Refreshed disclaimer: Characters and situations all belong to JK Rowling, except Healer Benson, who is the product of my nasty little mind. I am making no profit, merely mucking about.
The recap at the beginning summarises the events in 'Secrets of an Insignificant Slytherin', which took place before this story was, er, conceived.
…….
Jeremy Benson was 98 years old. He had been the Malfoy family's private healer all his professional life. He was supremely competent and discreet as a corpse, which was the reason he had always got away with charging exorbitant rates for the frequent illegal or immoral duties he performed. The Malfoys, and their associates whom he was occasionally asked to attend, regarded his fees as cheaper than the blackmail which would undoubtedly result from anyone else, and his practical knowledge of the Dark Arts made him supremely useful at undoing the most unfortunate of curses. Their trust in him was absolute.
When Lucius died and Draco fled to South America to escape justice at the end of the second Voldemort war, Benson married a 29 year old Swedish Playwizard pin-up called Astrid and retired to a small Greek island, occasionally appearing in court as a well-paid expert medical witness. Mostly his days consisted of eating olives from his own grove and watching Astrid swim naked in their private cove. He enjoyed his life very much.
He had been surprised to receive Snape's letter. Naturally, he remembered treating Lucius' lanky fifteen year old boytoy that terrible night when he had brewed the dark sleeping-potion, causing him to miscarry Lucius' baby without even knowing that he had been pregnant. Young Severus had no way of knowing that he was one of the select few males capable of bearing children, so he'd had no reason to heed the warnings that Somnulus – twice as effective as Dreamless Sleep and brewable in a fraction of the time – should be used with extreme caution by witches of childbearing age.
Twenty five years later Benson had been impressed by Snape's reasoning in the letter which arrived out of the blue one glorious Greek morning. The former Death Eater was pregnant again, through conscious choice this time. He quoted the healer's own warning about being treated 'like a laboratory rat' because of his abnormality, and made a rather interesting offer.
Snape openly admitted he could not afford Benson's fees, but would trust no other on this hugely important matter, and certainly had no wish to attend the free National Healing Service's ante-natal clinics with scores of simpering witches whispering about him and tipping off the Daily Prophet about his freak biology. He proposed that Jeremy waived his charges and in return could publish his account of the pregnancy and birth, mentioning no names, of course.
Benson put down his freshly squeezed orange juice and his freshly-squeezed wife as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Though everyone knew that male pregnancy was possible and had happened on a few occasions in the past, the literature about it was woefully lacking. To go down in history as the first healer to discuss the matter sensibly was an attractive thought – he would earn immortality! His would be the definitive text on the subject! He would possibly also receive honours for research into this delicate and unknown field. All for the sake of a few months of examining and treating an intelligent wizard capable of debating each development with him, as well as providing his own hypotheses.
Of course it would be difficult, with no guarantee that the child or its carrier-father would survive the birth, but he would be sure to make Snape sign something allowing him to publish all the same. What an amazing opportunity. He had wasted no time in agreeing.
Several months later, the patient lay on his bed for the regular check-up, torn three ways between excitement, curiosity and embarrassment. Severus knew that the examinations had to be thorough, as no one knew exactly what his body was doing as the baby grew, and they had discovered some peculiar structures and chemical fluctuations which Benson was dying to write up in his book.
"So when did this appear?" asked the healer, sliding a gloved hand down between Snape's legs. As usual, Snape was determined to remain impassive, and limited his show of discomfort to a quick flare of the nostrils.
"Six weeks ago, if you recall, I mentioned an intermittent burning sensation in the area. Then this morning I discovered this," he swallowed as casually as he could while the old man continued his explorations.
"Fascinating," he mused, reaching for his camera. "May I?"
Snape scowled and pulled the sheet up over his head.
"You know the arrangement. You will adjust your prints to maintain absolute anonymity."
"Naturally, naturally," he took a series of pictures while Snape tried to imagine he was somewhere else, without an old healer perched between his thighs photographing his intimate areas. "Thank you. Now, are we agreed that this is a temporary kind of birth-canal?"
"I can see no other purpose for the opening," Severus blushed as he realised the innuendo in this declaration. Fortunately, Benson was too absorbed in palpating his abdomen to spot it.
"You know," he said thoughtfully. "I assume that the channel will stretch during labour the same way as a vagina would. However, your hips are a good deal narrower than those of a female, which may cause problems."
"What sort of problems?" asked Severus, feeling the vague unease which manifested itself whenever the birth was mentioned. Neither healer nor father-to-be had any idea how the baby was planning on arriving, though the recent appearance of the birth-canal suggested one method. One painful, bloody method.
"I would like to perform frequent scans on your pelvis to see if it begins to change shape gradually, or of the bones will merely break during labour," he began excitedly, but catching Snape's glare he switched into reassuring-healer mode. "Do not concern yourself. We will have the very best pain-control available when the time comes. I will monitor you and the baby very closely – at the first sign of any serious distress I'll have her out of there in a trice. She won't get stuck."
Snape said nothing, but began to rub circles over his swollen abdomen to calm himself.
"Severus," Benson continued, resting a gnarled hand on his shoulder. "I delivered Lucius by section within seconds of realising that he was being throttled by his own umbilical cord. And monitoring spells have improved by leaps and bounds since then. I know that you trust me. You would not have involved me at all if you did not."
Severus nodded reluctantly. Anxiety was normal, all the baby books said so, but women had been spawning freely and passing on their knowledge of how best to survive the process since the dawn of time. What if he had got this far only for tragedy to strike at the finishing-post? He knew that if this child did not survive, then, irrespective of any physical damage, neither would he. She was his future. His life.
"Are we finished with the undignified part?" he asked Benson wearily. He was itching to get his underwear back on and stop being messed with.
"Absolutely, Severus. I think I will return the day after tomorrow for another look at that birth-canal, and to scan your pelvis," he cast a cleansing charm on his hands. "Now we're ready for the fun! Did you say that the other father was waiting downstairs?"
"Yes," said Severus, shuffling into a less embarrassing position. "Remember what I told you. Not a word about last time, please?"
…….
Pip appeared in the sitting-room with a pop and greeted Remus with a little bow.
"Master Snape says you is being welcome upstairs now," she informed him.
He thanked her and climbed the stairs, knocking carefully on what he hoped was Severus' bedroom door and waiting to be granted entrance. He nervously wiped the sweat from his palms on his trousers, unbearably excited. A voice called 'come' and he went in.
Healer Benson reached out to shake his hand, looking old and frail but with a tremendous determination burning in his eyes. Severus was sitting up on the bed in a loose-fitting robe, looking poised and serene with his arms snugly around the bump. Each time he saw the potions master, Remus was struck by his weight gain - his cheeks were fuller and he had a suggestion of a double chin, his whole face had developed a much healthier colour and his hair had grown much longer. It suited him. For the first time, Remus also noticed the outline of a pair of small, perky breasts and wondered why he had not expected that. It made sense that if his body was able to produce a child that it should also be able to feed one.
He gazed in wonder for a moment, lost for the umpteenth time in the sheer miraculousness of the situation, before receiving a blood-freezing glare from Snape.
"Stop staring at my tits," he threatened in his softest, most dangerous tone. Remus went beet red, not having been on the receiving end of that instruction for many years.
"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling like a hormone-driven teenage boy.
"Ready?" Snape asked Benson, who nodded and pulled out his wand, speaking a complicated incantation.
A translucent gold-coloured bubble appeared at the tip of the wand and slowly grew until it was slightly bigger than Snape's round belly. He moved it over the bump then gently lowered the wand until the sphere completely surrounded it. Benson muttered another spell and the sphere crackled for a moment, making Snape give a little squeak of surprise which he tried to turn into a cough.
"Yes, it tickles a bit, doesn't it?" smiled the healer.
Remus watched with rapt attention. As Benson raised the wand the golden ball rose with it, this time containing a three-dimensional image of their unborn baby.
"Oh!" exclaimed Severus in delight.
Remus was powerless to stop the tears from running down his cheeks as he stared and stared and stared. There she was. Tiny and perfect and curled up with her little hands in front of her face as though playing peek-a-boo.
"Now, gentlemen," admonished Jeremy, when he decided the awed silence had gone on long enough. "If you are this moved by the sight of the scan, how will you react when she actually arrives?"
They both laughed. Remus wiped the tears on a sleeve, making Snape snort and hand him a handkerchief, muttering about ill-mannered Griffindors.
"We'll be hopeless," admitted Lupin, unable to stop staring at the image of his little girl.
Benson had to stop himself from nodding in agreement.
"Healer Benson, is there any way to record this image?" asked Remus, suddenly realising he needed a memento of the amazing sight.
"Certainly. Do you have something to put it in? A ring? A locket, perhaps?" he suggested.
Lupin rummaged inside his robe and found the small gold pocket-watch Sirius had given him during the clear-out at Grimmauld Place. It had been battered – the Black family crest almost worn away completely – and it only worked sporadically, but it was still oddly beautiful. At the time he had compared it with Sirius himself and Sirius, highly amused, had insisted he keep it. Trying not to think of his late friend's reaction to the keepsake being used to hold a picture of a baby Snape, he handed it over, and Benson reduced the image and trapped it inside the mechanism at the back of the watch.
"Now I can carry her with me, too!" Lupin beamed. Snape scowled and folded his arms petulantly, carefully manoeuvring them between the bump and his sensitive new boobs.
"You wouldn't cope with the real thing for more than five minutes!" he snorted.
Remus had to admit that this was probably true. Severus was huge and ungainly now, clearly in a lot of discomfort despite his obvious delight with his condition. It must take courage to go through with such an unlikely situation, and he marvelled at the dour man's determination to carry the baby through to term when it would have been so much easier to ask Healer Benson for a termination. He had shown no hints of parental instinct before. After watching him in action at Hogwarts, Lupin had always thought that he hated children. The man was a real enigma.
Prompted by some instinct he did not recognise, he leaned forward and kissed the bulge, then the pregnant man's cheek.
"I know," he smiled in awe. "You're amazing."
…….
"Professor Dumbledore!" exclaimed Harry happily, putting down his quill. "How nice to see you! Please, have a seat." He pushed piles of parchment and a dirty plate off the well-loved chair so the older wizard could sit down.
"But I'm disturbing your revision, dear boy. Shall I come back later?" Dumbledore was under no illusions about the way young men lived when left to their own devices, but still flinched as something started moving of its own volition deep inside one of the untidy piles.
"No!" He said, quickly, desperate for any respite from Chinn's Double Principle of Emulsification. "You're a very welcome distraction. Trust me! Sorry about the mess. I do the cooking and Neville does the tidying, but he's away visiting his Grandma at the moment."
Albus said nothing, but propped his feet up on what he hoped was a footstool and surveyed the students' dwelling. Framed photographs of familiar faces smiled or grimaced out at him from every turn. Tucked in the corner of the mirror above the fireplace was one of the Ronald Weasley being escorted out of the Three Broomsticks and vomiting spectacularly in the gutter, over and over again, while Ginevra, Fred and George all pointed and laughed. That unpleasant example of anti-social behaviour reminded Albus of something which had been bothering him.
"You haven't seen Fawkes, I suppose?" he asked, without much hope. The phoenix had been acting up even worse than usual over the past week, staying out until the early hours, heckling passers-by and attacking any other familiars who dared to venture into the shop with their owners. Fang would be lucky not to be scarred for life by the fire-mauling he had received. Even Hagrid's infinite wisdom on the subject of foul fowl had been unable to come up with a remedy for the bird's increased yobbishness. Or perhaps he knew, but was disinclined to help after seeing his beloved boarhound whimpering like a puppy made to spend its first night alone in the kitchen. But now he had disappeared completely. Albus wondered if he should have paid more attention to dear Madam Puddifoot's threats about barbeques.
Harry shook his head quickly, not in the least sorry to miss out on a meeting with the scourge of the skies. He didn't understand it either – the phoenix had been so fond of him during his schooldays, even saving his life after the Basilisk bit him in his second year. Now he was retired, he seemed to regard Harry with the same contempt he afforded everyone else.
"How goes the study?" asked Dumbledore, returning to the matter hand. Good old-fashioned meddling.
"I'll be glad when it's finished, sir," he admitted. "Once the exam is over tomorrow afternoon, I can start thinking about what I want to do with my sabbatical. I need to discuss it with Remus."
"Ah, yes, your special understanding with Remus," Dumbledore twinkled merrily, pleased to incite a fierce blush on Harry's cheeks.
"He's great," he mumbled, looking away.
"Yes, he's a fine man indeed. He's suffered so much over the years. You care for him deeply, do you not?" he asked gravely.
"Yes," answered Harry, with conviction. "He understands me like no one else. He's caring and gorgeous and I love him."
Dumbledore smiled, careful to keep any hint of his concerns off his face.
"That's wonderful, dear boy! To be so certain of your feelings, I mean. So many young people in your position could become confused in such a situation."
"Confused," Harry frowned. "What is there to be confused about? I adore Remus. It's perfectly simple."
"Quite right, quite right!" Albus hastily agreed, thoroughly enjoying the game he was playing. He began fiddling with something sharp which his long fingers had found down the side of the armchair, but hastily stopped when he saw it was an old toenail. He folded his hands safely in his lap. "I always said you were an amazing young man. So many less headstrong people would be concerned that they were mixing up their feelings in your place. Well done, Harry."
"Well done?" Harry was delighted that Dumbledore understood so well. He had been afraid at first that he would disapprove of his relationship with Remus, perhaps giving him a lecture on the age gap. But he was becoming rather lost at the turn the conversation was taking. "Well done for what?"
"Why, for so successfully rationalising your emotions, of course," he smiled, noticing the slight frown cross Harry's face. "Not an easy thing to do. Remus being the closest thing you have to a father. A bosom friend of your own father, in fact, and so deeply fond of your godfather, too. He has loved you since you were born, even if you did not know it at the time. Thanks to your dreadful upbringing, you were not aware of unconditional love until rather late in life. But I waffle on like the old fool that I am, Harry. What I am trying to say, is that I am tickled pink that you are mature enough to take all of your tumultuous feelings for Remus into account, and make the rational decision to become his lover."
Harry just blinked, unknowingly doing a credible impersonation of a grounded trout.
"Oh, dear boy, I've mixed things up," sighed Albus. "Let me start again. Congratulations on managing to suppress your natural adoration of your only surviving parental figure enough to decide that you are ready for an adult relationship with him." He leaned toward the confused young man conspiratorially. "I admit that I found him rather sexy when he was younger."
He left feeling incredibly pleased with himself, Harry still looking owlish and bewildered in his chair. His suspicions had been correct. Harry had no idea what was going on inside his own head. Though Dumbledore felt slightly guilty for setting the dragon in the paddock, he knew that these issues had to be addressed if everyone was going to come through this with their hearts intact.
Harry returned to his desk with a puzzled expression, wondering, not for the first time, if Dumbledore might be one chaser short of a team. What did he mean by 'rationalising his emotions'? There was no such conflict in his mind.
He loved Remus! Harry knew about love. Love was the only reason he had not been murdered at eighteen months of age. Love was the power that the Dark Lord knew not. Love was all you needed. Love was the drug. Love lifts us up where we belong.
Oh yes, Aunt Petunia had listened to Heart FM throughout his childhood. He had heard all about it.
He wanted to make Remus' life easier, to look after him, to make him proud, to light up his life. The there was the matter of the lust sparked by those kisses! Merlin, they fired Harry's blood and sent unbelievable urges through his body. If you wanna know if he loves you so, it's in his kiss, that's where it is. (Oh yeah.)
Kissing Remus was unlike kissing anyone else, even if you discounted the whole moustache thing. Kissing Cho had been an exploration of how the thing was done. Ginny had always been more of a mate who liked to share a drunken snog. The 'Potter Groupies' as Ron called the girls who giggled and waved at him in bars, or the 'Auror Groupies' as he preferred to consider them, had each been fun and extremely pleasant in the short term, but there was always the suggestion that any kissing was a formality to be undertaken before the main event could begin.
But Remus smouldered, tasting like chocolate, milky tea and like home. Kissing Remus was a mixture of putting on a comfy pair of slippers and having your soul smashed into a million flaming shards by the power of love.
Dumbledore was right, he considered at last. He ought to be proud of himself for having worked out so young this emotion which had moved grown men to tears or worse, to poetry, down through the millennia. The old man had barely mentioned the age gap. He supposed that when you were nudging 160, a mere twenty years did not seem so great.
Harry was glad that he hadn't mentioned the dratted baby either. He obviously did not consider it important. Perhaps he would talk some sense into Remus on the subject. Snape had always been an anti-social old git, so it was hard to imagine him wanting anyone else hanging around on a regular basis. Harry couldn't help but grind his teeth at the thought of the former Death Eater luring Remus into bed. The world was full of men. Why did he have to pick Harry's? He reflected once again on the list he had found, neatly rejecting every other adult male as inferior to Remus. Whoever would have thought he and Snape would agree on anything?
Something else he had read in the list came drifting back to him. He had paid no attention to it the first time around, but suddenly he realised that it was hugely significant.
Reason first baby died.
First baby? Snape had already had a baby.
And the baby had died.
Somehow, Remus had killed it.
Harry clutched at the table in shock. He wondered what on earth had happened. An accident, surely, there was no way sweet little Remus would harm anyone, much less a child. But rightly or wrongly, Snape considered him responsible and had chosen him to create the replacement.
That short statement raised so many questions in his mind which needed answering. When had Snape had his first baby? Whose was it? Why did it die? He had to find out. He had to know. He had to tell Remus. He had to…
Harry shook his head violently and picked up his quill. He had to get on with his revision.
…….
Snape had switched from halloumi to feta. He ate it soaked in chilli-flavoured olive oil and sprinkled with crispy bits of bacon, balancing the plate on his bump. He hoped the baby would not mind being used as a table, as her father had been unable to get close enough to real tables for some time.
He was pleased with Lupin's reaction to the three-dimensional scan. The werewolf had gone off clutching the image in his old watch and beaming like an idiot, clearly dying to show it off to his rotten friends, the image of a doting daddy. His full-moon gamble had worked, thank Merlin.
Severus had not decided whether or not he wanted people to know about the circumstances of the baby's birth yet. She was bound to experience lots of negative attention when people found out that she had two fathers, even before they realised the identity of the unpopular one of those fathers. He could put up with any amount of ridicule himself, and always had done, but he hated the idea of his little girl being bullied by ignorant people through his fault.
On the other hand, the whole reason he had chosen Lupin for this task was because he would be able to socialise the child and use his easy affability to win her friends and contacts. People had to know that she was Lupin's daughter, and there was no way Snape was going to deny his paternity – after all, this whole business was his idea, not to mention all the hardships he had suffered carrying her. Besides, the wizarding world was too small and gossip-driven to keep any secret for long.
Facing facts, the earlier the secret broke, the better. Maybe people would have grown used to the idea by the time the little one started school. He sighed heavily. Miracles do happen. His own situation was proof of that.
He was started from his thoughts by a sudden thud at the window, and looking up he saw that some kind of flying bush had apparently flung itself against the glass. His wand was in his hand before he had even blinked, but Pip was there first, blasting at the threat with a sizzling shot of elven magic. The apparition hit the ground outside with an audible rustling squawk. Snape raised his eyebrows as Pip disappeared to investigate. Whatever the thing was, it didn't sound too frightening. He did not lower his wand though.
She returned a second later looking rather sheepish, holding a ruffled owl and a huge bouquet of red snap-gryphons.
"Someone is sending master pretty flowers," she explained, rather self consciously, trying to calm the outraged bird. "There be no nasty things in them. Pip is checking already."
"You are a good elf, Pip," he said, meaning it. He had momentarily allowed himself to forget that there were greater threats to the baby's safety than hurtful comments, with a fair amount of maniacs holding grudges against him. But Pip was here to protect them both. He was immensely grateful for that fact.
He scowled at the flowers suspiciously. Who on earth would be sending him romantic gifts?
…….
Dumbledore had intended to go straight to Remus' house after sowing the seed of doubt in Harry's mind, but he ended up popping back to Cosy Toes to check if Fawkes had come home first.
He was aware that the bird had become rather excitable on their retirement from school, taking a more active role in Hogsmeade life than the other villagers would wish, their thinly-veiled glee on hearing he was missing had told him that much. The magical links between a wizard and his familiar were profound, and after a century in Fawkes' company, Albus was lost without him.
Opening the front door, the silence of the little shop spoke volumes. The phoenix did not 'do' silent. Albus had not noticed until his disappearance, but Fawkes was always whistling, trilling to himself, shuffling about on his perch or getting in the way of whatever the old wizard was trying to do. Without the constant bustle, their home was as quiet as the tomb and Albus began to feel cold and alone.
After the strains of the wars, it had been a tremendous relief to realise his dream of setting up Cosy Toes and living the life of a village shopkeeper, visiting friends and welcoming former students and colleagues who dropped in to see him. He had considered it to be the perfect existence, the only drama arising from his encounters with Madam Puddifoot, or the occasional irate owner of an incinerated tool-shed.
He had never seriously considered wooing the tea-shop owner. He pestered her largely because she reacted so wonderfully, though not as spectacularly as dear Severus used to, and because he knew how much she enjoyed telling her friends that he was pursuing her. He wasn't certain how he would react if she ever accepted any of his advances. He had been a bachelor all his life, which was a very long time indeed.
The oppressive stillness of the shop turned his normally merry thoughts morbid, making him wonder if perhaps it was time to die. It would not be suicide exactly, because he was well aware that his natural time had been up years ago; but like all positive thinkers, he succeeded because he thought he could. He had seized life by its nether regions some time in his early nineties and had stubbornly refused to let go until he was quite ready.
Was he ready now?
Alone and without a clear purpose, he seriously considered tying up his affairs and releasing his hold, until something jabbed him sharply in his left buttock. Hissing a good, juicy curse, he reached underneath himself and found his knitting needles and half a yellow fluffy baby bootee he had been making for the little Lupin-Snape when she arrived. It was a complicated pattern, and he frequently went wrong and had to undo the stitches, but it would be worth the struggle when he saw the look of horror on Severus' face. It really was incredibly yellow.
He chuckled to himself. No, he was not quite ready to go yet. He had to get that boy and his child settled first.
Banishing his blues for the moment, he picked up the needles, letting the clicking sound fill the house as he considered his next move. Yes, there was no need to go dying with so much meddling still to do!
…….
A/N: Sorry to finish on a down-beat, but Fawkes' desertion has hit Albus hard. Wonder what he's up to? And where did those flowers come from?
You darling reviewers! Thank you so much, not only for reading, but also for bothering to write such in-depth responses! You are making me think about the developments in this story, that's why I can't seem to stop updating it. Please keep your comments coming, my lovelies!
Hope you don't mind Healer Benson – he's my recurring Original Character. Discreet, unprincipled and in it for the money. All you could wish for in a health professional!
Heart FM is a real muggle radio station. I think its name leaves you in no doubt about the kind of music played. Their afternoon DJ is called Nick Snape, a fact which I have been dying to pop in somewhere ever since finding out our Severus was a half-blood. A hated muggle cousin who DJs pop love-songs for a living, oh I can see it now. But you're not allowed to include real people here. Tut.
As far as I know - "All you need is love" & "Love is the drug" are the property of whoever owns the Beatles stuff (Jacko, isn't it?). "Up where we belong" is Joe Cocker's and "The shoop shoop song" was written by Rudy Clark. Not mine anyway. The silly love medley idea is blatantly stolen from Baz Luhrmann's "Moulin Rouge". Thank you.
Yes, Harry and Neville live together. But not like that.