AN: ok, for those of you who skipped the last chapter basically Hermione is pregnant. That is pretty much all you need from the last chapter, so, this is just an interlude-y type chapter that I wrote because I couldn't come out with anything better. I think I'll start winding down the story soon, but I have at least one more chapter written following this one. So, please let me know what you think.

AN2: in case you can't tell from the title, there is swearing in this chapter, my apologies if that offends.

"You've got to be fucking joking!"

My voice echoes through the silence of the room, earning me a surprised look from my companion. This couldn't be happening, I cannot let this happen again. I've worked too hard and too long at this to let it go now. Besides, the mere thought that this could happen again is unbelievable, absolutely, fucking impossible. Rage burns through me, stomps through my body before it settles in my brain. My fingers move reflexively to my wand. After all, when in doubt, hex the nearest Gryffindor. If a hexing is impossible, usually the case when a student is involved, settle for a thorough threatening of a hex directed at the nearest Gryffindor. But always remember, if it is extremely inappropriate, neither hex nor threaten. It is very rarely appropriate to attempt to hex your boss, especially if said boss is Albus All-Fucking-Powerful Dumbledore. And a minor note to self, if you ever try to hex your very pregnant (and subsequently moody and occasionally irrational) Gryffindor wife, you must be fucking crazy. Hmph, based on these rules, I suppose it would rarely be deemed appropriate to hex the nearest Gryffindor. Then again, many Gryffindors believe that rules were made to be broken, and anyway, there's always Hufflepuffs. No, focus. Focus. Damn it, Snape! Focus! Do you or do you not remember that we have a fucking crisis to deal with? Honestly, mass murder is not the solution to everything…but don't rule it out just yet. Oh gods, I should have seen it coming, I really should have. Should have read the signs, prevented massacres, figuratively speaking, and this all would have ended differently. It was bad enough when it happened last time, I dismissed it as a one-off, having a bad day, a bad week, a bad decade, anything that meant that there was an excuse for such a fucking lapse in judgement! After the first time I naturally resolved to work harder and longer to ensure that it would not happen again. I would pay closer attention to detail, I would show them all that…oh bugger it, no time to dwell on the past. We have a fucking crisis to deal with.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know that this must be incredibly difficult for you, but I assure you it's true."

I look up in panic to the man that spoke. The reality of the situation begins settling in. He looks back calmly, his apology belied somewhat by the laughter in his eyes. I scowl deeply before shuttering my emotions, now is not the time to lose it. Ok, breathe, concentrate. It would certainly not do to lose control and beat the laughing son of a bitch to death with the most readily available blunt object. As much as I would probably enjoy it, it just would not do. Purely out of curiosity (as I have no intention of following up on my thoughts, no, none at all) I glance around the room, noticing that the most readily available blunt object is a desk. Huh, I could definitely work with that, possibly a bit awkward if I were to attempt to say swing it at his head, but still, undoubtedly effective. Not that I would…damn it, Snape! Just think a little before you give free rein to the slightly more criminal of your fantasies.

"There's got to be a way to fix this!"

I'm aware that my voice has taken on a slightly desperate tone, but, frankly, I'm a little too desperate to properly care about that. Now, ordinarily, I would despise even the slightest admission of desperation on my part, but this is not an ordinary situation. No, right now the situation is turning out to be a fucking crisis! Ok, breathe, just breathe. Just deal with it. Oh for fucks sake! I am well aware that there is little hope of recovery. This is definitely not good. Remember, control. Hide the pain, hide the pain. And if you fucking start to fucking cry…no, don't even think that, Severus Snape does not cry, nor does he sulk, nor does he fucking pout! As devastating as the current situation is, tears, sulking and pouting will do absolutely no good. Especially with the audience you have in attendance.

"There isn't."

"No, there has to be. There absolutely has to be! This can't be it!"

I look wildly around the room, searching for even the most abstract form of inspiration. Coming up empty I let my eyes fall on his face, glaring at what can only be described as the insolence I find there.

"Professor, I realise that this is very difficult for you, and I understand that you have probably never had to deal with something like this before, as such I'm sure it can be arranged with the Headmaster for counselling of some sort. However, you are going to have to accept that I am telling you the truth. Have a look around, I'm sure you'll notice that I am not lying."

"But-"

"No, buts, I am telling you the truth."

I glance back at his face, just in time to catch the smirk he is trying to smother with his hand. He's enjoying this. The bastard is bloody well enjoying this! This can't be happening. It simply cannot be happening. Oh, but I should have known. This morning I woke up tired and my day just went downhill from there. Once my eyes forced their way open, completely contrary to my brain's demand to keep them firmly closed, I rolled over expecting to have my typical morning greeting from Hermione. Today, nothing. She ignored my pointed stare and just kept right on sleeping. Granted, she could hardly see my pointed stare while her eyes remained shut, but still, it is a common courtesy to acknowledge one's husband when he is depressed and unwilling to be awake. If nothing else, she should have woken out of pure sympathy. My plight should really have registered to her sense of compassion. Disgruntled, I rolled out of bed and in the process, (accidentally) made a fair amount of noise, made a great show of stretching and moving around a good deal. My thought was, if she happened to wake up as a result of my movements, I could hardly be blamed. Honestly, it could hardly be classified as a fault on my part if she turned out to be such a light sleeper. But still she slept. Even when I (mistakenly) slammed the wardrobe door, she just frowned in her sleep and turned her head away, as she had long since lost the ability to comfortably turn over. Frowning slightly at my unexpected failures, I retreated to the bathroom to prepare for the torture to come.

On an ordinary day, Hermione wakes with me, prepares with me and then accompanies me to breakfast in the Great Hall. Today, however, none of the proper morning rituals were observed. When I returned to the bedroom more than half an hour later, having taken much longer in the bathroom than necessary, she was still asleep. I scowled slightly and began listing several perfectly logical reasons why she should in fact be getting up. Now, I understand well enough that her being close to six months pregnant she needs her rest and so on. However, thinking logically and completely objectively, the baby needs nourishment, therefore, Hermione needs nourishment. Hence, she should go to breakfast. Also, she needs to be there to encourage me to eat more food and drink less coffee, as apparently my diet isn't satisfactory. According to Hermione I need to eat more at breakfast so that I am not starving and (supposedly) bad tempered by lunch time. Honestly, the woman must be off her rocker. Being hungry doesn't put me in a foul temper, of course, it does nothing to make me feel any better but it's certainly not the defining factor in my unenthusiastic approach to my day. Instructing dozens of dunderheads in how to best destroy my classroom and effectively demolish their grades, dodging disasters and worrying about my wife going gallivanting while she should be at home bloody well resting puts me in a foul mood, not a lack of eggs, bacon and orange juice in the morning. Of course, we have already had this argument a dozen times over, always ending with me spending a night on the living room couch and Hermione ignoring me until she notices I'm not eating enough at breakfast. She refuses to simply sit at home and do nothing for nine months, waiting for an infant to make its presence felt. She will get up, get around as best she can and only ask for help when absolutely necessary. Even then, it is only after every other avenue has been thoroughly exhausted. I completely understand and I fully respect her for that. But I still don't like it. Also, by her reasoning, she really should have got up to go to breakfast with me this morning.

"Professor?"

I snap my attention back to the present and glare at the man for interrupting my thought processes. Obviously he doesn't realise the importance of my thought processes as he merely smirks in return. Normally, when I have such a fucking huge apparently unfixable crisis on my hands, I turn to Hermione. But no, Hermione is unavailable. Hermione is likely to be completely unavailable to me for a while yet. Oh, fuck it all, I'm going to go and fucking find Hermione. Honestly, I just want her back, it has nothing to do with diversionary tactics. I am not backing out of an impossible situation, no, not at all. I just want to find Hermione. Of course I gave her my blessings to leave when she did, I really didn't want her to go. She argued that it was completely logical, it had to be done. She reasoned that it was necessary to preserve whatever is left of our sanity. We had been arguing for days, I suppose it was inevitable. The offer was actually presented to Hermione a while back, she rejected it for my sake. But that's all over now. I suppose we argued about it one too many times, she took Poppy up on the offer. Damn it all, I don't want to know the fucking gender. Let it wait. Let it be a fucking surprise.

"Professor?"

I glare in irritation at my companion and bring my hands up to rub tired circles against my eyes. Pushing all thoughts of Hermione and her current activities from my mind, I turn my thoughts to the crisis at hand.

"There has to be a way to fix this," I repeat tiredly.

"Professor-"

"There has to be."

"Sir, my bishop's got your king. It's bloody well checkmate!"

"Thank you for the reminder, Potter, but I seem to recall hearing you the first three times you informed me."

"No problem, Professor. Always happy to keep you informed."

I sigh in resignation. I can't believe this, I'm losing in chess to Potter. Potter! Of all bloody people, he's supposed to be bloody lousy at this game! It's just not fucking fair. I can't believe I let this happen again! No, last time I was having a bad week, and this time I'm having a bad day. My mind wasn't on the game, I have more important things to worry about. Yes, that's it. I briefly reconsider beating the laughing son of a bitch to death with the most readily available blunt object, but dismiss it as irrational. Just use your fucking wand.

"Don't worry, Professor. I won't tell anyone about this time. They got enough of a kick out of it last time."

Smirking bastard.

"Besides, I know you probably have a lot on your mind right now. Have you heard from Hermione?"

Huh, insightful bastard.

"No."

Damn it, here come the thoughts of Hermione again. It is really for the best. She went because she had to. Yes, it should be known. It'll make things much easier. But I don't want to know! I want it to be a fucking surprise! Ok, breathe. Just breathe. Look at the minimal bright side of obtaining such knowledge, at least we'll be able to narrow down our arguments to a single gender in the future. It has to be either one or the other. I remember our last argument on the subject. Neither of us will admit to having a preference, in fear of the final outcome. I honestly don't mind, either way, as long as they don't follow the path I chose, and as long as they are not sorted into Hufflepuff. Slytherin; where they bloody well should be, Ravenclaw; fair enough, Gryffindor; absolutely last resort. Hufflepuff? No, no child of mine will end up in fucking Hufflepuff! Nothing personal, of course. But no Snape (or Granger, for that matter) can belong in Hufflefuckingpuff. I do know, however, that I want a name that means something, and certainly nothing that can easily be turned into a horrible nickname. Let's say, for example, just picking one at random, how Severus was so easily transformed to Snivellus. No, no names with subsequently horribly restricting nicknames. For example, just picking completely at random, how Severus can so very easily be turned into Snivellus.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

I whip around to find a slightly worried looking Hermione standing in the doorway. Her eyes meet mine but she looks away quickly.

"Uh, I thought he could use some company."

Well, I suppose that was decent of him. Doesn't mean I like him, no, not at all. Arrogant, smirking bastard.

"Oh. That's nice."

"Yeah, the professor and I played chess. He thrashed me as usual."

He says this lightly, as if it was totally expected, shooting a meaningful look in my direction.

"Really?"

"Really."

Huh, maybe he's not so completely and utterly horrific after all. I still don't like him. No, not at all. Arrogant, smirking, insightful, almost tactful bastard.

"Well, I'm glad you two were able to share a competition without bloodshed or abused furniture."

"Naturally. Uh, so, do you want me to vacate swiftly and silently? Give you guys time to, er, discuss, whatever happens to, er, be on your minds?"

Ever the blatantly obvious Gryffindor. Typical.

"Uh, no. You should stay."

Harry- uh, I mean, Potter. Yes, Potter raises his eyebrows slightly but only nods, resuming his seat at the chessboard, gathering his celebrating chess pieces and trying to keep them from my slightly belligerent looking set. This cannot be good. Hermione asking for witnesses to our chat? Never a good thing.

"Severus, I found out, well you know-"

"The gender?"

"Uh, right. About that, it seems there has been a bit of a mistake. You see, it was originally thought that we would be only having one-"

"Oh gods! You're having twins!"

Bloody Potter! I do not need his disruptive influence right now. I need to think. Hermione smiles slightly but it looks like it takes a great deal of effort. Both sets of chess pieces start cheering, with mine managing catcalls, whistles and suggestive poses. Hermione glances at them briefly, seemingly amused, but she won't meet my eye, so how the fuck should I know?

"Not exactly. More like twins with an extra one. You know like buy two get the third one for free?"

She laughs weakly, suddenly intent on studying the pattern on the carpet. Ah, inappropriate humour. Another Gryffindor trait. Wait, does that mean…

"Huh?"

Oh, Severus. Ever the articulate one weren't you?

"Well, you know. Ok, just gonna say it. Triplets. We're having three bloody babies."

"Whoa," Potter says quietly. At least I am not the only one incapable of understanding this.

"Huh?"

"Triplets, Professor. You and Hermione are going to have triplets. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione snaps.

Oh gods. Breathe. Just breathe. It's all going to be fine. How is this even possible? Three children? All at once? I look around the room and realise that everyone seems to be waiting for an answer. Ok, focus. Make sure you say the exact right thing, don't let Hermione think you're not happy. Exercise all your abilities in articulation and finesse. Dignity, respect. Refinement. Cool, calm and collected. Do not over react. Apparently you have a tendency to do that at times. Yes. Good. Go on then.

"You've got to be fucking joking!"

Huh, that went well.

AN: I realise that triplets might be a bit much but I just wanted something where he could freak out accordingly, plus I couldn't decide on names. Btw, open to suggestions for names. Please review.