"We're blowing up like Timothy McVeigh
My wizardry's insane, I shall proceed to proclaim
That my potions are top, dawg, they got fog
You wanna battle recipes or not, dawg?"
"Potion Mixin" – The Wizards
Though the Potters and the Grangers were no longer in Severus' hair and up his nose, the next few hours were trying.
There was nothing he could do for his ailing 'wife,' from the waiting room, and thus, he resolved to reconvene in a few hours. He hoped that they would have her back in the private family suite that she had been taken to after her caesarian, but if she had instead been moved to a more public convalescent ward he would have to take additional care in his plans.
Before he left he took the time to sign off on the finalised form of Marcus' birth certificate, with the understanding that Hermione's signature and agreement was still missing. The hospital administrator (the same man from before), assured him that as soon as the witch was lucid, that she'd be asked for her signature.
Severus had no intention of letting the witch stay overnight in hospital, but he wisely said nothing to this effect, instead asking that they visit her as soon as she was deemed mentally competent to sign the paperwork, and preferably that they didn't wait until the next morning.
Possibly, the administrator was under the impression that Snape was worried his wife wouldn't make it through the night, as he offered up an expression of sympathy, and assured him that their son's paperwork would be in full legal standing that very evening, even if it had to be completed after hours.
After that, Severus excused himself with the lie that he was going for a smoke—a pronouncement which earned him a disapproving glare from the administrator—and disillusioned himself behind a vending machine. The quickest place to disapparate from would likely be the ambulance bay, and he couldn't exactly do that while he was visible.
His thunder-like crack that he left in his wake was presumed to be an ambulance back-firing, and after he departed a curious EMT hopped out of the front seat in order to investigate the tail-end of his vehicle.
Snape rematerialized in front of his sofa with a clap of thunder, startling his mother from her game of online bridge.
The laptop that had been perched on the woman's lap fell to the floor with a clatter, and she also managed to upend her milky tea, sending the cup careening to the ground where it shattered.
"For goodness—! Severus! That's my nicest cup!" She moaned, apparently not knowing what to react to first.
The aging witch stooped to the floor where she began picking out pieces of porcelain from the amber brown puddle they were suspended in, shaking drops off and looking at the miniature rendering of the Queen's face with an expression of mixed regret and irritation.
Snape brandished his wand after a few seconds of watching the pitiful display of sentimentality and summoned the pieces into his palm, repairing the collectible with an impatient gesture. He handed it back in one piece and stalked into the kitchen without a further word.
Eileen shuffled herself up off the floor and made to follow him.
"Where have you been, Severus? When you left you only said you'd be gone for lunch!"
Snape had wrenched open a cabinet that held several wire baskets worth of assorted glass phials. He rifled through them, first with his fingertips, and then, when that didn't prove satisfactory, he pulled the baskets out onto the countertop and sorted through them with a critical eye, holding this one or that up to the fluorescent overhead light and sometimes shaking lightly.
Some he set aside, others he would shake his head at with an irritated frown before vanishing the contents.
"It's been too long since I brewed," he said to himself, voice laced with self-recrimination.
Eileen went to go examine the growing pile he'd set aside when it became clear that her son wasn't going to answer her question. It had been years since she had dabbled with potionry of any kind, but the things her son had selected were basic enough that even she could identify them on sight.
"Who needs Essence of Dittany, Severus?" She asked. "You don't look to be any worse for wear—"
"I'll need twenty orchid stamens..." he murmured to himself, slamming his fist on the counter in frustration. "Damn..."
"Przewalski horse colostrum... where am I going to get Przwalski colostrum at this time of night...?"
"... Severus," Eileen tried again, laying her hand on her son's shoulder.
He shook it off as if she wasn't even there, though he did growl in frustration. He continued to list aloud, though under his breath, a number of ingredients of varying degrees of rarity, Eileen's eyes widening as he went on.
By the end it was enough for two or three different potions, and the ingredients were not the sort even a practicing Potions Master would keep on hand at all times.
Finally, after some ten minutes and a good deal of grumbling and growling, Snape turned about and stalked over to a muggle safe which sat underneath his computer desk. He entered the combination and withdrew a jangling burlap sack that bulged out at the sides. It was evidently heavy enough that he had to heft it in a pendular motion in order to move it.
He spilled it onto the floor in his haste, not chasing the coins which rolled away under the furniture and instead counting out some twenty galleons that he pocketed.
"Mam, we need to make a trip to Armistice," he said, distracted as he gathered the remaining coins back into the sack.
Eileen loomed above him, a glare firmly in place as she'd planted her two fists onto her hips. "And just where is that?" She demanded with a bit of a snarl. "What on earth is going on, Severus, that you apparate right into the sitting room, startle me out of my wits, refuse to say a word to me, and then assert that we need to leave at nine o' clock in the evening to God knows where?"
Snape rose from his crouch on the floor, brushing dust off the knees of his trousers as he did so. "Come on, I need you to do the shopping—"
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what on earth it is that you think you're up to!" Eileen shrieked. She stomped her foot, the leather of her scuffed brogues making a loud sound and shaking the floor. Her black eyes met her sons for a critical moment, before she finally saw the feral, determined look in his navy-obsidian irises cede a touch. Almost like sanity returning after a sustained period of absence.
The woman was suddenly reminded of about a dozen different incidents from the man's youth. A tousle-headed, defiant child, glaring up with obvious insolence, and her—his exhausted and demoralized mother—using the last vestiges of her taxed energy to keep the head-strong boy from wreaking havoc: whether in the neighborhood, in the house, or on his own future.
His eyes softened with uncertainty, and perhaps a touch of panic; the expression so reminiscent of her young child that Eileen felt a clutch in her chest.
"They're sick, Mam." He said, his voice straining with the terror he was obviously feeling. Her son swallowed and his adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "He... he needs strength potion. And I'll need to prepare an anti-convulsant..." his left hand came up to rip at the roots of his hair in aggravation.
"What—Severus, tell me that's not what I think it is!" She commanded, striding forward and catching up his hand from where it was tugging in his too-long hair. She examined it, her eyes boring into the ring with such intensity that it shouldn't have been a surprise if the metal band had heated up under her close scrutiny.
"You were not wearing that when you left!" The old witch gasped, scandalised. "Tell me what is going on, boy—NOW." The hand that wasn't holding his own reached up and pinched the shell of one of his over-large ears, turning his manic gaze to meet her own.
Severus winced. His mother's nails were digging into the delicate flesh of his ear, but the pain brought him back to the present moment, even as it reminded him of the past and the many other times before that the woman before him had pinched or boxed his ears for insubordination or inattention.
"Who is sick, Severus?" His mother asked, her voice gentle, though her grip on him was firm.
The wizard swallowed again, and frowned deeply, feeling the sensation of tears prickling at his eyes. He willed them back by not allowing himself to blink, and by tightening his lips into a thin line, flaring his nostrils wide. "Hermione. Hermione's sick—she needs potions. The muggles didn't manage to stop her having another seizure,"
Eileen gasped, her hands released him. "... Another...?"
"And I need to prepare a nutritive potion for..." He trailed off. A blush seemed to be rising up his neck, where it bypassed his cheeks and went straight to the tips of his ears.
"For?" his mother prompted him, impatient.
"... for our son. He... he's premature," Snape finished. He then turned about, apparently unwilling to face his mother after this pronouncement, and reached for his muggle overcoat, transfiguring it into a cloak and enchanting it with cooling charms to fend off the July heat.
The old witch's mouth worked mutely. She gawped at her son's back as she tried to process the startling amount (and nature) of information he'd laid before her feet.
She wasn't sure whether this was more like the time he'd tried to bring the chicken into the house because, in his words, 'She was sad,' or when he'd finally, with a face of shame, admitted to his association with the Death Eaters. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as feelings of worry, and horror, and irritation, and amusement, and joy all wared with each other, before her better sense allowed her to pick and choose what to go with.
It was joy.
Joy and a deep sense of concern over the news he brought of the little curly-haired witch Eileen had so taken a liking to, and the grandson she was only just now hearing about.
As Snape went about making preparations for them to leave, Eileen's face took on an amused smirk. "So, there was some funny business at Christmas—"
"Leave it, Mam." The wizard growled, tossing the cloak over his shoulders and drawing the hood up over his face. It must have been magicked, as once it had passed his nose, his features were obscured with a black void. "The sun sets soon, and Armistice is only open until midnight,"
He stalked over to her and grabbed her upper arm. "Are you ready to apparate?"
"Where are we going?" She asked, game to help him if it was for Hermione and the sake of her grandson's health.
"It's an apothecary in Knockturn Alley," he admitted, sounding a bit sheepish. "Alvin Armistice operates one of the few apothecaries that is open past eight and which might have the ingredients I'll need. He was an old friend once, but he doesn't know I'm alive. Luckily for us, he never asks questions, which is why I've continued to do business with him."
He led her down onto the landing below their living space before he whisked them into a spin.
When Eileen regained her bearings, the dreary, sooty storefronts of Knockturn Alley greeted her.
She looked up at where her son's face should have been, "If he doesn't know you're alive, how have you managed to do business with him? Why do you need me to do the purchasing?"
Snape began to propel his mother forward by the shoulders toward a dingy shop. The faded gold lettering spelled out 'Armistice Apothecary,' though several of the letters appeared to be missing, and the paint beneath showed the form due to many years of mixed exposure to the sun.
As they approached the door, Snape whispered low enough that passers-by couldn't hear, but so Eileen could faintly hear his explanation.
"Przewalski colostrum is only ever an ingredient in infant nutritional potions. It might raise eyebrows if some shady stranger should come asking for a supply of it. I trust Alvin not to ask questions about many of his more questionable ingredients, but if he suspects someone of trafficking in children, especially newborns, he may change his tune. Its far less suspicious for a woman to come calling for such a thing, even if you are older—"
Eileen turned and thwacked at his arm with her own, making him let her go. "Watch your mouth, boy. I'm not too old to have you over my knee for being cheeky—"
Snape cut off her tirade by shoving the galleons, contained within a velveteen pouch, into the witch's thin hands. He quickly recited the list of provisions he would need and when she managed to repeat them back to him, her tone bored and slightly insulted, he nodded toward the entrance.
"And Mam?" He asked, as she made to swing the door open. Eileen turned back to the spectre waiting behind her, her eyebrows canted with piqued interest.
"Thank you."
The witch offered him a very rare smile which reached her eyes. "You better be telling me the truth about that little boy, Severus, or I'll have your hide."
With that, she pushed forward into the store and left him alone on the street.
Snape took several steps back and sought out a shadowy alcove that was partially obscured by a tattered awning. He pressed his back up against the roughly hewn wood which panelled the front of the establishment and settled in to wait.
Armistice Apothecary was the only shop that was open at this time of night, with the possible exception of the dens of ill repute, though those were several blocks away in a neighborhood which was dedicated to the profession of prostitution. Alvin's store was located in the first stretch of Knockturn, right at the threshold of where it opened up into the more brightly-lit and friendly Diagon Alley, and thus, the stores here were far less questionable and sometimes saw the occasional foot-traffic from normal shoppers.
As Alvin had once explained it to him, the rent was cheaper here, and there were no restrictions on how late he could stay open, so some fifty years previous he had put down roots in the ante-corridor to the wizarding underworld, and hadn't ever seen a reason to move since.
The man didn't deal in the most illicit substances, the procurement of which necessitated background checks and applications to Ministerial bureaucratic bodies, but he did have the widest, freshest selection, and an abiding sense of decorum which Severus appreciated.
Through the window, dirty though it was, Snape could see his mother and Alvin Armistice trading words and haggling over the aged countertop. He observed the man withdraw a large glass jar of pale, golden milk which he poured off into a smaller pint-sized jar, straining it through a cheese-cloth as he did so.
The man seemed to be chatting amicably with his mother as he moved behind the counter, retrieving a clutch of orchids and weighing them on a scale, before packaging them in brown butcher paper. 500 grams of hippogriff liver was given the same treatment.
Snape watched with some impatience as the minutes passed and the small pile of parcels grew.
Indonesian volcanic ash, arctic sea salt, thunderbird spurs, the orchid stamens, and an inert suspension of fermented hibiscus for the anti-convulsant.
Tallow, cultured mooncalf buttercream, hippogriff liver, and, of course, the Przewalski colostrum for the nutritive potion.
The strength potion kept for years—it often grew more potent as it matured—and he still had several phials back at his flat.
He never allowed himself to run out of Essence of Dittany, as a general precaution.
He'd allowed some room for extra, as prices for some of the ingredients varied with their availability. The colostrum, in particular, was difficult to come by, as it meant that the Przewalski foal had to have died, usually during birth. It also didn't keep well, and was sometimes only seasonally available, as the wild beasts tended to only foal during the spring. Magic allowed for the preservation of the precious golden milk for a few months longer, but its supply was terribly limited.
The container Alvin had poured from was near to empty. If Severus had planned to use it as a substitute for formula or milk itself he might have been worried, but fortunately the properties were concentrated and amplified through the brewing process. There should be enough with the one pint he'd purchased to provide enough nutritive potion to see his son grow to at least six pounds, which was a far more normal and stable weight for a newborn.
Finally, his mother exited, tittering softly over her shoulder to something Armistice must have said to her.
"I'd welcome you back anytime, Leenie, don't hesitate to call on ol' Alvin," the elderly man could be heard saying, as Eileen made her excuses to leave.
"It won't be long, Al, I'm sure," she demurred, waving a hand back at him. The door closed with a soft click and the old witch stepped out into the Alley, her eyes sweeping this way and that, likely seeking out her son.
He appeared before her, wraith-like, as he swept from his hiding place against the wall.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, with obvious annoyance.
Eileen made to take the arm he extended to her, anchoring herself by locking elbows with her son. "Alvin remembered me from my debut years ago, can you believe it?" his mother nattered, obviously pleased with herself.
"Imagine my surprise," Snape sneered. Eileen took no notice of her son's aggravation, however. They both spun in a sort of pirouette and landed back below the flat.
Snape immediately removed the cloak and transfigured it back into an overcoat, which he tossed over the back of the couch once they re-entered the flat. He grabbed the paper bag full of potions ingredients from his mother as she continued to gush about her societal debut decades earlier.
"It was the last ball I attended as a Prince—that's when Monsieur Despoire petitioned for my hand and my parents accepted, though I do remember that Alvin asked me for a dance that evening," she reminisced, leaning on the opposite side of the island counter as he summoned two cauldrons down from the floor above and set them to warm on top of the cooker. The electric heating elements weren't precisely ideal for potions, but he by now had enough experience with using them that it was a simple enough adjustment. "I never did get his name—imagine my surprise to see him after all these years...
"I ran away to Birmingham just a month or so later,"
"Mmmm." Snape murmured. He made a paste out of the volcanic ash and the hibiscus suspension in one cauldron and began melting tallow in the other, shaving off pieces of hippogriff liver so thin that one could detect light through it if it was held aloft in the air. These he dissolved in the bubbling fat at the bottom of the cauldron.
Eileen huffed with exasperation. "You know, I do miss that girl. She at least paid attention when I would talk about things, Severus,"
Snape met his mother's narrowed eyes with his own angry gaze. "If that's true, Mother, then you may wish to go take a seat over there while I prepare the potion that will be tasked with potentially saving her life." He drawled, his aggravation dripping from every word.
As he evened up the stalks of a handful of dried bowtruckles to prepare for chopping he glanced down at his ring. The metal could potentially contaminate the base he was preparing. It took him a shamefully long time to consider removing it, before ultimately, he cast a protective ward around his ring finger, and carried on.
He didn't allow himself to examine his reasons.
The silver glinted at him as it passed back and forth, rhythmically, under the too-strong overhead lighting. It was somehow soothing.
Neither potion took long to produce. If anything, the complexity of these brews derived from the quick action they required. Minute changes in heat in a timely fashion, stirring in a pattern which derived its beat from an exponential formula rather than an arithmetic one; and the added complication of having to do both at once.
He finished within an hour, but by the end of it he was dripping with sweat and swaying a bit on his feet. It had been a long day, and he was desperately out of practice. Nonetheless, before him sat two cauldrons full of perfect potion, one a thin brick-red, and the other the consistency of yoghurt and a swirling shade of ultraviolet. He bottled both while they were still hot and gathered them up together with the phials of Strength Potion and Essence of Dittany.
A quick tempus told him the time was a quarter to eleven, so he gathered his hoard and prepared to depart for London once more.
Eileen gave him a solemn farewell. She didn't need to tell him to take care, or to make sure Hermione and Marcus were well: it was clear that she understood his mission and desired the best outcome.
"I'm bringing her home, Mam, perhaps try to prepare the extra room upstairs," Snape directed, pulling his leather jacket back over his shoulders. He patted the pockets, checking the positioning of his wand and the potions he'd prepared, and turned one last time to speak to the old witch before he left.
"And the boy? What about him...?" Eileen questioned, her voice very nearly a whine.
For once, Severus didn't feel he could fault the woman for her histrionics and propensity for melodrama.
The man swallowed, his eyes hardening with resolve. "I'll do what I can for him with the potions I'm taking him, but for now he's best off staying in hospital."
Eileen began to protest strongly, but her son forestalled her by grasping her by the shoulders firmly. "You didn't see him, Mam. You wouldn't know—he's too small. If we brought him here... I don't know that he'd make it. Premature births, from what I understand, just don't happen in our world. We have ways of preventing them. But he's here, and he's fragile, and the best place for him is in a supported environment, even if we have to leave him with the muggles.
"His doctors seem to think he'll be ready to come home with us once he's gained enough weight and comes off the machines sustaining him. He can't even regulate his own body temperature right now."
With that, he disillusioned himself and took his leave, appearing behind a dumpster adjacent to the ambulance bay he'd disapparated from earlier in the evening.
The hospital was still busy, as the bay led immediately into the emergency room, but with a little bit of sleuthing, he managed to figure out how to access the NICU which was several floors away.
When doctors and nurses would pass in a rush he hugged the wall, flattening against it so not to be bumped.
Everyone was too busy and likely too sleep deprived to notice the shiver-like motion of his charm, and they weren't on the look-out for the tell-tale shimmer in any case. He made it to the unit without any problems, and waited impatiently for another pair of parents and the nurse escorting them to leave.
As the man, woman, and nurse exited, he slipped through the door before it managed to close.
Marcus' cot was at the far end of the room, and as Severus approached, he felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach, like he wasn't quite sure what he would find when he made it to the plastic pod.
Yet, to his relief, Marcus was exactly as he was when he'd left him hours earlier. Still wrinkled, red, frail, and moving only imperceptibly.
The tiny baby had shifted so that the knitted cap he'd been fitted with had partially slid off, so Severus reached his hands in through the holes and tugged it back down over his head, noticing, as he did so, the whisper-soft black hair—surprisingly long—and the presence of disproportionately large, round ears.
He touched the shell of one of them with the tip of his index finger, tracing it lightly, his face the picture of wonder, and the infant turned his head with a miniscule movement, his lips rooting around the tube in his mouth in a fruitless effort.
"Not yet, boy. Someday, soon." He uttered, his soft voice sounding overly loud in the sterile environment of the closed ward.
He turned from his infant son and walked to one of the well-equipped stations lining the walls. Plastic baskets held an assortment of gloves, swabs, sticks, and other various sundry medical implements that were enclosed in single-use plastic.
It took a bit of digging around, but after a fashion he found a couple of syringes with long needles.
Time was likely against him, and it was possible that at any moment the door would swing open to admit another couple coming to visit their child, or another nurse or doctor intent on examining the neonates. He was actually surprised that no one had come by to watch over the children since he'd made his appearance, but a careful examination of the room revealed that there were CCTVs posted in the corners and it was likely that any aberration on the machines would summon a team of staff to investigate and administer immediate interventions.
Still, he shook his head. There ought to have been someone there. Though he supposed it was lucky for him that there wasn't, and that he'd chosen not to reveal himself once he'd entered the room.
Carefully, he worked the needle into the corks of two of the phials, one of them the brick-red nutritive potion, and the other a buttery-yellow. The syringes held just enough of a dose for an infant of Marcus' size. He wasn't comfortable dosing the small boy with anything more than some 25mL each. The boy's magic should help him metabolize the brews and would likely do better for him than anything the muggle doctors had been supplying him with.
Snape swallowed as he approached the IV. It was something of an act of faith. He'd only really seen anyone mess with the devices on muggle television and he hardly had any confidence that they'd portrayed the strange potion-administering machines with any accuracy.
Then again...
He paused, examining the tubes and where they led.
It was nothing more and nothing less than the child would have received from the healers in St. Mungos had he been treated there.
That sealed it.
The feeding tube leading to Marcus' stomach was his likeliest bet. Neither the Nutritive Potion nor the Strength Potion were supposed to go straight into the blood stream.
He located the bag filled with infant formula and punctured it with the first syringe, depressing the plunger, and then reached up to shake the bag in a gentle swirling motion, observing as the Nutritive Potion's colour took on that of the dull, off-white formula. The two potions shouldn't react with one another, both being inert in their completed forms, so he went ahead and did the same with the Strength Potion, the slightly yellow colour doing little to alter the shade of the formula it was titrated into.
He'd completed what he'd come to do, but found he had a hard time wanting to move from Marcus' side. His large hand sought the small boy's chest once more, and he laid gentle fingers over the little boy's heart. The reassuring, if slight, rise and fall of the tiny chest beneath his fingertips stilled his racing mind for the half a second he allowed himself.
"I'll be back tomorrow, Marcus. Tomorrow and every day after until you're home." Severus promised. His cheeks hollowed as he chewed at the inside of them with his molars. He thought he could already hear the clicking of heels coming down the hall, indicating that he'd be joined by other people in just a matter of moments.
With great reluctance, he withdrew his hand, and, before he stationed himself by the door to take advantage of the other party's ingress, he extracted his wand from the pocket of his jacket in order to cast some protective wards, and then a few extra that would alert him to those who might approach the cot with anything resembling ill-will.
It was far from satisfactory, but it was all he could do.
As soon as the door swung open and the nurse that entered cleared the entry, he slipped out, making his way with haste down the ward, retracing his steps back to the room Hermione had occupied before her second seizure.
When he arrived and opened the door, it was to find a cleaning man sterilizing the space.
The man didn't look up from his task when the phantom force opened the door behind him, too absorbed in his task and whatever music was emitting from the headset he had plugged into the Walkman he carried with him. Snape retreated quickly and rested once more against a wall, considering his options.
After a few moments of deliberations, he took off down the corridor, headed for the reception desk.
The attendant stationed there seemed preoccupied with filing paperwork, leaving the computer terminal where patients' rooms were listed free to Snape's perusal.
It was, fortunately for him, already pulled up on her screen, and all he needed to do was to enter Hermione's assumed name into the search field where he learned that she had been moved to a shared ward following her second seizure.
It took him no time at all to delete her entry from the database using the directory tools available on the screen.
Hermione Snape—postpartum, eclamptic patient in the convalescent ward—was no more.
That was simple enough, though he felt a smidgeon of apprehension that erasing her from the memories of the attending doctors and nurses would not be such a straight-forward endeavour.
He chose to dip behind the vending machines in the visitor's lounge once more, renewing his disillusionment charm, and meandered toward the ward he'd seen listed in the terminal. Cataloguing the appearance and name tag of each nurse and doctor whom he occasioned to pass.
Finally, he made it to the door and edged it open cautiously. He slipped in to observe a ward filled with some six beds separated by privacy screens. Fortunately, the occupant of the first bed was fast asleep, and some three beds down he saw that the reading light was left on. Snape crept down the room, placing his feet heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe in order to soften his footsteps.
It felt a bit like his time spent stalking the corridors of Hogwarts after hours. The wizard felt a small thrill at both the sense of adventure, and the tidal wave of nostalgia his stealth inspired.
As he might have expected, the reading light belonged to the very woman he was planning to visit. Her bed was centred in the ward and he checked the privacy screens carefully for visibility before he cast a wordless muffliato.
The occupant of the bed appeared drowsy, though her eyes were slitted open. She rested on her back in a position that looked most uncomfortable, the rhythmic pulsing of the pressure cuffs on her legs providing a comforting white-noise effect that helped to mask his quiet footfalls. She appeared to be examining a packet of crisp-white paperwork, the title of which indicated it was a guide to life with an infant in intensive care, and she hadn't glanced up as he approached.
He cleared his throat, which had her glancing around wildly, her eyes suddenly wide open. Her bed depressed as he took a seat, and her hands came up instantly to try and fend him off, pushing at his disillusioned shoulders and chest with a rather weak effort.
"Hermione," he whispered, his voice urgent. He caught her hands up in his own, and then transferred both of her wrists to his left hand as he used his right to cancel the spell obscuring him from sight.
The witch sagged back against her pillows when she saw him, the fight, such as it was, going out of her instantly.
"You left," she accused him. "They said you'd left when they brought the paperwork for Marcus,"
He winced. The witch's eyes were watering. He never fared well with crying women.
"It took longer than I anticipated," he soothed, taking her hands in his own and pressing them to his mouth, "I didn't want to be away when you woke up, but I thought it was possible that it would take some time to gather what I needed."
Hermione's fingers flexed in his grasp, the tips of her fingers brushing against his thin mouth as they did so. She had a startled expression on her face and was staring at her hands in his own with a look of mute wonder. "What took longer than anticipated?"
"I went back to the flat to grab some potions for you and Marcus and some of them were far from acceptable. I was made to brew fresh,"
"What did you give Marcus?" she asked, looking for a moment panicked.
Severus drew his lips in a thin line. "Nothing the healers and midwitches wouldn't have prescribed for him had he been treated within our own world. Just an Infant Nutritional Potion and Strength Potion. It shouldn't react with the muggle treatments. My hope is that they will help him to grow faster and that the Strength Potion will fortify his delicate constitution.
"As I understood it, the principal concern is his under-developed pulmonary system and digestive system; both of these may be benefitted from such a treatment. It's been well-established in the literature that—"
Hermione squeezed his hands with her own and nodded. "I trust you." She said before he could finish.
"And here I was thinking you'd want to know more about the research," he drawled, slightly sardonic.
The witch before him yawned, which sent a small spasm through her as the stretch pulled on her fresh incision. "Any other time, Severus. I'm knackered..."
Snape began to roll down the thin bed sheet covering the woman's abdomen, stilling her hands as she made to fend him off.
"I need to see how well they have this closed up," he explained, lifting up her hospital gown to expose the disposable mesh pants she'd been given to wear. They were crusted with blood and pulling them away from the wound hurt a little.
Snape prodded around the flesh with a light touch.
"You already looked at it this afternoon, Severus," she complained, wincing as he pressed a sensitive spot. "What are you checking for?"
"I need to see if it'll tolerate apparition." He answered. "How's your pain?"
"They have me on something through the IV. It only stings if I twist or when you touch it directly... dare I ask why it would need to tolerate apparition?" she asked, her face set in a grimace as he pulled the mesh pants back into place.
Snape turned from her and opened the front of his jacket, fishing inside the pocket with his hand. "And the cause of your seizures? Has that been determined?" he asked, conspicuously ignoring her own question.
"High blood pressure."
"Mmmm. That will have to be treated separately. I shall consult my healing texts on the matter. For now, this anti-convulsant should suffice. I've brewed enough for the week."
"For the week? Severus—"
"You never answered me, you know..." he began again, over her. His voice was coming out staccato, and with some incredulity, Hermione realized that he was actually nervous.
He wouldn't look her in the eyes, his body was still turned to the side of the room rather than facing her, and his fingers toyed with the phial of ultramarine potion they held in a pincer grip. The man's lips were drawn tightly against his snaggle-teeth, and the lines bracketing his dark eyes indicated his unspoken tension.
If she didn't know any better she'd have said he was terrified.
Terrified of what?
"Never answered what?" She asked, her voice gentle. She reached out her hand, ignoring the tightness in her stomach when she saw the ring he'd placed there just that morning—a story on which she'd still not been brought up to speed—and stilled his hands, working the phial from his grasp and uncorking it. She tossed it back and licked her lips to make sure she took it all. It was the approximate consistency of a tapioca pudding and tasted faintly of stewed beets.
"You never told me if you'd be willing to come back with me. To stay with Mother and me in Nottingham. To..." his hands tightened into two fists. "To raise Marcus with me."
"Together?" Hermione asked, her mouth feeling dry. Had she not taken the anti-convulsant she anticipated the slight headache that had renewed itself may pose a problem.
Snape nodded from where he sat hunched over his knees. "Together."
She hesitated, but then reached out a hand to smooth over the back of his shoulders, the tips of her fingers trailing lightly over the broad expanse. Down and then back up again. The rhythm feeling so natural and right that it was as easy as blinking or swallowing or breathing.
When at first she'd made contact with the man, he had stiffened, his fists tightening until the knuckles of his hands were a stark white, but as her stroking continued, he relaxed once more under her steady ministrations, his eyes softened into an expression that spoke of a tender new hope that he seemed to be nursing.
"Severus," she began, "mind you—this isn't me saying no,"
He looked up sharply, his expression one of faith on the precipice of desolation. Like she held the very fate of the rest of his existence in her hands.
Suddenly, the witch felt more confident that the answer she needed from him would be complimentary to her needs.
"This isn't just because of Marcus, is it? You don't want me... just now? Only because I bore you a son... or because you think you have some sort of... of duty to me?"
Snape blinked at her, his eyelids moving slowly over his liquid-pitch irises. "Such duties—which I would not deny—are primarily financial in nature, Hermione. Had you been anyone else, I would simply pay for the boy's care and insist that I be allowed unfettered access to my son.
"But you, woman? You are the very witch I would have chosen to have Marcus with had anyone asked me or given me the option. You are the witch I would—" he trailed off, colour rising in the shell of his ear where it was visible outside the curtain of his hair.
"Yes?"
"You are the woman I would slip a ring onto the finger of and pretend to marry for the sake of staying by your side when you lost consciousness. You are the woman whose affections I craved and whose company I mourned for months. You are the witch I would base a main character off of in a ridiculous fantasy game because I couldn't stand to be without you when I knew for certain that there was no chance that you would stay past Christmas..." he rumbled, his voice rough with emotion.
Hermione choked on a sob, and her hand that was moving along his back grasped in the material of his jacket, holding onto the wizard before her like he was all that kept her from the abyss.
"Oh, Severus..." she reached for him with both arms now, and it took him a moment to grok on, his body having been turned away from her, but when he saw the open symbol of inviting, nay, begging for his embrace, he moved up beside her and gathered the small woman into his arms, holding tight, but not tightly enough to put pressure on her abdomen.
"I'll come. I'll come and I'll stay," she whispered into his neck. The promise tickling the scar he'd earned from his tangle with a monster's enchanted snake, once upon a time.
"Good."
"As the water turns purple like the herb I be puffin'
Throw a little ash in the batch oh it needs something
Mixin', matchin' toss a little dash in
Take a little bit out, then put a little back in"
"Potion Mixin" (reprise) – The Wizards
A/N: Iykyk (about The Wizards) lmao. Thanks for reading and for the reviews, you're all wonderful, and I appreciate every last one of you.