Chapter 7: Parenthood
By the time Brady Snow was a week old, his parents were exhausted.
He had decided that eating every two hours was a fine thing, leaving Hermione to fret that he wasn't getting nearly enough milk each time. A midwife came daily to reassure her, but neither she nor our son was appeased by all the attention. Adding to the frustration, the baby books stated that babies slept most of the time – except our son, of course, who chose to examine his surroundings at all hours with wide, unfocused eyes.
It seemed that our efforts were put into either trying to get Brady to eat or sleep. Hermione was barely able to sleep herself, anxiously tossing and turning, drifting off only just as the baby was waking for the next meal. She had dark circles under her eyes and was tearful much of the time, certain that she was a total failure as a mother, and how could we possibly live through this? All the books in the world had finally failed Hermione Granger Snape/Snow when it mattered most.
I had no idea that so tiny a creature could totally disrupt life as we knew it. I tried my best to comfort Hermione, but I was stumbling in the dark myself. Finally, I did something that I had never in my life believed I would do: I sent a letter to Ginny Weasley Potter, begging her to come to Canada to give Hermione some assistance. I even offered to pay the International Floo Charges, although I knew full well her husband could easily afford the fare.
Meanwhile, I decanted my ruined Peace-and-Pepper into vials and stored them away, unable to bring myself to Vanish it. I would examine it at a later date to see what I could learn from this failed attempt, but only when life had settled down enough to do so without endangering myself.
Nine days after the baby was born, I was there in the lab, staring at the empty cauldrons and wondering if there was any brewing I could attempt while sleep-deprived and fuzzy-headed. Suddenly I heard the nearby crack of Apparition; it was likely the midwife again, but just in case, I peeked out.
And heaved a great sigh of relief. Ginny Potter and – Merlin's rat-nest of a beard! – Molly Weasley stood on the shore of the lake, encumbered with bags and packages in their arms.
"Severus!" Molly spotted me and headed towards the shed at once. "How are you? Goodness, I didn't recognize you without your robes."
I glanced down at my jeans and flannel shirt. "This is what one wears in the North Woods, Molly. I haven't worn robes in many years.' The thought Nor do I wish to went unspoken.
"So you're a father! I can't wait to see the baby! And Hermione, too, of course," she added, although she looked a bit worried about reuniting with the woman she'd been at odds with for so many years. "Do you think she'll be pleased to see me? I just had to come along when Ginny got your letter…"
"You are an experienced mother. She'll be thrilled. Hello, Ginny. Thank you for coming." I nodded to Ginny Potter, who had finally caught up with her mum.
Ginny smiled. "No problem, Severus. I figured if you were desperate enough to write to me, the situation must be pretty bad."
She stumbled a bit over my first name, but I ignored it. "Come inside. It looks like it will pour down at any moment."
We had just reached the porch when Hermione appeared in the door with the baby, looking completely stunned.
"Ginny? Molly?"
"Hermione!" Ginny dropped her bags and ran eagerly up the steps to embrace her former sister-in-law. "How are you? You look terrible! Sorry, but you do, and it's perfectly understandable. Oh, look at the baby!" At once she scooped Brady out of Hermione's arms. "He's beautiful! What's his name? Severus didn't say in his letter."
"Brady. Brady after the wonderful friend who offered a home to Severus for so many years, and Hugh after my father." A beaming Hermione glanced over to Molly, who was hovering at the foot of the steps, clearly unsure of her welcome.
"Hello, Hermione," the woman ventured timidly. "I hope you don't mind that I tagged along..."
"Molly, I'm so glad to see you." Hermione extended a tentative hand toward her, and with that, the years of animosity vanished.
Molly climbed to the porch, and then she and Hermione fell into each other's arms, both of them bursting into tears.
I collected the dropped parcels and bags and sidled past the two women. "Please come in," I murmured to Ginny, who was still holding the baby and looking a bit teary-eyed herself. "I can't begin to tell you how much Hermione will appreciate your presence."
Ginny followed me inside. "I do know how she feels; I've been through it two times myself."
"I can't even imagine."
"Things will get easier, although I'm sure you won't believe me right now." Ginny's eyes shifted from the baby to the cabin's interior. "Your home is lovely, just as Hermione described in her letters."
"She's put her heart and soul into it," I said. "Especially in the last weeks before the baby was born."
"Nesting, right? I did the same thing. The day before Samantha was born, I was climbing around on chairs, cleaning the drapes. Harry was livid when he found out."
Fortunately, Hermione and Molly came indoors just then, still sniffling and dabbing at their eyes, sparing me any further contemplation of Harry Potter's ire.
I Conjured beds for the two women in the loft while Hermione gave them the house tour, then went to town to buy more food for our guests. Neola, who had followed Hermione's first week of motherhood woes with concern, asked after her at once.
"I think she'll be fine, Neola. Some old friends have joined her now, and I believe they're just what she needed."
And they were. By the time I returned home with provisions, Molly had already begun issuing a lifetime of mothering advice to Hermione, who was hanging on every word. Her first act was to help Hermione find a better position for nursing, with the result that the baby seemed to get a fuller belly, which presumably meant a bit longer between feedings. And:
"Forget the silly way that midwife showed you to try to express milk for a bottle," she said briskly. "A simple spell will do the trick much better."
"What spell?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"Well…" Molly said, a bit sheepishly, "a gentle bit of Expelliarmus, actually."
"Mum!" Ginny looked scandalized. "That's not an approved use for that, you know. If it backfired, -"
"Oh, hush, Ginny. It worked for me, and it worked for you, too. And it's necessary that Hermione manages to get some sleep, isn't it? She can't look after a wee one if she's exhausted herself."
Hermione tried it, and it worked amazingly well. The fact that a bottle of milk was available meant that I could now help with middle of the night feedings, which was fine by me if it meant my wife was able to rest and recover. But I doubted I would ever be able to use Expelliarmus again without an unwanted, vivid mental picture accompanying it.
The women busied themselves unpacking the baby supplies they had brought while I prepared supper. There was not, I was heartened to see, a baby gym in the lot. Molly seemed a bit disappointed that we'd already accumulated a large amount of baby things on our own.
"It's lovely that your Muggle friends have been so generous. Of course," she pointed out, "we brought wizarding baby supplies..."
"A blanket's a blanket, Mum," Ginny sighed. "I don't think Brady will care whether there are owls or moose on his crib linens."
"I know, but still... Here, Hermione: I did bring several little storybooks that the grandchildren have outgrown," Molly said. "I wasn't sure if you still had your copy of this."
Hermione glanced at the book Molly held out to her, and her expression darkened: it was The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
"I don't. I gave my – well, Dumbledore's – copy to the War Archives in Britain, along with that stupid tent and some other things. I didn't want to see any of it ever again." She fingered the book, sighing audibly. "But I suppose Brady should have a copy. It's a traditional wizarding storybook for children, after all."
"A traditional storybook in Britain," I said quietly, as I sent dinner plates sailing to the dining table with my wand.
My wife looked at the book and at me and nodded thoughtful agreement. "Would you mind terribly if I didn't accept it, Molly? Brady's a Canadian. I'll check into the Canadian storybooks."
Molly opened her mouth as though she wanted to press the issue, but shook her head politely instead. "No, I don't mind."
Ginny looked thoughtful. "Brady's letter will come from Ilvermorny instead of Hogwarts, won't it?
"Don't," Hermione groaned. "I can't imagine him being old enough to go off to school. He's so little!"
It was true. I could barely imagine my son sleeping through the night at this point, let alone climbing aboard whatever transportation took him off to the North American wizarding school.
I announced dinner, and the conversation moved on to other things.
...
"Brady's a good baby," Molly told us after spending the better part of four days cuddling him. "You can tell, you know – when you hold a baby, whether they're jittery or relaxed."
I commented that Brady had every right to be jittery, what with his life in the hands of first-time parents. Molly scoffed at that as well.
"Doesn't matter. They still know when they're loved, don't they?"
"Which of your babies were nervous types, Molly?" Hermione asked, curious. "I bet it was Fred and George."
Molly snorted. "You'd be wrong. Strangely enough, Bill and Percy were quite Nervous Nellies; Fred and George were just as placid as could be."
"That's because they were probably busy plotting mayhem even then," Ginny muttered.
There was a knock at the door. I opened it and very nearly groaned aloud. Of course life wouldn't be complete without Harry Potter popping in to investigate the new Snape child.
"Mr. Potter." My teeth clenched automatically.
"Snape."
Potter had a self-assured air about him, as though showing up uninvited was of no consequence. Force of habit tempted me to try to wipe the smug smile off his face by taking away house points; I reminded myself that he was Hermione's friend and tried to muster a neutral expression.
"Hope you don't mind my showing up like this," Harry continued. "I had a chance to take a few days off and thought I'd see how Hermione's doing."
"You'd better come in and find out," I said resignedly.
"How's fatherhood?" he wanted to know.
"Life-altering."
Potter grinned. "Welcome to the new normal. It's a party, isn't it?"
Party? The upheaval that was our life bore no resemblance to any party I'd ever seen.
"Harry!" Hermione spotted her old friend. I suspect she would have squealed with delight, had Brady not been asleep in her arms at the time.
"Wow, look at him, Hermione," Harry said, admiring the blanketed bundle. "Well done!"
As if I'd had no part of it.
"He seems to have your hair, Snape."
"God forbid," I muttered.
"Although," Potter said, "you don't necessarily end up with the mop you start with. Except for me, probably. I think I was born with my hair sticking out in all directions."
Which brought us perilously close to the subject of the late, lamented Lily. Fortunately, Molly and Ginny began chiming in with their views of babies and hair. Finally, Potter pulled a flat wrapped present out of the pocket of his robes.
"This is for Brady," he announced.
"Harry, that's so sweet of you," Hermione said, repositioning the baby. "Severus, could you open it?"
"You may not think so when you see it," Potter warned. "Believe me, I'll understand if you want to chuck it."
I pulled off the wrapping paper, intrigued now. Inside, I found a child's book whose cover proclaimed, 'The Good Guys Won the War'. "You can't be serious. They have books for children about the war?"
Potter had the decency to look pained. "This is the first one that I've heard about, to be honest. It just hit the shelves day before yesterday, in fact."
"And you bought it?" Ginny looked like she wanted to have words with her husband on the spot.
"Actually, I didn't. Some kind person thought I should have it and dumped it on my desk. I've looked through it, and it's not too objectionable."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You're giving my son a book you didn't even buy and that's 'not too objectionable'?"
The younger man squirmed a bit. "I just thought he might find it interesting some day. At least we don't look too weird in it."
"It's a picture book? There are drawings of us in it?" I blurted.
"Yeah, but like I said, they did a fairly decent job. I think they made Ron's arms too short a couple of times, and your hair's kind of funky on one of the pages, Hermione."
"What?" With that, Hermione thrust Brady into Ginny's arms and flew to my side, whipping the book out of my hands and leafing through it. She gasped aloud. "I would never have worn clothes in that style or that color! And my hair's standing on end! I look a right idiot! And look at you, Harry! You're staring off into space on this page as though you're not paying attention to Voldemort at all! And Severus looks like he's ready to kill you here!"
"Well, they got one thing right," I said drily.
There was a smattering of nervous laughter. Before long, Hermione, Ginny, Molly and Potter were huddled over the book while I took the baby and settled into the rocking chair in the nursery. I wondered: hadn't British parents taught their offspring about the war without the need for someone to writing a book about it? Surely the current generation of witches and wizards had not gone the route of their predecessors, sweeping the war under the rug or talking about it only in hushed whispers, lest saying the words aloud would conjure Voldemort from his grave. Perhaps the author only saw the opportunity to rake in a few galleons...
Which brought up the other issue, the one I'd not cared to contemplate before now: what would my son think of me when he learned the truth about my previous life in Britain?
"I wish I'd been a better man, Brady," I said softly to my sleeping son.
His only comment was a polite snore.
...
The idea of the five of us under one roof would have sent me straight over the edge of sanity at one point in my life, but this time I managed to hang on. The cabin was full of the sounds of baby, conversation, and laughter. By the end of the week, Hermione was more rested, more confident in her mothering skills and, best of all, happy.
Before Apparating away to the International Floo Port in Gander, Newfoundland via Toronto, Molly gripped my hand. I managed not to flinch.
"Now I don't want Hermione to be the only correspondent in this family. You keep in touch as well, Severus. After all, we're all practically family, aren't we?"
Were we? Once I would have recoiled at the idea, but now? Loathe as I was to admit it, there was possibly the tiniest grain of truth there.
Hermione slid her arms around me as the crack of Disapparition echoed across the lake. "Thank you so much, Severus."
"For?"
"For inviting Ginny to come help me."
"You've already thanked me. Every day this week. Possibly twice a day."
"But I'll never forget it. That was the kindest, most generous act I could ever imagine."
I cleared my throat. "Of course, I never mentioned anything in the letter about Potter being welcome…"
Hermione laughed softly. "You're a saint, you know that?"
Well. I'd certainly never been called that before.
….
It was a few days later that I decided to re-investigate the ruined Peace-and-Pepper. I took the vials out of the box I'd stored them in and immediately noticed something odd: instead of the fluid being bright green, it had become crystal clear. And when I fumbled one of the vials and the glass smashed on the counter, I braced myself for the explosion.
None came.
In mounting excitement, I shared the news with Hermione.
"No explosion?" she repeated, mystified. "But without the final binder…"
She left unsaid what we, as Potions Masters, knew full well: that without the final binder, a potion was completely unstable.
"What if," I posited, "a combination potion doesn't require a third binder? What if it requires nothing more than time alone in the dark as the final step?"
Hermione stared at me, her mind obviously racing through the possibilities. "Do you think that's why no one's had any success so far? We've simply been processing it like was would any other potion?"
"I'm thinking that's a distinct possibility."
"What do you have in mind? Are you going to start a fresh batch?"
"Yes, but... What if I submitted a patent request now? Just to claim that combination potions are completed with only two binders and dark storage? I'll definitely start a new batch, but if I already held the patent on this different method of brewing -"
"- and held on to it in case someone else thinks they've cracked the potion in the meantime?"
I could tell by the excitement in Hermione's eyes that I might just have stumbled onto something very, very good.
