Disclaimer: Not Rowling, not worried that my sense of humor is warped…much…
Don't Call Me Daddy
Chapter 3- Morning Sickness
The coffee didn't smell right. Grimacing at the unpleasant aroma, Severus thrust the mug away and opened The Daily Prophet. He didn't bother to look at the front page. For the last few months, every day brought a new and more idolizing portrayal of Harry-Bloody-Potter.
Articles like, How Tragedy Forged A Hero made him scowl so horribly while sitting at the Staff Table that ickle firsties had cried. That's when he began taking morning meals in his quarters. Glancing up to see his glowing wife enter the lounge, the Potions Master smirked. The view was better here anyway. Sitting beside him in a loosely belted robe, gypsy-dark eyes appraised his attire after a kiss,
"No classes today, love?"
The sleeves of his tailored black shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms. Thin lips curved,
"How gratifying to have a perceptive wife…"
Giving him one of those melting 'you remembered' looks, Lorelei promptly moved to sit in his lap and slide her fingers into his hair. Kisses trailed a path along his jaw to his ear. Mobile lips twitched at the corners when she purred,
"Do you remember what I told you after you said that to me on our Wedding Day?"
His fingers pulled the belt that was tied so loosely it fell right off,
"You promised to always take pleasure in gratifying your husband."
The siren's pleased laughter was stilled by his mouth. After a deep, loving kiss, she smiled,
"I may have fallen asleep right after dinner last night, but I'm wide awake now."
He teasingly nibbled the neck arched in invitation,
"So I see."
And smell. His wife never used perfumes, scented soaps or lotions in order to better detect the freshness and potency of aromatic potions ingredients. Snape was grateful. Naturally fragrant, soft skin was infinitely preferable to some cloying scent. Last night, whatever manufactured stench McGonagall had worn had been so strong that it turned his stomach and ruined his appetite. Firmly dismissing unpleasant thoughts, the lean man turned his lips, and his attention to more pleasurable things.
Shortly before noon, Severus looked up from a cauldron in his private laboratory and realized that he had not eaten that day. Since the solution required no vigilance- it would simmer over low flames for several hours- he decided to take a break, walk to the kitchen and rectify the oversight.
Turning the pear that served as a handle to the hidden kitchen door, the professor stepped into the busy chamber and was immediately assailed by wave after wave of overwhelming odors. The house elves were bustling around conjuring the standard lunch fare. Special orders would be dealt with later, when the students expressed their wishes. In one of the huge fireplaces, rows of rotisserie chickens turned over and over, the fat running off the meat and dripping down to vanish once it hit the magicked self-cleaning floor of the fireplace. Never one to make puns, Severus made an exception when he grimly decided that the smell was fowl. Taking a step back, he almost tripped over an elf carrying a platter of roast beef. The aroma triggered a reflex that was usually bypassed by a Nauseous No More potion after an over-indulgence in whisky.
Staggering out of the odorous kitchen, Snape leaned against a cold stone wall and concentrated on steadying his breath and his stomach. When he felt the distressing urge subside, the man headed to the Infirmary.
Sitting on the edge of a cot, he refused to remove any clothing. When the mediwitch tried to ask a question, he held up a hand and insisted that privacy curtains be drawn. While she did so, the Potions Master impatiently waited for Poppy to finish. Only then did he succinctly recount the symptoms that plagued him. She stared. He frowned. Why did she not give him her opinion on the nature of his malady? Clearing her throat, the older woman asked after doing some 'diagnostic test' by waving her wand in his direction,
"Do you have a history of migraine headaches?"
No. His headaches had all left school. The students he taught now were so bright, capable, and respectful, teaching was almost rewarding. She frowned thoughtfully at hearing the negative answer,
"Are you susceptible to motion sickness? Do you feel ill while flying, for example?"
He was not overly fond of heights, due to extreme respect for the laws of gravity, but otherwise he had never had an adverse reaction to flying. Severus told the woman so. The skilled mediwitch threw up her hands,
"Well, there's nothing physically wrong with you. In fact, you're in excellent health and appear to be getting sufficient exercise…"
The brisk tone trailed off at the last word. The unflappable Madam Pomfrey blushed. He raised a sardonic brow. She turned beet red and muttered,
"Excuse me for a moment. I need to look something up in a mediwitch journal."
Smirking over Poppy's being embarrassed about the type of 'exercise' he got regularly, and after that 'twice a day' confession who could blame the woman, Snape tried to relax while he waited for her to return. It was no use. There was a vile odor emanating from the floor. What in Merlin's name had the elves used to clean it?
Breathing through his mouth helped, but not much. The same went for calculating the chances that his new batch of Wolfsbane would be effective. The wizard crossed his arms and wondered if he'd picked up some esoteric virus from one of the children hanging on their mothers' legs at the Obstetric Healer's office a couple of weeks ago. If he'd gone along with Lorelei's request to use the Midwitch in Hogsmeade, his stomach wouldn't be churning violently right now.
A student was ushered into the infirmary by Professor Sprout. Severus could hear the woman saying earthily,
"A little vomit never hurt a mandrake Mr. Creevey. You should see some of the wild parties they throw when they start maturing. Some mornings I don't go into the greenhouse without having the elves fumigate first!"
A wavering voice apologized,
"I'm that sorry, Professor. I think I accidentally ate something I'm allergic to."
Gagging sounds made the man grimacing behind the curtain use reserves of willpower to keep from following suit. A naturally acute sense of smell combined with whatever strain of virus he had was having a deleterious effect on his stomach. From meters away, he was affected when the boy yelped, 'I'm sorry!' and heaved the remaining contents of his stomach. The noxious odor of bile wafted through the curtain. Unable to prevent himself from gagging, Snape finally lost the battle with his body.
As soon as shudders quit wracking his frame, the Potions Master waved his wand to scourgify the mess and used a quick cleansing spell to rid his mouth of the sour, bitter taste that threatened to set off another round of sickness. The curtain opened. Pomona looked a bit disappointed not to see him brought low. She sniffed, and nodded her graying, flyaway locks decisively,
"Stomach bug, eh? I know just the thing. I'll bring it by your quarters after my last class."
He opened his mouth to demur, but the woman stated firmly,
"Don't thank me, it's the least I can do for a colleague. Until later…"
The witch straightened the patchwork hat her nod had tilted and backed away. He shrugged. If the Herbology professor brought him some dubious root from the rain forest, he could always accept and then throw it into the fireplace.
Poppy returned. His stomach roiled,
"Stars and stones, woman, did you bathe in gardenias today? Are you trying to ensure that an admirer in Hogsmeade smells it?"
He broke off, barely controlling the reflex that would bring forth another humiliating episode. Immediately, the woman brought out an opened bottle of perfume from behind her back and replaced the stopper. Relief was instantaneous. Severus asked quietly,
"Do I have some virus that affects my olfactory organs, heightens them untenably?"
Shaking her head, the mediwitch advised gently,
"Better sit down, Professor Snape."
Reluctantly, he did so. Hesitantly, the nurse began,
"Before I explain my findings, I need to ask, has Lorelei had any…morning sickness?" Seeing his blank look, she continued, "Do you understand what I'm referring to? Some newly expectant fathers don't, so it's no shame to admit…"
"I have perused her text on pregnancy. Morning sickness is a misnomer. Bouts of nausea usually strike the expectant mother at six weeks and can occur at any time of day. Not even wizard Healers know the cause, but theorize that a surge in hormones or a vitamin imbalance may be factors along with a susceptibility to…" Pausing in sheer disbelief, the man finished expressionlessly, "…motion sickness or migraine headaches."
Using a tone of voice that sounded deliberately calm and soothing, like something she'd use to inform hysteria prone students that they had some 'kissing disease', Poppy informed,
"My research led to an article by a Healer who documented that unlike the rare Muggle expectant father who experiences 'sympathetic' morning sickness along with his partner, the Wizard father-to-be who suffers from such occurrences does so by use of unfocused magic."
"Unfocused magic"
The normally reserved woman placed her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. It was a measure of his shock that he did not pull away. She sniffed once, then took a deep breath and smiled,
"The Healer concluded that when a sufficiently talented wizard cares deeply enough, the subconscious use of unfocused magic enables him to experience the nausea instead of his partner."
After advising him to follow the remedies proposed in the pregnancy manual, the mediwitch dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and bid him good day with a watery smile. He ordered curtly,
"You will tell no one of this."
Half-turning, the woman tsked,
"I am bound by patient confidentiality, Professor Snape."
That did not reassure him. Mind boggling at the idea that he could actually, even subconsciously, want to suffer this malady in his wife's place, Severus returned to his lab. Hours later, a knock sounded. Absently, he called out,
"Enter"
Sprout's round form came into the dungeon chamber. She held up an object,
"Figured you'd be here when the guardian painting told me no one was home in your quarters. This is ginger, fresh from the greenhouse. Grate some into hot water, for ginger tea." Observing the greenish cast to his face, the woman smiled, "I'll do it now, shall I?"
Reluctantly taking the mug filled with the steaming liquid, the Potions Master grudgingly appreciated the fact that the aroma did not turn his stomach. Drinking the tea under her watchful gaze, nausea subsided. His features relaxed. The corners of his mouth turned up,
"Thank you, Pomona."
"Anytime, Severus"
During dinner, Albus leaned across Minerva to hand him a small bag. Blue eyes twinkled,
"Lemon drops. The sour candy eases upset stomachs, I assure you, although I don't know why." Smiling benignly in that happiness and light version of a smirk the old wizard did so well, he winked, "Works like magic"
Stiffly nodding his head in gratitude, Snape picked up the bag. Down the table, Flitwick exclaimed with delight over 'tuna casserole'. The odor of the dish caused agile fingers to untie the pouch and reach for a drop. The scent of lemon nullified less pleasant odors. Stygian dark eyes closed briefly in blessed relief.
Returning to his private chambers with Lorelei following dinner, the couple had just reached the dungeon stairway when they heard,
"Professor Snape!"
Striding in way that showed the younger man was in enviably robust health, Professor Malfoy smiled charmingly at his wife before saying,
"My mother keeps sending me boxes of sweets like I'm a first year, and, well, I've never cared for ginger candies, even though they're supposed to be good for digestion, so…here…"
Grey eyes looked just as uncomfortable as he felt.
"How considerate of you…Thank you Draco…!"
His wife took the small box of candies after kissing the wizard's cheek. Unwilling to be the first Snape to forget his manners, Severus held out his hand,
"My Thanks"
Grinning boyishly in a way that made a passing redheaded Gryffindor sigh, the blond shook his hand and drawled,
"My pleasure, Sir"
Watching Malfoy hurry off after Weasley, Snape remarked dryly,
"I suppose he could want to advise the girl on something."
"Like which statue to snog behind?"
Smirking, he led her away from the stairs and down the main corridor,
"Which statue do you advise we snog behind?"
Dazzlingly, she smiled,
"Simon the Salacious- he reminds me of someone even more sensational."
Viewing the statuary's lean, commanding features, clever lips curved while following his wife into the secluded alcove behind it.
The next morning, even pleasant memories of the results of snogging couldn't prevent Snape from rushing to the loo. Wracked with involuntary spasms, he was dimly aware of his wife's hands keeping long strands from contamination. When he recovered enough, Severus moved away to cleanse his mouth and step into the shower in order to feel totally clean. The comforting sensation of having slender arms encircle him in a hug while a warm, soft body pressed to his back made the humiliating ordeal bearable. Turning, he looked down into loving eyes and brushed back wet spirals,
"How long have you known?"
"Not until yesterday. Malfoy's candies confirmed what I'd thought was my wild imagination."
"I thought I had an esoteric virus picked up from exposure to a germ laden child."
Hugging him again, Lorelei declared in a choked voice,
"That you would do that for me…I promise…"
His brow rose,
"What?"
"That I'll be there to hold your hair back…and love you through it."
Severus wondered if women hearing that from their husbands felt as he did. Returning his wife's kiss, he hoped so.
A/N: How many of you knew from the get-go that Severus would have the morning sickness? Wasn't it more fun that way? Review and let me know!