Small chapter. Big event. Heh heh.
…….
"Happy Valentine's Day, Remus. By the way, I shagged a Quidditch professional last night!"
"Hi. How are you? I've got something to tell you."
"Remus, I'm never drinking again and I plan to devote the rest of my life to self-flagellation. Why, you ask? Ah. Well."
"I've done something which I am very ashamed of. But I love you."
"Do you remember a chap called Oliver Wood? Tall, dark, devastatingly handsome?"
"Hello. I'm a total idiot."
No matter how many different speeches Harry rehearsed, to his own ears at least, he still sounded like a stupid boy making stupid excuses for a stupid act of thoughtlessness.
Harry grew increasingly wretched as he paced the sitting room. Remus was such a sweet-tempered man, Harry was certain that he would not shout or otherwise punish him for his infidelity, but the pain of having disappointed his lover was almost too great to bear. Despite the great hardships he had suffered, Remus was always delighted to spend time with Harry. He was tenderness personified and the young auror knew that whatever Harry did wrong, they would always hold a special bond of love. Which made the guilt so much worse.
What if he made Remus cry? It was a dreadful thought, which brought a lump to Harry's own throat. For perhaps the millionth time he cursed his drunken stupidity and prayed that Remus would burst with out-of-character anger and hex him into next week. He would deserve it.
Deciding that procrastination was only making the situation worse, he strode over to the side-table and selected a single gift from the unused Valentine's treasure trove, if only to give his hands something to do other than smacking himself repeatedly in the head. He was starting to get a red mark on the opposite side to his scar. The chocolate truffles would be best, he decided. He removed the red wrapping paper and bow, so the simple gold Honeyduke's box held no reminder of the ruined love-festival.
Squaring his jaw, he headed for the fireplace, knowing that any attempt at apparition in his emotional state would result in all manner of splinch-tastic chaos.
There was no sign of Remus when he arrived. Using the passwords to enter the sitting room, he found it in darkness, with the curtains still open. Calling the werewolf's name, he moved through the house, listening for a response or any clue to his lover's whereabouts. Harry hoped that Remus had not already heard his news from someone else. His fuzzy memories placed that first sensational kiss between himself and Oliver in the street outside the nightclub, where anyone could have spotted them. It might even have made the newspaper! Oh, Merlin. He smacked himself in the head again.
Harry reached the kitchen, which was also dark with the window blinds gaping open. Casting 'lumos', his keen auror's eyes took in a worrying sight. One of the chairs was lying on its back on the floor, as though someone had leaped up in alarm from their place at the table. Even more unnerving was the congealed mug of tea, almost full but for a small amount which had spilled down the side and onto the wood. Most terrifying of all was the wedge of sticky chocolate cake with a single bite taken out.
Harry swallowed as the blood began pounding in his ears. Remus may well have left the house during the day, so would not have needed to draw the curtains. He may well have been startled enough to knock over his chair and spill his tea. But there was no way on this green Earth that he would have been able to put down a piece of chocolate cake once he had begun to eat it. Something was badly wrong.
He cast about for a minute, trying to find any clue to what had happened before pure panic took hold. He flung himself into the fireplace.
"Professor Dumbledore?" he called. Silence answered him. Cosy Toes was also in darkness. "Albus? Fawkes?" Then he remembered the phoenix was missing too and began to curse. What if the disappearances were connected? Strange forces were at work here. Harry pulled his head out of the fire and thought hard about where to turn next. He really needed someone who had their finger on the pulse, who knew every bit of gossip and information available, someone he trusted implicitly. He thrust his head into the flames again.
"Molly?"
"Harry, dear! Nice to see you! Do come in!" she beckoned him through, looking reassuringly calm in her bright kitchen. To his intense relief, Dumbledore was there too. Both were beaming like lunatics.
"You have to help me! Remus has disappeared!" he gasped out, dizzied by worry and his precipitous hurtle through the floo network.
"Oh, don't you worry about him, dear boy," Albus glanced at the clock. "He's quite all right, I can assure you." Molly smiled indulgently at them both.
"But I was at his house, and the chair was over and he hadn't eaten his cake!" Harry knew he was babbling, but didn't care. They would not understand what an eerie sight it had been, especially when discovered in an already anxious mood.
"Harry, Severus is in labour," said Molly gently, as though to a skittish unicorn foal.
The Hogwarts Express slammed into Harry's chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.
"Oh," he whispered. Well, that would explain it. If anything could come between a werewolf and his chocolate, imminent fatherhood would do it, every time. Fear gave way to relief, then almost immediately to jealousy. Snape and his bloody cunning Slytherin baby had messed up Harry's plans yet again. He was willing to bet that the sprog had done it deliberately.
"Have a seat," urged Molly. "You seem very upset. I know it's a little earlier than expected, but the house-elf popped in an hour ago to say that things were going well and Healer Benson was confident of a safe delivery."
"Yes, it will be quite all right," reassured Albus, patting his unresisting hand. "Severus had come this far, he will not let himself lose out now!"
Heaving a tremendous sigh, Harry closed his eyes for a long moment. He did not doubt that for a second.
…….
Snape was in a funny little world of his own.
His ears had popped after hours of straining and screaming, so the sounds around him had an oddly muffled, dreamlike quality. The hours of physical torment had taken their toll and non-essential processes, such as thinking, had been sidelined as he concentrated on the distant voices calling at him to push, relax, breathe, nearly there.
It was fairly obvious that he was undergoing some kind of drawn-out torture, which involved bursting his brain, paralysing some parts of his body and casting searing agony on others as the voices encouraged him to turn himself inside-out, inch by painful inch. It was definitely a kind of curse, as his body was sometimes obeying of its own accord without consulting him first.
Dimly, he remembered that a long time ago, there had been a purpose to this relentless mutilation of his flesh and bones, but everything was rather hazy now.
Someone was screaming fit to burst and the voice sounded strangely familiar and there were arms around his shoulders and encouraging sounds and his body was imploding and sweat was pouring into his eyes and every muscle was shaking with exhaustion and he knew with absolute, determined, solid certainty that he was going to die.
The painful burst of activity ended suddenly and one of the voices was close to his head now and had changed its tone, but he didn't care to listen any longer. He was surely dying so could do what he liked. His breath was coming in great heaving gasps. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.
It was a few moments before he registered a totally new sensation – something was lying on the right side of his chest. He turned to look at what would probably turn out to be a new form of torture and beheld a small, slippery, purplish object, wriggling awkwardly and making a miserable little noise suggesting that it objected to its recent change in circumstances.
Machinery began to whirr slowly in the back of Snape's brain and he blinked violently, trying to focus on the outside world. Perhaps he was not dying after all. For some reason, that blasted werewolf was next to him, babbling and grinning and crying all at once. He fixed Lupin with a bleary glare, not at all up to his usual standards, but hopefully with both his bulging eyes looking in the same direction, at least. He pointed a long index finger at the bloodsoaked Thing.
"Whassat?" he demanded, sounding every bit as hoarse and exhausted as he felt.
Lupin responded with a stream of hysterical gibberish and Snape was about to roll his aching eyes when he felt something latch onto the tip of his pointing finger. Glancing over in alarm, he realised that the Thing had grabbed hold of him with an impossibly tiny little hand.
"Nk," it said.
Then he knew.
Remus watched as Severus went from semi-consciousness to hyper-alertness within seconds. It was as though he had swallowed a pint of extra-strength pepper-up and his brain had decided that the body's pain and exhaustion no longer mattered one whit. He gathered up the baby in his arms, cuddling her fragile form against his chest as he inspected every inch of her, crooning words of welcome and comfort while he counted microscopic toes, stroked pink cheeks and patted blood-matted wispy hair. His face shone with delight as he drank in every detail of the wondrous little creature.
Overcome with joy, Remus slipped one arm behind Severus and the other around their daughter, holding them both as tight as he dared. Their daughter! His daughter! He was a daddy! It was unbelievable! Making his first effort at coherent speech since catching his first glimpse of the little girl, he cleared his throat.
"Severus, she's beautiful. You've done so well, you're so clever! She's an angel!"
Snape fixed him with the most absolutely smug expression to be seen on the face of any human being, for any reason, anywhere, ever.
"I know," he sneered, then looked away again, unable to stop gazing in adoration at his new baby.
"Hello, Sugar," cooed Remus, gently touching her back and marvelling that, curled up like this, she was barely longer than his hand.
She made an unimpressed whimpering noise.
Snape snatched her away with a growl.
"Your hands are cold," he accused, glaring daggers. "Are you trying to kill her?"
"Now, gentlemen," Healer Benson interrupted the new fathers for the first time, looking fairly exhausted himself. "Pip and I need to get her all cleaned up and weighed, and I shall perform a few scans to make sure she really is as healthy as she looks." He held out his hands to take the child. Snape glared and refused to let go.
"Severus," admonished Remus gently.
"Mine!" he warned them, clutching the little body even tighter.
"Of course she is," sighed Benson with the air of one who had been in this position many times before. "You can have her back in about two minutes."
"No," sulked Snape. "She's mine."
Knowing her master better than the humans, a radiant Pip intervened, fighting to force her mile-wide grin into a serious expression.
"Little Mistress is not being comfortable like this, Master," she reasoned. "See? All sticky and cold. If Master is giving her to his Pip, Pip is making her nice and cosy. And Master Healer is checking everything is working good. Then we is giving Little One straight back to her Papa, where she is happiest."
He scowled, but accepted the suggestion, kissing the tiny forehead before allowing the elf to reach up and take the baby. Benson shook his head in amazement. He had never met such a manipulative house-elf.
"I have never had anything nice before," Snape muttered in explanation, but not apology.
Pip, looking as though she had been handed the most precious treasure in the whole world, nodded in agreement. For some reason, the revelation made Remus rather sad. He leaned forward and kissed Severus on his sweaty temple.
"Now you do," he smiled.
Severus ignored him, concentrating fully on watching the elf and the old man with a ferocity which reminded Remus of a nesting mother dragon.
As promised, the baby was back in his arms within minutes, with a clean bill of health and an official birthweight of six pounds and one ounce. The two fathers continued to stare at her, completely mesmerised, while Benson attended to Snape's damaged lower areas, taking pictures for his book and easing out the placenta.
"You know, Severus," mused the Healer, hefting the weighty lump of flesh in his bony hands, "Having this preserved in one of my jars would be a wonderful visual aid on the lecture tour."
"No," snapped Snape – a mummy Horntail again. "It's going in one of my jars. I need it for potions."
"Tour?" asked Remus, breaking his adoring gaze for a second.
"Yes. I'm going on a tour to tie in with the launch of my book. 'A Myth Proven: A Modern Case Study of Male Pregnancy'," he sighed. "I have hundreds of pictures, but the real thing would be better."
"No," repeated Severus with finality, rocking the baby gently as she slept.
Jeremy acknowledged defeat, but quietly appropriated a few inches of umbilical cord while everyone was busy worshipping.
Despite the exertions of the day, Severus showed no signs of allowing sleep to overcome his excitement and at half-past midnight – just over an hour after giving birth – he permitted Remus to go and see if Albus and Molly were still awake.
Dumbledore leapt gleefully out of the chair where he had been dozing at home and hugged Remus fiercely before diving up the stairs to see the new arrival. Molly took a little longer to extract herself from Arthur's embrace on the sofa, where they had apparently fallen asleep together after a Valentine's supper. She patted his cheek and assured him she would be back soon. Lupin had never seen Arthur scowl before. It made him look exactly like Ron.
Snape sat up in bed wearing a fresh nightshirt, holding court and looking inordinately pleased with himself as his friends cooed and exclaimed over tiny hands, tiny feet and – thankfully – a tiny nose. Aside from the very dark brown hair and newborn blue eyes, the baby was a miniature replica of Remus. Severus expressed great relief at the fact. His initial fear of letting anyone else touch her had receded, though the black eyes never flickered from her while she was passed around 'like a bloody quaffle', as he muttered plaintively to Pip.
There was a short pause in conversation after everyone smiled indulgently on seeing the baby first discover that thumbs tasted good. Taking a sip of another pain potion as both recently-healed hip joints twinged at the same moment, Severus broke the silence with a tentative question to Remus. He knew he had to operate very carefully if he was to pull this perilous scheme off, but he had made up his mind.
"What do you think of Alexandra?" he asked quietly. All heads snapped up to look at him, then back to the star attraction, who was now dozing in Molly's arms.
"Alexandra," repeated Lupin, turning the name over on his tongue. "Alexandra Lupin-Snape. I like that!"
"It shortens to Saskia, which is also a name I am fond of," added Severus.
"Lovely!" said Albus. "Alexandra. Let me see, 'Defender of Mankind' I believe. That's a big task for a small girl!"
"She has two excellent role models for learning how to be a heroine," commented Molly, making both fathers blush. "I think that's lovely, Severus."
Snape reached out to take his daughter back. Fussily rearranging her blanket and the tiny pink socks which had made him cry months earlier, he kissed the top of her head.
"Alexandra Lucy Lupin-Snape," he murmured.
"Oh!" Remus exclaimed, bringing a hand up to his mouth.
Snape cursed silently. Damnation! The blasted werewolf had seen through him! He had hoped that the discussion of the first name would divert attention from the second. He was either losing his touch, or more exhausted than he thought.
"How did you find out?" asked Remus, with tears brimming in his eyes.
"What?" asked Snape, not showing the confusion he felt. Find out? Find out what? Perhaps he had not guessed after all.
"Lucy was my mother's name! Oh, Severus!" He flung himself on his mate and their daughter in delight, sobbing freely. Molly and Albus exchanged a look which could only be described as perfectly soppy.
On the other side of the room, Jeremy Benson's glare told Snape that one person, at least, knew exactly whom he had chosen to commemorate, and it wasn't the late Lucy Lupin.
Severus ignored him and breathed a sigh of relief. A thoroughly fortunate coincidence had earned him house points with the werewolf at the same time as providing an excellent cover story. It really would not do to have anyone guess that the child was named after an executed mass murderer.
Whom Severus still missed.
He shook the thought away. This was no time for morbidity. Basking in more positive attention than he had received in his entire life to date, surrounded by friends and finally holding his very own child in his arms, a glowing Snape allowed sleep to tug his eyelids down.
My treasure, he thought. My Valentine's Day surprise. My Saskia. Mine.
…….
A/N: (Wipes tear from eye) Yes, I know, uncharacteristically mushy! I indulged myself. Slightly shorter than usual, too, but I thought that was a good place for a chapter break.
The birth scene was inspired by my mother's description of my own arrival – particularly being so knackered that she forgot what was going on, and on being told that she 'had work to do', tried to get up and dressed; and the bleary 'Whassat?', which was actually 'Is that mine?'. I know there are a few mums following this story, so I apologise for any wild inaccuracies. I will shamelessly hide behind the facts that it is different for men and different when you can use magic. Ahem!
Coming up (not necessarily next chapter, but soon): Fawkes is still AWOL. Albus gets an idea about his future. So does Harry. Harry has some explaining to do. Remus is still caught in the middle. And Alexandra has a little secret…