October continued…

The morning after she had informed him of her decision to keep the baby an owl dropped off a large bulky package next to Hermione's breakfast plate.

There was no note, no indication of where it came from. Ron and Harry were nagging her to open it and she was suddenly afraid to, not knowing what exactly she would find. A quick glance up to the head table alleviated all of her fears as she saw Snape watching her and give her a subtle tic of his head.

She opened the brown paper to find a set of professional potion making gloves and robes, the kind guaranteed to keep her and the baby safe as she continued her schoolwork.

The robes were such a thoughtful and kind gesture that Hermione felt the unwelcome tears pricking at her eyes. If he didn't care about her or the baby he would never have sent them, he would not have put him self out in such a way. When she had informed him of her decision to keep the baby yesterday she still hadn't been a hundred percent sure he would make good on his word to be a father to the baby, regardless of the near painful longing in his voice she had heard when he finally replied to her in his office. Yet here in front of her today was something tangible, something he had put thought and care into in order to protect their child, his child. Her feeling of safety washed over her yet again and was starting to feel like a old friend.

"That's it? Just some boring old potion robes?" Ron asked, disappointed that it wasn't something more exciting.

Hermione decided to lie. "Oh. I forgot I ordered these."

The boys accepted her falsehood, they had no reason no to, not about potion robes of all things. When their attention had been diverted to something else, Hermione looked up to the head table and saw him watching intently. She gave him a little smile that she hoped he would interpret as appreciation and a thank you.

He nodded once in her direction before dropping his gaze back to his plate and attacking his food.

Neither of them noticed Professor Umbridge watching the brief exchange and seeing Hermione smile at him.

Umbridge confronted Snape in the corridor after breakfast.

He had just finished chastising a couple of third-years for screaming down the hall when he heard, "Hem, hem," from behind him.

"Yes?" he asked dryly as he turned towards everyone's least favorite professor.

"So I witnessed the most interesting of exchanges between you and Miss Granger just now at breakfast. She most certainly had your full attention this morning, Professor Snape."

He said not a word, his mask fully in place, though he did have a slight unnoticeable tensing in his wand hand. He wanted this pink harpy as far away from her as possible. And indeed, if she became a credible threat to her or their child, murder would become an option, the vile witch would never see it coming.

When he didn't say anything Umbridge continued, "I must say that I continue to find your behavior towards Miss Granger to be more than just merely bordering on the inappropriate, it is, in fact, rather perverse. The Minister will be shocked to discover Dumbledore allowing a Hogwarts' teacher to behave so untoward an underage student."

His eyebrow raised. Dumbledore had warned him about what the Minister was up to, and had asked Snape to not antagonize Umbridge.

"You read much into a Potions Master having an idle curiosity when a student receives professional grade potion making equipment at breakfast."

"And why exactly did Miss Granger feel the need to acquire professional potion making robes? Was she doing it to please you, Professor? Or perhaps, you sent them to her, to further curry her favor?"

Snape thought quickly, a talent that had long kept him alive in his role as a spy. "It is not my practice to discuss a student's private information, but as you are aware, Miss Granger was involved in a potion explosion and exposed to a large amount of rogue cauldron magic. It is in the best interest of her health that she not be inadvertently exposed to any further ambient potion magic for the rest of the school year until we are certain there are no long term after effects from the explosion. The only spare set of such protective robes I have are far too large for her although she has made do. I recommended the purchase of her own robes to her head of house as a better alternative. Given that they arrived at breakfast in front of everyone, it is apparent that they took my recommendation."

"And what of her smiling at you, Professor?"

He wanted to roll his eyes. This woman was insufferable. "She is most likely ecstatic not to have to wear my robes any longer."

"You think you have pat answers for everything. I will be watching you, Professor Snape, rest assured. I am positive that there is a fouler bend to your actions in regards to Miss Granger and will find the proof of it."

As the pink terror swished away, Severus quickly found a spot to scratch out a note to McGonagall explaining the interaction and his lies about the robes. He knew that Minerva would back him up with Umbridge should the insufferable witch choose to investigate his story.

He also knew that Transfigurations was her next class, having fully memorized her schedule, the why of him memorizing it was something he didn't particularly care to examine in his own mind, and he was confident that McGonagall would inform Hermione of the lie they needed to maintain. They simply could not have Umbridge have any knowledge of the exact nature of relationship between them. There was just too much at stake.

He called a house elf and asked her politely, despite the irritation he was still battling over Umbridge, to deliver the note to McGonagall.

A week later Snape was on his way to to the potions classroom for his final class of the day when he caught sight of Hermione dashing for the closest girls' lavatory, her hand clasped over her mouth. She was apparently still vomiting, not uncommon in a pregnancy from what he understood from his recently gained knowledge in the subject as he had read and absorbed several thick tomes about it since her condition had come to light. It was also not the first time he had seen her make a dash for a lavatory with a greenish tinge to her cheeks at random times during the day.

He had learned that some women battled so called "morning sickness" all day long during early pregnancy and that the normal anti-nausea potions were not always effective. There were other potions better for the problem, but they were long, finicky, difficult potions to brew requiring rare ingredients making them extremely expensive to produce and were normally never stocked or even offered by healers.

Neither of those impediments bothered him in the least. As far as it being an exacting formula to get right, he had yet to find a potion he could not properly brew, this one wouldn't even be a challenge.

Nor did he even waste any thought at all about the cost of the ingredients as his vault at Gringotts contained enough galleons for him to live far beyond comfortably for several lifetimes. Some of that gold came from his Hogwarts salary and some from payments from the occasional unsavory favor he would do for those in service of the Dark Lord to maintain his status. But the bulk of his wealth came from several medicinal potion patents he held secretly, things he had worked on late into the night when he needed to clear his mind and settle his thoughts. He had few necessary expenses living at Hogwarts most of the year, and while he bought himself books and clothing of the highest quality as well as all manner of rare potion ingredients and supplies, he led a very unpretentious lifestyle which barely put a dent in his stash of galleons. So as he thought of brewing this particular potion for her he was more worried about the availability of the rare ingredients and not at all about what they would cost him.

As he set his second-year class to brewing he mentally went through the list of ingredients he needed, pleased when he deduced that he had all that he required for at least two batches of the potion, perhaps even three.

It took him six hours after his last class and nearly three hundred galleons worth of his private store of ingredients to brew it for her. It only made a week's worth of treatment and could not be made too far in advance, but he knew, even without the little voice in his head telling him so, that he would brew it for her as long as she needed it regardless of time or cost. She and his child needed for her to be able to eat and maintain proper nutrition, his time and galleons were of little consequence in the grand scheme of their health.

He bottled it carefully and scratched out a simple note. He summoned a house elf and politely asked her to put the potion and note on Hermione's bedside table in her dormitory.

After the elf left Snape made his way to his rooms. He showered and put on his comfortable, if not raggedy, pajamas and went back out to the sitting room. He poured himself a glass of his favorite aged brandy, one of the few extravagant indulgences he bought for himself. His eye fell upon a small carved box tucked in one of his bookshelves. Taking the the box and his brandy, he sat himself in his comfortable chair by the fire.

The box contained the few mementos of his life growing up that he chose to keep. His long fingers flipped through the small stack of photos until he found one of he and his mother when he was but a toddler. Eileen Snape had not been a particularly pretty woman, leaning more toward the plain. She dressed in dowdy, old faded dresses, her hair in her ever-present tight bun and she had a tired, pinched look about her face. He looked to the boy in the picture who was dressed in rag-tag clothes and holding an old and beat up toy car. It was the boy's eyes in the photo that gave him pause, there was no joy in them, no life, nothing at all like the vivaciousness in the eyes of the majority of children he had seen as an adult. He had no specific memories of his sire from that age, but he did have ugly, vile memories of his abusive wastrel father starting just a few short years from when this picture was taken, so though he had no specific memory, he doubted his very early years with his father were any different. His memories of his mother were as cold. There was never affection in her touch or words, her son was just another chore piled onto the unhappy woman.

He put the pictures away and closed the box. He knew that she was nothing like his own mother. Hermione had a fiery spirit and fierce independence. She had also had a warm and loving upbringing and knew and understood kindness and compassion, love and friendship. She had manners and all measure of social graces. She embodied everything that he had never had as a child. He did not doubt for one moment, not even given her youth, that she would be an exceptional mother and would give their child all those things.

However his doubts about himself as a father felt like the crest of an avalanche about to bury him completely. He was not a warm and caring person and he preferred quiet and solitude. His sense of humor was a dry and scathing thing, certainly not fit for children. He took no pleasure in the lighthearted silliness that seemed to surround young ones. He had no idea at all how to even interact with a baby or with a very small child. And if he were honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

But wanting to was a moot point. He had promised her that he would be a father to this child. He just, for all his intellect and learned knowledge, didn't know how. The things he did know, with the most absolute certainty, was that their child would be safe and protected and well provided for. Their child would never wear old, patched clothing for other children to ridicule or live in a hovel like Spinner's End. Their child would never have a father who drank and raised his fist to their mother and most certainly would never have a father who would raise his fist to them. Their child would never have cause to have haunted eyes like he did in that photo - period.

Financial support and protection he could do, these were fairly simple things in the mess of it all, he just didn't know how to do any of the rest of what it meant to be a father.

His brandy mellowed him and took himself off to bed.

As his eyes closed his tired mind conjured up an image of a little boy in pajamas, a little boy who looked a lot like him, him sprawled out contently on the carpet in front of the fire with a happy children's book in front of him. As Snape let himself doze off he thought, that I might know how to do.

Hermione was dead tired when she left the common room and headed to bed. Dinner hadn't sat well in her stomach, regardless that she had eaten only a small amount of the lightest fare on the table. She hadn't expected her morning sickness to extend to all day every day and not being able to keep food down for days on end was starting to take its toll on her. Madame Pomfrey been able to dispense the standard anti-nausea potions, but they just weren't helping. She was exhausted and had no energy and part of her just wanted to break down in tears over it all. She dropped her book bag on her bed and kicked off her shoes. As she turned to dig out her pajamas she noticed a glass vial and note on her bedside table. She quickly picked up the note and read:

This is a more effective potion for your nausea. Four drops under your tongue three times a day. I will inform Madame Pomfrey that I have given it to you. Notify her or I immediately if you have any adverse reaction, though I do not foresee this being an issue.

The familiar handwriting and dry, direct tone let her know immediately who it was from, she could almost picture him at his desk efficiently scratching out the note. That now frequently appearing feeling of being looked after and safe washed over her yet again as she thought about him noticing and caring that she was wasn't feeling well, that he took time and effort to brew a special potion for her to fix it, and that he found a way to give it to her privately to help her avoid unwanted questions from her friends.

She put the note down and picked up the vial. She unstoppered it and without hesitation used its glass dropper to drip four drops of the milky green potion under her tongue. She had expected it to smell vile and taste bad, medicinal potions always seemed to smell vile and taste bad, but not this one, it smelled like fresh cut grass and tasted like sweet green lettuce. It was not at all unpleasant and she noted with a tired smile that it had just about instantly quelled her constantly swirling stomach.

She changed into her pajamas and laid down on her bed, wanting to just enjoy not being queasy for a few minutes before she wrote a thank-you note to him for the potion. Her tired body had other ideas however and dropped her into a deep sleep before she knew it.

Hermione knocked softly on the door to Snape's classroom the following afternoon. She knew he had regular office hours scheduled for right now, but it wasn't a guarantee that he was either free to see her or even in his office.

She heard a calm, "Enter," and did so. His whole expression appeared to soften a bit upon seeing who it was. He gestured with his quill to the chair in front of the desk. She sat and he surprised her by asking abruptly, "How are you feeling?"

She had been unrolling parchments she had received from Madame Pomfrey, the entire reason for her visit. "Much better, thank you so much for that new potion, it's quite settled my stomach. I haven't been sick all day. It was wonderful to be able to eat today without worrying if I was going to be ill. I meant to send you a note last night but I fell asleep unexpectedly, I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

He nodded slightly. "No need to apologize. It's good that the potion worked well, nutrition and rest are important for you… both. The vial I sent you should be enough for the week and I will brew more before you need it. It's best not to make that particular remedy too far in advance."

His eyes were gentle on her and it was disconcerting to say the least, but not entirely unwelcome. She unconsciously straightened and responded, "I appreciate that very much, sir. I hope it isn't too much trouble."

"Not at all," he replied plainly, then asked, "Is there anything else you require, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, yes, um… Madame Pomfrey had given me these forms to fill out. It's a…family medical history and some others that are for the Ministry birth registry after the… baby's… born." She swallowed nervously and handed him the forms.

He glanced over the medical forms. She had diligently completed her half. They were all well and standard for any normal couple having a baby. But he and the girl in front of him were anything but normal. The Ministry forms gave him pause. They officially designated his paternity and direct right to the child should anything unthinkable happen to her during childbirth. The very thought of that making his brow furrow and his stomach twist.

When he didn't say anything, Hermione offered, "Madame Pomfrey said the forms would be charmed so that no one can read them without our express permission, sir. They'll be completely private that way."

He met her eyes and held up the paternity designation. "Are you quite sure you want to do this?"

Her stubborn little chin came back out to play as it seemed to every time they spoke and she said resolutely, "Yes. I'm not ashamed. Unless… you are?"

Never, echoed in his mind, but what came out of his mouth was, "Not ashamed, no. But concerned."

"About what may I ask, sir?"

"Given who I am, your safety and the child's safety, among other things."

"Oh," she replied looking down at her hands, "and… what about your safety?"

"I have not been safe in a very long time, Miss Granger."

She met his eyes and nodded sadly at that but didn't say anything.

"I will complete these forms and deliver them to Madame Pomfrey and I will place additional protections on them to further keep them away from… prying eyes." His last words were dripping with the cold acid only he could put in his voice.

She looked up and held his gaze for a moment before quickly making the connection. "Umbridge. That foul, backward-thinking toad," Hermione spat out, unthinking, then realized who she was sitting in front of, "Sorry, sir, I have issues with Professor Umbridge."

"As do we all. She suspects something in regards to our circumstances but has no evidence. We must insure that remains the status quo."

"Of course, sir. It's going to be more difficult to hide in a few months on my part but no one needs to know who the father is even then, it's no one's business but yours and mine."

"This will not be easy for you, I'm afraid, unwed mothers are not treated… kindly, in the wizarding world," he said, his voice oddly gentle, protective even if she wanted to analyze it precisely.

Hermione stared at him a moment, this side of him, her most terrifying Professor, that keep appearing in their private moments was unexpected and terrifying in and of itself in a completely different way. It made her wonder how much of what people saw in him was merely a mask, an affect he put on to keep people away. This side of him drew her in, made her feel safe and cared for in ways she wasn't sure how to reciprocate, or if her reciprocation would even be welcome.

"It was something I had considered carefully when I made my decision. I'll be able to handle it."

He nodded but didn't say anything, wondering how he was going to keep himself from hexing anyone abusing her in the future.

Hermione stood to go and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Thank you for your time, sir, I'm going to work in the library before dinner," she said with a little smile, "I have a potions' essay due tomorrow that I need to proofread one more time."

She had reached the door when she heard, "Miss Granger?"

She turned and he continued, "Be careful in regards to Umbridge."

He said nothing further and it was her turn to nod simply before she turned and walked out the door.