If you say so," interjected Harry, heading off the argument. "Are you coming down or aren't you? If we hurry we could have one last visit to Hagrid, as well."
"All right. Let me get dressed and I'll be right there."
The two exchanged a look, to Hermione's exasperation. "Oh, stop it. It's the last day of school. I'm perfectly capable of getting down to the pitch by myself. Go on -- I'll be down in five minutes. Just to watch, mind you. I'm not allowed on a broom these days."
Ron smirked. "The way you fly, you shouldn't be allowed on a broom anyway." Harry punched him on the shoulder, saving Hermione the trouble of responding.
"I'll be down soon," she promised.
The young men waved and headed down the corridor, laughing and jostling each other deliberately. Hermione shut the door and went to her bathroom, devoutly hoping she hadn't packed her hairbrush accidentally.
Five minutes later she'd cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair, and was settling a loose maternity gown over her bulging abdomen when another fist began pounding at her door. Exasperated, she yanked the door open.
"I don't even have my shoes on yet!" she scolded, and abruptly broke off when she saw who stood at her door.
It wasn't Harry.
*****
Author's Notes:
Connie Dover is one of the artists who has recorded "The Summer Before the War." It's been years since I've heard it and I can't quite remember the words, but they go something like this:
All on a Saturday, bright as a bell, Early and just for the ride. We took a trip, cycling down to the sea, You and your lady and I. Down through the narrow lanes Chasing the slow trains And the last of an age going by. One day, at Whitesun, the sea and the shore The summer before the war.
CARPE DIEM means "seize the day." (And that translation, for once, I'm sure of! :P )
And no, I've never been to the Lake District. I've never been outside the continental United States. But according to the web site I found, Broughton Moor is a "secluded forest set in dramatic scenery is to be found approximately five miles south-east of the village of Coniston. Access is by the unclassified public road from Torver to Broughton Mills. Two car parks offer fine views south to the Duddon Estuary whilst the third car park is close by the ancient settlement known as "The Hawk".
Sounds marvelous.