Chapter 3: A Place to Call Home
With life in flux, I had gotten virtually no brewing done since Brady's visit. The Peace-and-Pepper project was literally on the back burner until I had ample time to devote to it. And it was pointless to delve into creating any potion where lengthy processing was involved, since I didn't want to relocate a counter-full of simmering cauldrons when moving day came. I did, however, manage a batch of Calming Draught which I had promised to Neola at the General Store. I bottled it and prepared to take it to town.
"Can I tag along?" Hermione asked, putting down her quill. Her own current project, that of writing a paper on the potential uses of charms to enhance potion production and development, was unaffected by our upended existence.
"Of course."
"Great. I could use a change of scene." My wife had become tolerant of the fact that I supplied minor potions to Muggles in town, although it had nearly ruined her law-abiding little soul to do so.
We set off in late morning. Neola, the proprietor, was always glad to see us. She had taken a motherly-sort of interest in me when I'd first begun living in Lawford's cabin, despite the fact that we were the same age. When I had initially eaten my way through whatever food remained in Brady's larder, she had steered me to the town food bank, and later allowed me to barter my first potion for several cans of beans. I'm sure she thought that initial Pepper-Up potion was nothing more than overenthusiastically-touted colored water, but she – and then the rest of the town, as word of mouth spread – discovered it to be quite effective. The rest was history: I had an ample food supply, as long as I could keep the minor potions coming.
"Hermione! Snow!" Neola, a large Ojibwa woman with a long braid of still-black hair streaming down her back, beamed as the two of us came through the door. "How are you? I haven't seen you in a week or more!" She gave Hermione a hug, but knew better than to try it with me.
"We're fine, Neola," Hermione said. "How have you been?"
"Busy. Getting ready for Powwow in two weeks. My oldest nooshenh Kara is a Jingle Dancer this year, and she's so excited; she's been working on her costume for weeks. Will you two be able to make it?"
"Of course," Hermione said.
I sighed. The annual Powwow was a pleasant enough festival of Ojibwa culture, but I usually avoided it. I'd gone once some years earlier and decided never to return, although it wasn't my innate dislike of social gatherings that kept me away. Several people in town, Neola included, were quite eager that I set up a booth to sell my potions to visitors. While trading potions for food was a matter of survival, actually selling potions to Muggles (which included not only the townspeople, but the many outsiders who descended on Trappers' Bay for Powwow) was a direct violation of wizarding law. Others might see the difference between trading and selling as nebulous at best, but as far as I was concerned it was the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony.
Neola beamed at us. "You've not been before, have you, Hermione?"
"No. I'm looking forward to it."
"I don't suppose, Sebastian, that I could persuade you to –" Neola began.
"No," I said flatly.
"You'd make a boatload of money with your cures," she wheedled.
"Speaking of which, here's the relaxation tonic you requested," I said before she could launch another attempt to persuade me. Hermione, meanwhile, wandered off to one of the small store's three aisles to peruse the shelves.
"Wonderful," Neola said, happily taking the bag of Calming Draught from me. "And I've already had a number of requests for your cold and flu tonic. The season's coming up soon, you know. Say, there've been rumors flying… Is it true that Brady Lawford is selling his cabin?"
"It's true," I said.
"But what will you and Hermione do? There are a couple of places available in town, if you're interested." She looked suddenly worried.
"The situation's been solved, Neola. Mrs. Lawford's grandfather owned a cabin about halfway between here and Brady's cabin. She's selling it to us at a very reasonable price." I failed to add just how reasonable the price was.
Neola looked confused. "There's another cabin between here and Lawford's? I don't think I ever knew that. I don't recall seeing a road…"
"Badly overgrown," I countered, adding, "It's been unused for many years."
"Unused? Must be a shambles, then. Is it livable? Will you be needing help with the renovations? My ningnis is quite talented at carpentry and plumbing and that sort of thing."
"I have someone taking a look at it," I said vaguely.
"Oh. Well, let me know if you need a hand. And Stanley's always available, if you're desperate," she said with a snort of laughter.
I smiled politely. Stanley, Neola's husband, was notoriously unskilled at anything involving manual labour.
Suddenly, there was the sound of breaking glass from nearby.
"Oh, Daniella!" said an angry female voice from the middle aisle of the store. "I told you not to touch!"
"What now?" Neola sighed. She hustled around from behind the counter and headed for the far aisle.
I trailed behind her, curiosity getting the better of me.
A woman stood there next to a toddler, who had either dropped or thrown a jam jar to the floor. The jar must have struck the floor at just the wrong angle, for there was broken glass and spilled jam everywhere. Immediately, the little girl plunged a curious hand into the sharp, gooey mess. She began to wail just as Hermione rounded the corner to see what was going on.
"Daniella's broken a bottle of jam, Neola," the woman said, looking around for a way to clear the debris and calm the now-screaming child. "I think she's cut herself. Do you have some paper towels?"
The woman's arms, I noted, were full of a smaller, blanket-wrapped bundle. She took one look at Hermione and thrust the bundle toward her. "Here, can you hold Steven while I get her cleaned up?"
Hermione's eyes widened as the woman shoved the infant unceremoniously into her arms.
"Oh, uh…" she spluttered, awkwardly taking the baby and then trying to adjust so that she had a better grip. "Er…"
Neola, meanwhile, had grabbed a roll of paper towels off a shelf from the next aisle and ripped the plastic covering away. "Bathroom's in back, off the storeroom," she told the mother.
"Thanks. Honestly, Daniella!" The woman rushed her daughter away, leaving Hermione staring wide-eyed at the sleeping infant in her arms.
Neola crouched down and began carefully scraping up the glass and jam.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" I put in.
"Tell you what, Sebastian, why don't you get the trashcan from behind the counter? And there's a dustpan and brush there too."
"Of course." I found the items she requested with no problem.
"I'll have this cleaned up in a jiffy," Neola commented cheerfully.
Hermione tentatively jiggled the baby in her arms as little Daniella's howls from the bathroom dropped in volume. "I don't know how mothers do it," she admitted. "Watching one child is hard enough, but two?"
Neola chuckled. "You just do whatever you have to, Hermione. Why do people who have no children always think it is so difficult?"
"It looks very intimidating."
"Nobody knows how to do it until you become a mother. The baby arrives and suddenly you can do it. It's like magic."
"Magic?" Hermione repeated warily. I could tell she was hoping that part of her magical education had gone missing, and could be rectified by a trip to a library.
"Well," Neola snorted, "that isn't to say that you don't make mistakes. Somehow, babies manage to grow up and thrive despite what we do to them." She glanced up at Hermione and grinned. "And look at you! That baby's as happy as a clam there. You're a natural."
"Really?" There was the faintest hint of hope in Hermione's voice.
Neola scraped the last of the broken glass into the dustpan and wiped the remainder of jam away. She rose to her feet, grimacing as her knees made some unpleasant popping noises. "This year, I'm definitely losing thirty pounds, minimum. Oh, that's the one thing about having kids that no one tells you, Hermione."
"What?"
"That once you've had a child, you never get the same body back!" She shook with laughter as she headed back to the counter.
I could see Hermione's face freeze into an expression of shock. "You don't?"
"Oh, I suppose most women lose the weight, but your body's never quite the same."
The bell over the store door tinkled just then, admitting a new customer to claim Neola's attention. Hermione was left to cope with the images of awkward body alterations on her own. Suddenly the baby began squirming and squawking his displeasure. It was evident that he was working up to a major scream of indignation. The look of fear on Hermione's face was quite at odds with typical Gryffindor bravado.
"What do I do?" she asked me, panicked, jiggling the baby up and down more vigorously.
She was asking me?
"Daniella, slow down! Honestly, you'll be into something else next!" As the little girl raced full-tilt back into the room, the mother trailed behind, shaking her head wearily. She paused in front of Hermione. "Here, I'll take him back."
Hermione nearly sagged with relief as the woman reclaimed her son, who suddenly became perfectly contented.
"Thanks," the woman told her, as calmly as if she frequently made a habit of dropping her child into a stranger's arms. "Daniella, no. No candy!"
Hermione pushed past me and nearly stumbled out the door. Neola saw her go and frowned.
"Is she all right, Sebastian?" she asked.
I merely nodded and followed after my wife. I found Hermione leaning against the wall of the health clinic across the street. She looked utterly wretched.
"What if I can't do this, Severus?" she cried. "What if I'm absolute rubbish at being a mother? What if we're making a horrible, horrible mistake? You can get a divorce if a marriage goes bad, but you can't give a baby back!"
Of course, I knew nothing about raising children either. All I could do was parrot Neola's words.
"I think there must be truth in what Neola said, Hermione. I'm sure we'll manage."
"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said miserably. "One minute I'm as thrilled as can be and the next, I'm afraid our life is ruined forever!"
"Hormones," I told her, as though I was a great authority on the subject. Hermione must have suddenly doubted the wisdom of coming to me for consolation, because she shot me a startled look. "At least, that's what I've always heard," I finished lamely.
Teary-eyed now, she nodded and abruptly launched herself into my arms.
"I can't do this alone, Severus," she sniffed.
"You don't have to."
….
As summer gave way to autumn, I received a message from Brady Lawford via Neola in Trapper's Bay. Cancer treatments were proceeding and the deal on his cabin had been finalized, he said; a clause in the contract permitted Hermione and I to continue living there until the end of the year. In addition, I could expect various land surveyors and contractors to appear around the property from time to time, but they were unlikely to need inside the cabin for anything. I sighed and dismantled my wards and Muggle-repelling charms.
Hermione had calmed down in the weeks following the incident in the store. It was the realization that life would march on as usual for another seven months that did it, rather than any sudden spurt of confidence in her mothering abilities. When we finally shared our news with Neola, the woman was excited beyond belief.
"I was just pleased when you were able to find a lovely woman to share your life with, Sebastian," she gushed, hands clasped to her heart dramatically, "but this is icing on the cake! A baby for you two! This is so wonderful!"
She was horrified, however, to learn that Hermione would not be going to Sioux Lookout to have the baby in hospital, as was typical of the local women. Hermione reassured her that she had a midwife all lined up, and would be well looked after. Which raised the question: where was the nearest wizarding hospital? I assumed there was one in all the large cities, but it wouldn't hurt to inquire the next time the midwife came to visit.
Hermione sent an owl to Potter, breaking the news. Harry wrote back with the obligatory congratulations, although I suspect he probably did so with his head hanging over the toilet. I always walk a thin line when it comes to Hermione's friends; she knows full well that Harry and I will never be friends, and is satisfied with what amounts to mutual tolerance. Ginny Potter enclosed her own letter, an effusive three-page document demanding details and offering hand-me-down baby clothes and advice. Hermione was most happy to receive it. I think it made her feel more connected to the world of Witches Who Had Given Birth, as there were certainly none in our vicinity.
Meanwhile, renovation of the cabin was set to begin on October first.
"I'm glad that you'll be getting started before the snows begin," I told Douglas Dinsworth of Livewell Construction, when he returned with the written bid. "My wife and I are able to remain at our present home only until the end of the year."
The man stared at me as though I were from another planet. "You mean you've never seen wizarding construction in progress?"
I hadn't, of course. The house on Spinner's End was Muggle construction, and Hogwarts tended to repair itself if a simple Reparo didn't suffice. God knows I'd fixed enough blasted plaster and scorched beams in my years in the Potions classroom. There are not many things in the wizarding world for which I can claim total ignorance, but magical construction is definitely one of them.
"Well, I guarantee you that we move a lot faster than Muggle construction workers. All told, I suspect it'll take us about a week."
"A week!" Hermione gasped.
"It might take two weeks if you were building a home from scratch, but since we're merely renovating, it goes much faster."
That reminded me of the separate potions lab we wanted to build. "This contract does include the construction of the small outbuilding, correct?" I asked, suspiciously scanning the parchment that I was poised to sign.
Douglas nodded. "Of course. And that should take about day to build. Day and a half, maybe."
October first rolled around with an even bigger surprise. Hermione and I arrived early at the old cabin, only to find three elderly wizards contemplating the building. What in the world?
"Can I help you gentlemen?" I asked sharply.
"We are from Livewell Construction, sir." One of the men, who bore an unfortunate resemblance to Albus Dumbledore, wrung my hand. "Donny Balfour, at your service. And these other gentlemen are Sonny Tompkins and Edgar Everett. You would be, I presume, Mr. Snow?"
"I am, and –"
"And this would be the missus?"
Without even looking, I could tell Hermione's hackles were being raised at being addressed as such.
"Hermione Snow," she said, a definite frosty note in her voice.
"Right-o. The missus. Mighty fine place you have here, Mr. and Mrs. Snow. The boys and I built it ourselves some years back. Did a bang-up job, too. Look how well it's standing, even after all this time." The three of them paused to admire what remained of their handiwork.
"Fine work," I agreed, but I was impatient for the work to start. "Are the workmen on their way? It was my understanding that the renovations would begin today."
"And so they shall," Balfour nodded. "But there are no other workmen coming. We are your crew."
"You're the builders?" Hermione asked faintly. I suspect she was envisioning giving birth in a lean-to in the woods if things didn't work out.
"Excuse me," I said as a vague gnawing of panic struck, "but you're telling me that you three men are going to rebuild our cabin?"
"Yes, indeedy."
"The three of you."
The one named Edgar grinned at us. "Don't think we can do it, eh? Think we're a bunch of useless geezers?"
I did, but I wasn't about to admit it.
"Age," Sonny Tompkins drawled, "is a state of mind, Mr. Snow!"
With that, he hoisted a cloth sack off his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. It clattered noisily.
"Oh," Hermione breathed, recognition dawning. "All your supplies are in there, aren't they? I had a bag once –"
But Sonny could not care less about Hermione's famed beaded bag. He turned the sack upside down and emptied it of its contents. I just had time to spot tiny pieces of lumber and miniaturized tools before Edgar whipped out a wand and levitated everything en masse to the clearing next to the lake. Beams, planks, tools, pipes, construction material of every kind promptly sprang back to their original sizes.
"There we go," Donny Balfour said cheerfully. "Now why don't you and the missus move along and we'll get underway? There's going to be a lot of nails flying about shortly."
Hermione and I moved to a safe distance and waited. That apparently wasn't good enough.
"Go on now," Balfour said when he caught sight of our new location. "Leave it to us. The old place is in good hands."
I wanted to protest, to say that I was the homeowner and would watch if I damn well pleased. Hermione intervened.
"Let's go," she murmured. "I'm not sure I can bear to watch this anyway."
We left, only to creep back after supper that evening. Progress had indeed been made, for the cabin looked much sturdier. The roof had apparently been repaired and strengthened, and was partially covered with new shingles. The porch screens still hung at precarious angles, but were at least no longer rusty. And the old bathroom fixtures had been removed; the toilet, in fact, sat majestically at water's edge.
"We're going to have to put a road in, aren't we?" Hermione mused. "Neola's already wondering why no one in town knew this cabin was here. And Brady and Marita will come back some day and expect to visit."
"I suppose," I sighed.
With that, I took out my wand and experimentally blasted two pine trees away in the direction of the main road. Wood and pine needles rained down briefly, but it appeared that we could make gradual headway if we dealt with small sections of the woods at a time. Trappers' Bay might be a few miles distant, but someone was sure to notice if a half mile stretch of forest exploded in one fell swoop.
Author's Note: 'nooshenh' = grandchild; ningnis = nephew
