HOME SNAPE HOME

Baby, It's You

Chapter 2

Poppy Pomfrey was not a Medi-witch to have people cluttering up her nice, neat Infirmary one second longer than necessary. In the Muggle world, women went home a day after having their babies, all being well. And this was the wizarding world. She made sure everything was more than well. So, there was no reason for Hermione Granger to be making her ward look untidy. She'd had the baby after all. A full day ago.

Madam Pomfrey waved Hermione's small bag of toiletries at her. "I know you can walk, Miss Granger. There's no need to look at me like that. Time to go….. No, don't hang on to the bed. Come along, dear. Dear, stop screaming, it's not that bad."

Poppy pulled Hermione away from the hospital bed and made her stand upright. Her baby was asleep in a pram by the Infirmary door. Such a good baby, considering. Poppy pushed Hermione towards the door.

"Time to go back to your…er…rooms, dear."

Hermione blanched. She would not be returning to her childhood room with her parents. There was absolutely no space now that they'd moved to a London flat, in anticipation of Hermione launching herself spectacularly upon whichever, or witchever world she wished. Babies were not permitted in the Gryffindor dormitories. Interesting that there was a specific rule about that in Hogwarts: A History. Along with the rule about no honey allowed in the Slytherin dorms. Presumably something had happened often enough to make both rules a necessity. To think, her old primary school just had a rule about boys not shaving four letter words in the backs of their hair. That seemed dull in comparison to the Ravenclaw stricture against whips.

Hermione tried to get back into the Infirmary bed, but Poppy bossed her out the door.

He was waiting. The father of her child. She knew he'd be lurking out there. He was a champion lurker, slinker and nutter. Fantastic. She'd enjoyed Ron's constant visits, his fussing over the baby, and Harry's quieter moments with her. But later in the evening, when her friends had gone, Snape had arrived. They'd sat in awkward silence for fifteen minutes before Hermione broke it.

"I don't remember anything," she said. "Nothing beyond dark hair."

She tried not to glance at his head, and didn't mention that she could remember what the top of his head looked like sprouting up from between her legs. Hazy, woozy memory, and it bloody well had to produce that image.

Snape didn't elucidate what his memories were. "The greater part of the castle is to be closed for the holidays," he said. "The dorms will be emptied, cleaned, smudged, and fumigated. Mr Filch is extremely distressed at the moment. He has been traumatised by the three hundred gallon tanker of bleach in the courtyard. So it would not bode well to ask him to leave your rooms open for you." He cleared his throat. "I have taken the liberty of moving your belongings into my quarters."

Hermione made a small strangling noise in her throat. She couldn't speak. She was beyond it.

"I am the father of your child. It is a logical decision to have you come live with me for the interim."

Another strangling noise. Snape had touched her things. What if he'd fondled her knickers? Oh gods, what if he'd used her hairbrush? Then she told herself to snap out of it. Or snape out of it. The man had used her body, and she his. What was a hairbrush between parents?

And now here she was, standing behind a pram, still sore after giving birth, a little woozy, tired, no idea how to fold those tricky nappies(the only time she hadn't scored an instant A+), and Snape was standing there.

"I….er…heard you screaming in there. Is everything well?" he asked, shifting from one foot to the other.

She said the first thing that came into her head. "Well, you know what they say. The first bowel movement afterwards is worse than the actual birth."

He turned white, turned his back, and indicated she should follow him. They made a charming spectacle as they traipsed the halls of Hogwarts. Professor Snape, still in shock at the sudden knowledge he was a father, leading the way, striding ahead, then falling back when he realised Hermione was walking at snail's pace. Hermione pushing the pram, feeling like her insides were going to fall out, flicking glances between Snape and their son, hoping against hope she could see anyone else's features in the baby's face. The baby, sound asleep, top lip sucked in, but a wonderful poopy smell emanating from the nether regions.

Those who saw the Parenthood Parade kept their comments to themselves, which was probably a good thing, Snape, and his ever-ready wand. Hermione and her correspondence course in Counter Charms, Hexes, and Curses. The baby with the loaded nappie.

Snape had Transfigured his quarters. The large bed remained, but was now steel-reinforced, sported struts, and a second storey. Bunk queen beds. A basinette sat beside the bed, decked out in midnight blue, but with a lack of ribbons, lace, or stuffed animals. One small mercy.

Snape's bathroom was the same. Bath tub, shower, vanity. A plastic baby bath sat inside the adult one.

"Make yourself at home," Snape said, and gestured.

Hermione surveyed the room. She had been in it before, but had been rather occupied, presumably both times. Once drunk, and once giving birth. The walls were dark. Dreary, she amended. There was a photograph hung on the wall. Two people stared out at her, estimably a few years older than herself. They turned to each other, shrugged, and ogled the baby. Hermione estimated they were a few years younger than herself.

"Brother and sister?" she asked.

"Children, from my first marriage," Snape said. "Santo and Caliope live with their mother."

"They didn't go to Hogwarts?"

"Obviously. We felt it better that they grow up away from my…shadow. They live in Australia and attend Wilkes School. They're in post-graduate studies now."

Snape had other children. Grown children. In Australia. Did they really throw prawns on the barbie Down Under? Dear gods. So someone else had spawned with him. Well, the children appeared normal. No extra heads, tentacles, or black wings sprouting from the back. There was hope yet for her own son, then.

A static photo of her parents sat beside the bed. Snape had thought of everything. Welcome to your new life, Hermione.

The baby awoke and squawked. Hermione peered at him.

"What do you suppose he wants?"

Snape looked him over. "Food? Fresh pants? Maybe he's got wind?"

Okay, they would do for starters. Hermione lifted her son up. Yep, clean pants were on the agenda. She glanced at the stack of nappies Poppy had stored under the pram.

"Do you know how to fold a diaper?" she asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Didn't Poppy tell you? There's a spell-"

"It….er…doesn't hurt the baby does it?" Hermione asked in haste. "It's not a cork or anything?"

"If you'd let me finish. There's a spell for taking care of all this. Rayleen used it all the time."

Rayleen - the first wife. First? Had there been others? Bluebeard Snape?

Snape taught her the spell. It magically emptied, cleaned and dried the nappie. One simply had to stipulate where the refuse had to go.

"Voldemort's grave," Hermione said darkly.

Snape allowed himself a small smile. "Rayleen chose the Potters' front garden."

Hermione was starting to see why the mysterious Rayleen was Snape's first choice for wife. She was glad she hadn't said anything mundane. She would need to be a match for this man.

"Am I going to hear about Rayleen every second I'm here?" she asked.

"Pardon me. I didn't realise you had an emotional stake in my past. Other than the previous nine months." He shut up then and retreated to his desk.

The baby yelped again. Hermione felt supremely self-conscious sitting on the bed and undoing her blouse. Snape appeared occupied in exam-grading. Hermione fumbled with her breast. Baby Snape didn't have a clue. Poppy had helped him latch on the night before, and this morning, but now she was on her own, with a baby who was screaming and not sucking. She felt her own tears coming on. It was another test, she knew it. And she had no idea how to pass it.

"Try rubbing his cheek with your nipple," Snape said. His eyes were still on his work, his red quill poised to make big slashing crosses.

Hermione tried. The baby wriggled, and set up another din. She inexpertly pushed her breast into his face. Just like his bloody father - cantankerous to the point of getting in his own way. She pushed again.

Then she felt the bed sink beside her. Snape knelt, one knee on the bed, his body bent over her.

"Like this," he said. He paused, just for a second, to see if she'd protest. When she didn't, he reached and cupped her bare breast in his hand.

Hermione thought it was obscene to appreciate the warmth of his hand in this moment. She'd just had a baby. She was trying to breastfeed. Snape rubbed her engorged nipple against their son's cheek. The baby turned and Snape fed Hermione's nipple into his mouth, adjusting as he went to make sure the baby had a good hold.

Hermione looked up. "Thankyou," she said.

"My pleas….. You're welcome," he said shortly. He took his time removing his hand however, and lingered to watch his son take his fill.

"Have you thought of a name?" he asked finally.

"Do you have any preference?" Please, not some dreadful family name.

"Anything but Harry, James, Godric, or Moon Orbit."

My grandfather's name is Alfred."

"Or Alfred. My grandfather's name was Pericles, but I doubt you'll want to use that."

"Maybe only on formal occasions."

Again, she saw a small grin play around the corners of his mouth. "I shall leave the naming up to you, Hermione." She expected him to say 'He is your son', but was pleasantly surprised. "After all, you did all the hard work."

She considered the baby suckling at her breast. "David."

"Any particular reason?"

"I like the name."

He said nothing for a moment. "David Pericles?"

"David Ronald Pericles," she finished.

"Ronald as in Weasley?"

"He's going to be godfather. He stood by me when…. no one else would."

Snape swallowed. "A good choice then."

And he went back to his marking.

Hermione managed, just, to swap the baby to the other breast. He fell asleep there, and Hermione took time to stretch her back and look upwards. Two bunks. Obviously they weren't going to be sleeping together. That was a relief. She supposed.

She moved David off her breast and did up her blouse, then popped the baby over her shoulder. Standing, she walked around the room several times with David over her shoulder. He burped twice in his sleep but there was an ominous windy gurgle in the kid's stomach.

"Exactly who," she asked, as she bedded David down in his basinette, "gets the bottom bunk?"

Snape leapt from his desk and bolted towards the bed. Hermione beat him there and dropped herself across the lower bunk.

"Mine," she said.

***** *****

Author's note: I was as surprised as anyone that Snape had been married before. Wonder what else the old guy has kept secret?

Any reader's hints as to where this goes from here? Colic, milk allergies, the runs? And who should I visit them upon?