Chapter 6: Spring

Spring arrived and April first drew ever closer.

Stanley showed up in his red truck again, but this time there were no boxes of other people's cast-offs. instead, a rocking chair, sporting a large yellow bow, sat proudly in the back.

"What's this?" I asked, walking out to meet him.

"Rocking chair," Stanley announced, swinging out of the cab.

"Obviously."

Hermione joined us outside. "For us? Who's it from?"

The man hoisted the chair out of the truck and placed it on the ground.

"The Lawfords sent it," Stanley answered, looking rather guilty. "Sorry. The card fell out of the envelope when the chair was unloaded at the store."

She took the slightly crumpled envelope that Stanley pulled out of his pocket and read the sentiments. "'Best wishes from Brady and Marita Lawford. Let us know as soon as the baby arrives.' Isn't that sweet of them?"

Stanley looked as pleased as if he were the gift-giver instead. "Well, try out the chair, Hermione. You'll be spending plenty of time in it."

Hermione sat, rocking tentatively, a happy smile on her face. "It's perfect!"

The arrival of the rocker marked the beginning of my wife nesting in earnest. She made more forays into Sioux Lookout to the Twice Is Nice store than was absolutely necessary, even though by this time there was nothing that we truly lacked in the new cabin. I had been satisfied with the barest of minimums for many years, and Hermione had been of like mind when she joined me in the North Woods. But there was something about this final stage of pregnancy that compelled her to decorate, to fluff, to tweak our home. Since the end-of-year check from Caldwell Pharmaceuticals had re-padded our bank account almost four months ago, I was more than happy to let Hermione indulge in what she suddenly, absolutely, had to have for the cabin. Provided it was nothing frilly, silly, or pink; I've never quite gotten over Dolores Umbridge.

This meant that I frequently found Hermione standing in the doorway of a room, staring at its contents, in deep thought. It was never a good sign, because it meant that she was getting ready to move or switch or re-position something. The few pots and pans we owned, which had initially rested contentedly in a kitchen cabinet, now had to hang on a pot rack suspended from the kitchen ceiling. Pillows on the slip-covered sofa were arranged just so, and Merlin help me if I failed to replace them at precisely the right angle. The easy chair in the living room moved from one side of the room to the other side three times, which meant it was in my best interests to look carefully before I sat down.

Still, it was more than satisfying to wake up in my own bed in my own home, brew a cup of coffee in my own kitchen, and wander down to my lab to begin the day. The latest attempt at the Peace-and-Pepper potion was progressing nicely; nothing had exploded yet, and I was sure that this time I would succeed. At least, according to my professional journals, no one else had had any luck so far, so I still held out hope that I could beat the other wolves to the patent.

For safety's sake, I insisted that Hermione stay out of the lab now that the Peace-and-Pepper work was up and running. Accidents were always a possibility, and it made me uncomfortable any time I found her in there, peering into my cauldrons.

"Severus, I'm not fragile," she snapped after I'd told her to get out. "Pregnancy does not preclude working in a lab, you know."

"I know that, and I also know that as a Potions Mistress you are utterly qualified to be in here. It's not Hogwarts, where I was lucky to get through a day with only one explosion."

"Then what's the problem?" Hermione looked utterly fetching with fire in her eyes and one hand on her swollen abdomen.

"The problem is that you are my wife and you are carrying my child," I said. "I do not intend to spend any portion of the remainder of my life without you, and I would prefer it if you were in one piece!"

She made a wry face, but I believe she enjoyed the notion that the evil Professor Snape had turned into someone who was actually capable of love.

In truth, I did not know what I would do without her.

….

April first came and nothing happened, much to Hermione's chagrin. She struggled getting in and out of chairs and complained that there was no position comfortable for sleeping. She sent a message to the midwives via her Patronus, asking for reassurance now that her due date had come and gone. Their return message was almost cheerfully blasé, informing her that they would give it five more days before considering any intervention to speed things along.

I've never seen anyone attempt to curse a Patronus before.

….

Every night I went to sleep, expecting Hermione to wake me and say that her contractions had begun. And every morning I awoke to the same grouchy expression on her face. That was certainly the case on April fourth, when I had my breakfast and headed for the lab. It was time for me to add the second of the three final binders to the Peace-and-Pepper, followed by constant stirring for an hour. I would need to add the third binder in eighteen hours, and it was that final step which would spell success or failure.

It was a beautiful morning with hints of spring in the air. As I added binder number two and stirred away, I dwelt on the happy notion of a letter arriving from the Ministry, confirming that I had won the patent for Peace-and-Pepper. All I had to do then was wait for Caldwell – and probably a half-dozen other companies, not necessarily limited to Canada – to beg me for the right to produce my potion. The vision ended with Nor-Ams and other assorted currency raining down upon my head.

When my hour of stirring was completed, I headed back up to the house to check on Hermione. I found her pacing the floor, her nose in one of the pregnancy books; the others were piled up close at hand.

"That's the second binder done," I told her, then frowned. "Why don't you sit down? I know sitting's not necessarily comfortable, but it has to be better than prowling about, doesn't it?"

"I don't want to sit," she said, not looking up from her book. "Walking is supposed to be good for you in the first stage of labor."

It took a very long moment for me to comprehend what she'd just said.

"You're in labor?" I choked out.

"Yes. It started a little over an hour ago."

I had expected her to notify me immediately when labor began; to find her calmly reading took me aback.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I blurted.

Hermione shrugged. "It could have been false labor, and I would have gotten your hopes up for nothing."

"And is it false labor?"

"No, it doesn't seem to be. I wanted to time the contractions for a while before I summoned the midwife. And besides, it gave me a chance to read through all the information again." And with that, she gasped and clutched the back of the oft-relocated chair as a contraction struck. Her book clattered to the floor.

"Damn it to Merlin's piss pot!" I bellowed. "Do you have to turn to a book every bloody time, woman? You can't even give birth without looking it up first?"

But Hermione's attention was on the contraction, and not knowing what else to do, I clutched her shoulders as the pain continued for what seemed like an eternity. Finally…

"Six minutes apart." She straightened up, her smile wavering a bit. "I'm a bit surprised that the contractions are this strong so early on. I thought they'd be a lot milder to start. "

"I'm summoning the midwife," I snapped, wand already in my hand.

"Severus, wait."

"Why?" I demanded angrily.

"It's just this is the last time we'll be alone, just you and me. I wanted to say that I love you, and I know we didn't plan this baby, but – it'll be a marvelous adventure, won't it?"

I looked into her earnest brown eyes and my expression softened. I cradled her face in my hands. "Yes. It will. You'll be a wonderful mother and our child will be brilliant. I love you to the moon and back, Hermione, but can I please summon the midwife now?"

"Wait."

"What? Why?" I hissed as my five seconds of patience ran out.

"Do you know where to send the Patronus?"

I had to admit that I did not, other than having a vague notion of sending it to 'midwives in Thunder Bay'. Hermione grinned at my hesitation and produced her own wand and Patronus, relaying the information that labor had started along with the length of time between contractions.

Within five minutes, the midwife had arrived. To Hermione's relief she was one of the friendlier ones who had visited off and on over the past months. But while Barbara was the round, motherly sort, she was also quite bossy, and after examining my wife, announced that the birth was still a very long way off. She instructed me to take Hermione on a long walk outside while she set out supplies and prepared the bedroom.

"A walk?" I blurted. "What if something happens?"

"Nothing will happen, Sebastian. May I call you Sebastian?" Barbara smiled winningly.

I wanted to say, No, absolutely not. But just then Hermione was stricken with another contraction, and my attention was diverted elsewhere.

"You want her to go outside and walk in this condition?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"It's good for your wife to walk for as long as she's comfortable. Believe me, it will help things along a bit."

"But –"

"Severus," Hermione said wearily, "don't argue. Just get my coat and help me to the door."

I did as I was told, but I was still fuming.

By the time we had made thirty laps of the cabin – pausing each time a contraction hit – I was ready to scream. Shouldn't giving birth have been improved somewhere along the line? Hadn't something been invented to shorten the process? I voiced all these thoughts aloud to Hermione, who glared at me and told me to shut up if I couldn't say anything helpful.

….

By the time night fell, I was utterly beside myself. Hermione alternated between wanting me at her side and ordering me to get the hell out of the cabin. I tried to putter about in the lab, but there was nothing to do until time to add the third and final binder to the Peace-and-Pepper, some five hours from now. I could have begun brewing something else, I suppose, but I quickly recognized that I was a danger to myself with my current inability to concentrate.

I moved to a chair on the screened porch, but there I could too easily hear Hermione's cries with each contraction. I considered asking the midwife to cast a Silencing Charm, but decided that I would probably receive a lecture about valuing my comfort over my wife's. I then tried sitting at lake's edge for a while, but the sun was almost down and the early spring air was quite cold, and I began to shiver. I don't think I've felt so helpless since finding Lily Potter dead in Godric's Hollow, and that seemed a lifetime ago now.

"Sebastian… or Severus?" The midwife, clearly in a quandary as to which name to use, hailed me from the cabin door. "Hermione will be needing you now."

I raced to the porch. "Is the baby –"

" – here? No, not yet, but things will be happening fairly quickly from now on."

I followed her into the bedroom. Hermione was perspiring and pale, but managed a travesty of a smile for me.

"I can't do this without you, dear heart," she said simply.

I moved to her side and took her hand.

The contractions were much closer together now, as well as much stronger. Each time, Hermione gripped my hand so hard I was sure my bones would break. The baby would be born any second, I just knew it.

After almost an hour of this, I looked accusingly at midwife Barbara. "You said things would be happening quickly now!"

"It won't be too much longer," she soothed.

Suddenly, Hermione gasped. "I have to push!" she cried.

"Excellent!" Barbara beamed. "Pant for a moment, dear. Sev… bastian, why don't you climb behind your wife in the bed now?"

"Behind?" I echoed blankly.

"Yes. I want you to kneel behind her so that she can lean her full weight against you."

She pulled pillows away while I fumbled my way onto the bed and in position behind Hermione. It was odd, it was awkward, and suddenly there was no place on the earth I would rather be than physically supporting my wife as she gave birth.

But still, after twenty minutes, no baby.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, desperate for information. "Shouldn't the baby be here by now?"

"Nothing is wrong at all. Just a bit longer." Barbara, the vision of serenity, had donned a protective apron over her robe and was now plucking several towels and blankets from the bedside table. "Hermione, I want you to listen carefully and push only when I tell you, all right, dear? Sebas – Mr. Snow? Why don't you place your hands on your wife's knees now? Hermione, dear, you get a good grip on his arms."

Hermione nodded and panted, and clutched at me.

The minutes ticked by, the contractions never seeming to end. I swore that if Hermione survived this, I would never trouble her for marital relations again. At least my wife would be alive and we would be –

"Oh, here we go!" Barbara's eyes lit up. "The head is out, dears! And a full head of dark hair it is, too!"

"Really?" Hermione said weakly.

I wanted to peek over her knees and get a closer look, but I was rooted to the spot. Another thirty seconds passed, a minute, a lifetime…

"There we are!" the midwife cried as soon as Hermione had given a final, almighty push. "It's a little boy!"

"A boy!" Hermione said, her voice hoarse with mingled laughter and tears. "We have a son, Severus!"

A son. The word echoed around and around my head and I suddenly felt dizzy with the realization.

As Barbara held the bundle of blanket and towel up for us to see, the baby's first cry echoed throughout the room. It was the cry of life itself.

He was red-face, squalling his indignation at being forced to vacate his cozy nesting place. My son did indeed have a head full of dark hair, and I prayed that he had inherited some of the body from Hermione's wild mane. His eyes, now slitted shut in annoyance at the bright lights, would be a dark blue for now, Hermione told me months ago; given that neither of us had blue eyes, it was highly likely that they would turn brown about a year from now – although whether they would be dark like mine or lighter like his mother's was yet to be determined. I counted: ten fingers, ten toes. And he possessed the correct male anatomy in miniature, which caused me to immediately realize with a start that this was my replacement in the world.

"Here, you hold him," Barbara was saying as she placed our son in Hermione's arms, "and I'll help Severus cut the umbilical cord."

"What?" My brain tried to catch up.

"Just use your wand, dear, and cast a mild Severing Charm between here and here… See?" She indicated the place with her hands.

A wand? I had a wand, didn't I? Somewhere?

"Would you like to use mine?" she asked as I continued to stare at her stupidly.

I snapped to. "No, no, I have it right here." And I pulled it from my pocket, only to find that it was trembling in my hand.

"Here." Barbara gently kept my wand pointed steadily at the right spot while I muttered the incantation.

The cord was cut and my son became an independent, fully-functioning human being. And as I stared into his tiny face, I knew without a doubt that if another Dark Lord ever arose and dared to claim my son's soul for his own, I would cast Avadra Kedavra without hesitation. The term 'malice aforethought' wouldn't even begin to describe my actions.

"What was the name you chose again?" the midwife asked, busying herself with Hermione now.

"Brady," I said, my voice sounding very unlike my own. "Brady Hugh Snow."

….

The next few hours were a blur.

Hermione and I took turns holding our baby, marveling at the little creature that we had produced. At Barbara's encouragement, she had tried putting Brady to her breast, but he clearly wasn't interested yet.

"Not unusual at all," the midwife proclaimed. "He's likely not hungry. Birth is a bit traumatic for baby and it can take a while before he settles in."

And after checking Hermione once more and promising to stop back in tomorrow, Barbara Disapparated.

"We're on our own," I said as the enormity of our situation sank in.

"People do this all the time, right?" Hermione said, although she looked as nervous as I felt.

"You were magnificent," I said, meaning every word.

"I didn't feel very magnificent…"

"How are you? Really?"

"Just tired. That was a lot harder than I expected."

"Amazing that the human race continues, isn't it?" I smoothed Hermione's hair away from her face. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll watch the – Brady."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," she admitted. "What time is it?"

"Quarter past three," I said as she transferred the sleeping baby to my arms.

And I froze. In all the excitement, I had completely forgotten the final binder for the Peace-and-Pepper.

"What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath. "I should have added the final binder over an hour ago."

"It's ruined?" Hermione asked quietly, although she knew the answer.

I nodded. As wonderful as the birth of my child was, my hopes for a large financial windfall had just gone up in smoke.