Matilda Buxleigh had to hide a smile and a laugh as Doctor Anaxamander Konstantidines was wheeled by her desk at St. Mungo's on a gurney, suffering from frostbite in a delicate area. "Damn!" he moaned, convulsing in pain. "Who would have thought that a quick shag against the dungeon wall would end like this?!" Apparently, according to his file, the distinguished cardiologist had fallen rather willingly into the clutches of a rather bewitching young woman half his age.

Unfortunately, he was not aware of the fact that his lovely, silvery-blond playmate was a Siberskaya, a Russian Ice Maid. No mortal man could mate with a Siberskaya without paying a steep price for his pleasure. Nurse Buxleigh's lips finally twitched up in a smile. Well, let's see him pinching rumps and harassing the girls in Cardiology now. She'd have a fine tale for the staff room when her dinner break finally came.

She swiveled in her chair to check the time, hungrily anticipating the meal awaiting her. It was a raw February day and most wizarding folk had been wise enough to stay in their houses in the falling snow, so it had been particularly slow. It was still half an hour to go before her dinner. She heard the pop of someone Apparating in and turned to greet them. They couldn't be too badly injured if they'd managed to get here under their own power.

A tall man almost raced towards her, hurriedly brushing snow off a dark green cloak. "Hermione Snape?" he gasped, dark eyes darting wildly around, his voice deep and with beautiful diction.

She blinked. One of the heroes of the war against Voldemort stood before her. She fumbled for the file. "Accio!" she finally snapped, and the file flew into her hand from across the nurse's station. "Navigus Hermione Snape!" The numbers flashed in the air before a worried-looking Severus Snape.

He took the barest glance to note that his wife was in room 418, before he was off racing down the hall, practically stumbling in his haste, cloak billowing behind him. She grinned to herself. A man who had faced death countless times as a spy, stared down Death Eaters in the battle for Hogwarts ten months earlier with barely a twitch of nerves, was a gibbering mess at the miracle of life. Typical man.

~~~~~~~~~~


He could barely believe that it was happening. Who on Earth would have imagined two years ago that Severus Snape, snarling and cold Professor Severus Snape, would be pacing a hospital waiting room with frayed nerves, worrying beyond belief for his wife? Two years ago they'd have laughed at the idea of a woman touching him, let alone bearing his child. Their child. He bit his lip, placing his hands on the windowsill and staring out over the calm Welsh countryside, the snow falling in silence outside.

He was helpless as a newborn himself. Much as he had sworn to protect her, with his own life if need be, he could do nothing here. It was a woman's struggle, one he had no place in. One thing that scared him out of his wits was helplessness--a vestige left yet of those long, lonesome years where all he had to cling to was his usefulness. If anything should happen to her…

He barely saw the outside world, looking now through his mind's eye, remembering his mother and father. As a boy he had been ashamed of them, their very difference, the things that marked him as different. First their Russian blood, disdained by the English they'd taken refuge among, and then their Muggleness, loathsome to so many in Slytherin house. He hadn't seen through his bitterness and anger that they'd given up everything known and familiar, to go to a strange and sometimes hostile land, for him. To save his life.

And now there would be no chance to plead for forgiveness, to take back his coldness towards them on summer holidays home from school, to wipe away the memory of bewildered hurt in their eyes. They had been simple, hardworking people, but they had loved him. He still remembered those simple letters from home that he had opened away from the other Slytherins, not wanting to explain the Cyrillic or the cheap Muggle paper. Sasha, chto tui ucheshsya v shkole? And he too certain they couldn't understand anything of what he was learning or really care, writing back vague replies.

Now here he was about to become a father himself, and the very thought frightened him more than death itself ever could. The thought of the years to come, the tests and trials of parenthood…God allow that he'd handle it. He had learned to love, at least; become a better man from loving Hermione. Maybe there was hope that he could grow yet, and love this child as well as he did his wife.

So as he stood there and pondered past sins and future worries, he was barely aware of someone calling his name. "Mister Snape? Your wife wants to see you."

He turned, looking at the young mediwitch who stood there in her white lab robes. "She wants me?" The mediwitch nodded and gestured for him to follow. Like a meek, obedient little puppy, he walked at her heels down the spotless corridors, ignoring the pictures staring at him as he passed.

She left him at the door, and he knocked tentatively. "Come in!" came the response in an abnormally high tone. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. She lay there so quietly, massaging the swollen mound of her belly. She gave him a weary smile as he approached the bed. She gestured for him to sit. "Whew. That was a strong one there!"

He looked at abominable green of the hospital gown she wore and looked at her face, seeing the reddening and the lines of pain there, the tendrils of wavy hair gone lank with sweat. She had never looked so strained and worn, but he felt a fierce surge of love and pride within him: to him at that moment, she had never been lovelier. "Have they given you anything?" he asked quietly.

"No Asclepio," she laughed tiredly. "You know the coltsfoot in that would hurt the baby. No, just a simple Soothing Solution is all I get." He gave her a sympathetic smile. That potion of clover, willowbark, and mermaid scale wasn't much help for anything beyond minor aches and pains. It would just enough to take a little edge off the pain she was feeling.

She reached for his hand, slipping hers in his gently. A few seconds later she was wringing his hand with such strength that he almost yelped in pain himself, certain something was broken. A low, almost animal whimper of pain passed her lips. Once the contraction subsided, she glowered at her belly. "Hurry up, why don't you!"

He was frightened and awed all at once. Here was something so amazing, so primal and wonderful and terrible…the giving of a life. He had taken his share of life in his forty-three years, and saved a few, but never had he helped to give one. However small my part in it was, he thought ruefully. He winced now to think that he had helped to cause her pain, when he had sworn to himself that he'd as soon turn his wand on himself before he'd allow that to happen.

So it was with a mixture of terror, regret, and anticipation that he sat at his wife's bedside, able to do little but cluck vague reassurances and wait as the nerve-wracking minutes passed. Useless, bloody useless. Her brown eyes met his, blazing with the fury of an ancient, vengeful goddess. "I swear, Severus, if you ever touch me again, roast falcon Animagus will be on the next menu at Hogwarts!"

"Er…of course, dear," he said lamely, awkwardly patting her hand, surreptitiously moving her wand out of reach, and turning slightly to put rather delicate areas out of the range of her fists. No sense trying to be rational at the moment. "Shall I…um…leave then?" She might not want to see the one responsible for her being in this state.

"No!" She blinked and looked at him. "Don't you dare leave me!" He was surprised at the vehemence in her tone. She relaxed slightly and gave him a tired smile. "You were there for the beginning of it, weren't you?" she said teasingly. "You might as well be here for the end…"

Indeed, and he remembered the night very well. The night after he had stood by her side as they had finally been formally declared husband and wife. And she had proudly, lovingly said the words binding them for life, despite the murmurs of shock rippling through some of the crowd. A day papers had crowded to report from: the recognition of the heroes of Hogwarts by Minister of Magic Gwalch, and the marriage of a most unlikely pair in their ranks. And so he had stood there with an Order of Merlin, First Class pinned to his dress robes and caring nothing for it. All he wanted was standing right beside him with all the love in her heart shining brightly in her eyes. It had been the finest day of his life, and the finest night.

But he had never forgotten that night in the Malfoy dungeons, the night he still considered to be the one that had truly joined them. A year ago now the impossible had happened: she had taken him as her husband. Four years ago had been the start of it--that prank Valentine from Draco, that first twinge of empathy in his supposedly stone heart over Hermione Granger. And now another miracle seemed set to happen on the feast of Saint Valentine. A holiday he had spent years hating with all his soul seemed to be now the bringer of change and fortune.

So here he sat, holding her hand in this cycle that would end only in birth or death. "Godparents," Hermione said wearily, lying back against the pillows. "Who'll be the godparents?"

"I'm not certain," he admitted sheepishly, looking around at the disgustingly cheerful yellow walls. He knew very little about the entire business. He didn't even know what sex the child was--they had purposely told the mediwizard that had informed them of the glad tidings not to reveal it. "We'll figure it out," he said with what he hoped was assurance, though he was aware of the faintness of his voice.

The new Snape was in no hurry to be born--probably took after him in having an almost infuriating amount of patience. But then, the inhabitants of the Serpent's Den always did learn to bide their time. He smiled slightly, aware that any child of theirs would have bets on which house they'd be Sorted into long before they reached the age of eleven. The match still shocked some people, and this baby would be under a good deal of scrutiny as it grew. Here's hoping for a Ravenclaw, he thought. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle fathering a Hufflepuff.

Ten minutes or an hour he sat there as contraction after contraction wracked her body. Just then, Elena Karabonova, the Obstetrics Mediwitch, stepped in, giving them a reassuring smile. "How goes it, Mrs. Snape?" she asked.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," Hermione muttered, giving her a grin of bared teeth. "I think it's…about time…"

Things started in a rush from there. He stood by the bedside holding Hermione's hand as she pushed, whimpering quietly to herself. She clung to his hand as if it was her only lifeline, and he murmured quiet words of reassurance, barely aware of half the things he was saying, and not caring who heard. Why on Earth hadn't they invented a bloody spell to quicken this, to just draw the baby out?

He must have asked it aloud because Dr. Karabonova answered brusquely, "Because it's better left to its natural course, Mister Snape. Any spells on a creature that fragile and helpless might well do it lasting damage. Ah, there you are, I see the head! A few pushes more will do it now!"

Her eyes met his and held as she pushed, struggling against her own body to bring this child into the world. "That's the way, soon enough you'll be holding your child," Karabonova encouraged.

She closed her eyes, gathered herself together for another push, bore down until she was gasping with the effort, and Karabonova crowed in delight. "There you have it!" In a rush the cord was tied off and an angry wail pierced the air as the youngest Snape announced its presence. "A fine, healthy baby boy!"

The little blanket-wrapped bundle was handed to him as Karabonova stepped over to examine Hermione. He stood there dumbfounded, concerned only for her until he heard the little whimpers and snuffles of the slight weight in his hands. He looked down at the little wizened red face, amazed. His son. I have a son! He vaguely heard a few murmured charms and spells to help Hermione now that it was safe to use magic on her.

"I'll send Kai to tell your parents," he told Hermione. The red-tailed hawk had been whining about being cooped up this past week--he'd relish the long flight to the Grangers' with the good news of their grandson.

And so he looked into those innocent newborn eyes with wonder. This tiny scrap of humanity was forever a part of him. He knew how to hurt all too well, but how to keep his wife and son from harm... You'll be a better man than me. I'll be the husband and father it takes to see to that. He stroked the baby's soft, plump little cheek with a finger. A fierce wave of love came over him as he beheld his little family, absurdly close to tears at the feeling of sheer contentment such as he had never known.

"Does this little lad have a name?" the doctor asked, smiling at them as he moved to sit beside Hermione.

They had discussed names often in the months since they had learned of the pregnancy, and it seemed only fitting for the baby to bear some name in tribute. Some might disdain naming a child for a mere familiar, but they hadn't known her as the two of them had as Animagi. She had been friend, counselor, fellow spy, matchmaker, and in the end, she had willingly given her life for his. More than could be said for many humans--without her, this child wouldn't even exist. She had been named for Floria Tosca, so the name hadn't been too hard to decide. He smiled a little as he remembered Tosca hoping that a child of his and Hermione's might be a falcon Animagus. We'll see, Tosca.

"His name," Hermione said with a faint smile, reaching up to take the child from his arms, "is Alexander Florian."

The End