Chapter Fifty-Six
Snape emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy pink bathrobe and wearing a pair of Araminta's bunny slippers. He was having a hard time keeping his towel on his head. "Er, a little help?"
Araminta bent him over and helped him wrap the thing around his head. "Keep your head up, and keep the towel on; otherwise, you'll be dripping everywhere."
"Heaven forbid I leak," Snape growled.
"Sit down and have some tea while you get dried off," Araminta offered.
"Thanks, I think I will," Snape replied. "Is there any lemon?"
"I should have known a sourpuss like you would take your tea that way." Araminta pulled a little bell and had a house-elf bring a lemon and a knife.
Once Snape was settled and sipping his tea, Araminta pulled her foot spa from underneath her four-poster bed. While Snape looked the other way, she got it ready and surprised him by plunging his feet in.
"What the %^&*O!" yelled Snape. "Oh, oh, that feels really good."
"Should I turn it on massage?" asked Araminta, pleased that he liked it.
"Please," Snape purred. "Oh, that should bring down the swelling in my ankles."
Araminta carefully removed the towel from Snape's head and rubbed it over his hair. "Why don't you let me comb and dry this for you?"
"Sure," Snape murmured, in a daze. "Whatever you want."
Araminta twisted the ottoman so that he couldn't see himself in the vanity, then trimmed his hair neatly. It was still kind of long, but it wasn't hanging in greasy lumps anymore. She found a little bit of gel in a drawer--her hair didn't need it, so it must have belonged to the person who lived here before she did--and used it to style his hair.
Snape's satisfied grumbling suddenly turned sharp. "Ow!"
"What?" asked Araminta, putting the scissors away guiltily. She hadn't cut him, had she?
"Give me your hand." Araminta held her arm out and Snape grabbed her hand and pressed it tightly against him. "Do you feel that?"
Araminta swallowed. How was she supposed to answer that? Of course she could; she could see the twitching underneath the bathrobe. "Um."
"Have you ever felt anything like that before?" he asked, insistently.
"No, I haven't," Araminta replied. There it went again.
"I don't want you to tell anyone else about this, Araminta. It's a secret between you and me."
"But, Professor, someone is bound to figure it out sooner or later," Araminta contradicted. "The swollen ankles. The emotion. The exhaustion. You're pregnant."
Snape nodded. "No one can know."
Araminta put two and two together. She didn't need a calculator to figure this one out. "It's Pansy's, isn't it?"
Snape's jaw was set. "No one else can know, then. I'll have the child as discreetly as possible, and then Pansy will raise it as her own."
"It's a him," Araminta said.
"Pssh. How can you know that?" Snape retorted.
"Let's just say I have an idea." Araminta smiled. "Blake Parkinson will be a handsome boy."
"Blake?" said Snape. "That's a fine name. I think I like it."
They smiled at each other.