Disclaimers in Chapter 1.

Chapter 2: Holding Back

"Hermione? Sweetheart?" Jane Granger sat down on the bed beside her daughter, resting a tentative hand on Hermione's back. She'd come home from telling - whoever he was - about the baby, calmly informed them that she would be raising the baby alone, gone upstairs, and collapsed into floods of tears. Jane had tactfully left her alone until the sobs quieted - even when she'd been a little girl, Hermione had preferred to go off by herself to cry. "How are you feeling?"

"Dried out and sticky." Hermione sniffed, rolling onto her side and giving her mother a woeful look. "It... didn't exactly go well."

"I did get that impression." Listening to her daughter's hopeless sobs, Jane had privately vowed to find out who the father was - it was bound to come out eventually - and make him suffer as much as one angry mother could manage. "You know your father and I will always be here for you if there's anything we can do to help."

"I know, Mum," Hermione said, sitting up and giving her mother a tight hug. "Thank you. This isn't going to be easy... at least, that's what everyone keeps telling me."

"No, it isn't... but having a child never is, no matter what the circumstances." Jane hugged her back. "You'll manage, love, I know you will."

"Thanks, Mum." Hermione smiled a wobbly smile, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Right. I should go have a shower and try to make myself presentable. I have to go to the Burrow and tell them about this." She winced. "It's not going to be much fun."

"I should think not... do you want Dad and I to go with you?"

"No thanks, Mum... the boys are going to be bad enough as it is, without everyone pestering you with questions about Muggles as well." Hermione gave her a wry smile. "Don't worry; I'll be all right. I'll stay for dinner, but I won't be home late." She rummaged around in her wardrobe, pulling out a pretty rose-pink robe, then frowning and pushing it back in. "I'll need those soon enough," she muttered darkly and found a clean pair of jeans and a blouse instead. "I might as well wear them while they fit," she explained, and then she vanished out of the door. A moment later, the bathroom door clicked shut.

Jane wandered forlornly downstairs and into the kitchen, where her husband was staring into a cup of tea. "How is she?" Phillip Granger asked, looking up.

"Showering and tidying herself up before she goes over to the Burrow," Jane said, sitting down beside him and resting her chin on her hands. "I asked her if she wanted us to go with her, but she said no."

"I offered to talk to the Headmistress for her, and she said no to that too. Nicely, of course," Phillip said, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders. "And I told her she was welcome to come home after she finishes school, that we'd be happy to have them with us for a while, but she's still determined to find a job and move out as soon as she gets her Salamanders or whatever they are."

"I knew it," Jane said sadly. "It's the war all over again. She won't let us help - she won't even tell us what's going on. I know she doesn't want us to worry, but I'd worry less if I could do something."

"You can't blame the war," Phillip said, kissing her forehead gently. "Remember when she was six years old and told you that you didn't need to walk with her to school any more? Or when she was eleven and she tried to insist on shopping for magic schoolbooks by herself? Our daughter is hopelessly independent."

"I don't know where she got it." Jane sighed, wondering if obstinate independence could be catching, and if so, where her daughter had acquired it. "She's positively secretive at times."

"I know. But she'll be all right," Phillip said optimistically. "She's clever, and she has good friends who'll stand by her."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure about the standing by part, but thankfully, she had good friends who were extremely forthright and who had years of urgent secret meetings behind them. They could be dim in other ways, but a whispered 'We need to talk, somewhere private' got immediate results, and no silly questions like 'why'.

Ten minutes after her arrival, she, Ron, Harry and Ginny were up in Ginny's room with the door locked. Hermione had claimed one end of Ginny's bed, and she squirmed a bit as all three of them looked at her inquiringly. "So... uh... how are Fred and George doing?" she asked lamely. "Business still good?"

"Booming, as usual." Harry, who was sharing the other end of the bed with Ginny, shrugged and looped his arm around Ginny's shoulders. "But you didn't drag us up here to talk about the twins and their business prospects, did you?"

"Well... no." Hermione picked up Ginny's pillow, resting it across her knees and fiddling with the pillowcase absently. "I have something serious to tell you. It's just not easy to start."

"Well, why don't you just say it straight out, and we'll tell you how you could have done it more tactfully?" Ron suggested, grinning.

Hermione couldn't honestly come up with anything else, so she shrugged and nodded. "All right," she said, voice higher than usual with nervousness. "I... uhm... Igotknockedupduringthevictorycelebrations."

There was a long silence.

"Hermione, did you just say what I thought you just said?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Er... yeah," Hermione said in a small voice, clutching the pillow like a shield. "I'm going to have a baby."

Harry and Ginny both looked at Ron accusingly. Ron looked at Hermione accusingly. "We were still dating during the victory celebrations!" he said angrily.

"How seriously?" Harry asked.

"I didn't have anything to do with this!"

"No, you were snogging Cynthia Bunworth at the time!" Hermione scowled.

Ron had the grace to blush. "Well, we'd had a fight," he mumbled.

"After which we both went off and did something stupid with other people. Which is why we broke up," Hermione said, glaring at him. "You just be grateful that Cynthia isn't in the same state I am. From what I heard..."

"Ron!" That was Ginny, looking outraged. "You cheated on Hermione?"

"Well, she did too!" Ron said a little defensively. "And we broke up the next morning!"

"This is why I didn't want them to start going out," Harry said conversationally, carefully removing Ginny's wand from her hand. "I knew they'd start fighting, and it'd all end in tears."

"Yes, well, you were right, Harry, well done you," Hermione snapped, and to her annoyance, her eyes filled up again. "This conversation isn't actually about me and Ron, though."

Ron and Harry both looked guilty. Ginny abandoned Harry's arm and crawled down to the other end of the bed to give Hermione a hug. "Of course it isn't. They're just big male prats, that's all. Are you all right?"

"I'm going to be pregnant or a mother for my N.E.W.T.s year, of course I'm not all right." Hermione sniffled, hugging her back. "And don't anyone tell me there are potions that can solve that problem, I'm not going to take one."

"Of course not," Harry said, looking shocked. "Whoever suggested that you would?"

Hermione glared at him. "I could if I wanted to," she said, perversely annoyed at him for not insisting on her freedom of choice even if she didn't want him to. "It's a perfectly valid option, this isn't the Middle Ages..."

"I know that," Harry said hastily. "But you wouldn't want to. I mean, I suppose you might, but... I know you, Hermione, and I can't imagine you ever... taking the easy way out, you know?"

Hermione relaxed slightly. Harry was getting surprisingly perceptive in his old age. "No, I wouldn't," she agreed. "Although I'm still in favour of the option being available."

"Oh, so am I," Harry said, clearly glad that the minor crisis had been averted. "But... uh..." He gave Ginny a pleading look.

"Harry wants to know who it was if it wasn't Ron," Ginny translated. "I'd quite like to know, too... I mean, we're going to have to hex him into a twitching puddle if he doesn't treat you well."

"Damn right we will," Ron said, brightening slightly at that happy prospect. One of the many things Hermione had decided that she didn't like about Ron was his propensity for solving problems with violence. "Who is he?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not going to tell you."

"We won't hex him if you don't want us to," Harry said, glaring at Ron. "But you can't keep it a secret forever."

Hermione leaned against Ginny, who hugged her gently. "I can and I will, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm not going to tell you. I'm not going to tell anyone. Ever."

"But..." Ginny frowned. "He doesn't want to be involved, does he?" she asked accusingly. "That's how you can get away with just not telling anyone - because he's not going to have anything to do with you or the baby."

Harry sat straight up. "He what?"

"Well, it's obvious, the only way she could actually not tell anyone ever is for him to be completely out of the picture, otherwise we'd be bound to find out," Ginny said reasonably.

Having a friend with a passing grasp of logic was annoying. Hermione sniffled a bit, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "More or less, yes. And he has every reason not to want to speak to me ever again, so you're all going to skip the threats to hex him and demands to know who he is."

"But - "

Harry frowned. "Shut up, Ron."

"But - "

"Harry told you to shut up, Ron, so shut up." Ginny patted Hermione's back gently. "We'll do whatever we can to help," she said comfortingly. "And if anyone tries to give you a hard time, we'll hex them instead, all right?"

Ron nodded, brightening again at the promise of having a chance to hex someone, and Harry reached over to pat Hermione's shoulder gently. "Of course we'll help," he said. "Although I honestly have never changed a nappy in my life, so someone'll have to show me how."

"I will," Hermione said, smiling damply at him. After that, they settled into some serious discussion, and Hermione allowed herself to relax... but not too much.

Harry and Ron might have let the issue of her baby's paternity drop for now, but she must be careful never to drop any hint of who it was. They'd kill him first, and ask questions never.

Severus had been pacing for hours.

At first he'd been furious, storming blindly around his office, telling himself that she was lying, trying to make a fool out of him somehow - he would remember, of course he would, if anything like that had happened. It had been long enough that even a probably brief and certainly unimpressive drunken encounter would be memorable. Surely it would.

Surely.

On the other hand, it was a stupid lie to tell. If she spread the word (surely she would at least tell Potter and Weasley, and she might as well shout it from the North Tower), certainly he would be disdained even more than before, if that were possible, but so would she. To willingly bed the Potions Master, the Exonerated But Still Suspect Traitor? She'd lose all respect from her peers, and Minerva McGonagall would have kittens, albeit not literally. She'd be a fool to try it, and despite her choice of friends, Hermione Granger wasn't a fool.

And if she really was expecting a child - he cringed inwardly at that thought - disproving his alleged paternity would be absurdly simple. She'd suggested the Verity Charm herself. Even Muggles could prove or disprove paternity these days.

If he'd gotten the girl pregnant, however blameless he might be in the matter, Minerva would skin him.

No. No, it was impossible. He would not have had sex with a student. Especially not Hermione Granger. Admittedly they had worked well together during the war, and she was an intelligent and able young witch, but that persistently waving hand had appeared in several of his less blood-soaked nightmares, usually with a question he couldn't answer. She was presentable enough, these days, but not irresistible by any means. He couldn't have.

It had to be a joke. One of the humiliating, unamusing, often dangerous pranks that passed for Gryffindor humour. He wouldn't have expected it of her - he had never seen her indulge in the casual cruelty that some of her housemates found amusing. That would explain her nervousness and shame... if she'd been coerced somehow into trying to embarrass him. Perhaps he'd been intended to try to take the soft, tempting bait, to be lured into laying hands on the girl.

Guilt had been radiating off her. Good God, if it were true... He laughed out loud, a gasping, humourless laugh, at the sheer absurdity of the idea; him, the greasy git, being sexually molested by a student! At least she'd had the decency to know that for what it was; she hadn't tried to blame it on her own drunkenness or claim that enthusiasm while blind bloody drunk counted as informed consent.

And she'd apologised, as if it were the worst thing she could imagine, as if she'd expected cries of outraged virtue... as much as the thought of being compelled made his skin crawl, as unnerving as it was to not remember what had happened, a quick tumble while they were both pissed was practically a high point in his life, compared to everything else. Which didn't mean he wasn't furious about it, of course, if it had actually happened.

If she'd taken him up on the offer of the potion, it would have been understandable. A student might well think it the perfect way to blackmail him into providing one. It had been tried before on students with a flair for potions.

Except that Hermione Granger had a flair for potions. If she ever got over her obsession with following rules and instructions to the letter, she'd be brilliant. Even now, she was quite capable of brewing the requisite potion herself. Nobody would ever have needed to know - her Muggle parents wouldn't recognize it even if they caught her brewing it.

Aside from trying to embarrass him somehow - and he was fairly sure nobody else had been watching - he simply couldn't come up with a good reason for her to lie about something like this. He wanted to, he wanted to desperately, because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate, but he couldn't.

He realized suddenly that his knees were aching and his feet starting to hurt. Muttering a curse - the latest of many - he sat down behind his desk, spreading his hands flat on the cool wood. According to the clock, he'd missed dinner, not that his tension-knotted stomach would have been receptive to food. He'd been pacing around his small office for hours.

Hermione Granger, of all people!

Severus was feeling worse than usual at breakfast. He had hardly slept, and when he had, he had had vague, disturbing dreams in which he was in the middle of teaching a class when he looked down and realized there was a baby in every cauldron instead of a potion, and Hermione Granger had laughed and twined soft arms around his neck before turning into a kitten and scampering away.

And that had been the more lucid part of the dream.

"Well, since we're all here," Minerva said, setting down her teacup, and he stifled a groan. Albus Dumbledore had favoured official staff-meetings. Minerva had a tendency to give them their daily orders over breakfast, when they were sleepy and vulnerable. At least she'd have to stop that when the students arrived. "I have a rather serious subject to discuss with all of you." She set a red and gold prefect's badge on the table in front of her. "Among other things, we are now short one Gryffindor Prefect."

"Good heavens, why?" Filius Flitwick asked, craning to see. "Has something happened?"

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that Weasley has decided to forgo further education," Severus muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. He had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly whose badge that was, and why it had been returned.

Minerva gave him a filthy look. "The badge belongs to Hermione Granger," she said grimly. "She does not feel that it will be either feasible or appropriate to continue her duties as a Prefect this year."

"Why not?" Pomona Sprout asked, looking concerned. "Is she unwell?"

"Not precisely." Minerva took a deep breath, clearly steeling herself for the unpleasant announcement. "Miss Granger requested a meeting with me yesterday. She told me that she is expecting a baby and asked to be allowed to remain at Hogwarts to finish her N.E.W.T. year."

Severus set his face in its habitual scowl, ignoring the startled murmurs of his fellow teachers. This was... unanticipated. He should have expected it, of course, but somehow it hadn't occurred to him that she'd tell Minerva McGonagall... and how much had she told?

"It would be a terrible waste if she left school now," said Septima Vector, looking upset. "The girl has a natural gift for Arithmancy that I haven't seen in years. You did give her permission to continue, didn't you, Minerva?"

"Well of course I did, Septima, don't be ridiculous," Minerva said tartly. "She's a gifted young witch who is genuinely dedicated to her studies. I have no intention of denying her the opportunity to sit her N.E.W.T.s because she had a lapse of judgement during the victory celebrations. She's hardly the only one."

"Good." Sprout beamed - the Head of Hufflepuff was an earthy woman and fond of children. "No reason for her not to continue - it'll be hard work, of course, but the girl thrives on that. Who's the father?"

This was an interesting question, and everyone turned towards Minerva, who frowned. "She refused to tell me. I understand that she told the baby's father about the situation yesterday, after speaking to me about remaining at Hogwarts - she sent me a note this morning, along with the badge, confirming that he did not wish to be a part of the baby's life, or hers, and that she had her own reasons for not wishing to press the issue."

Hooch snorted. "Silly girl," she said disapprovingly. "Shouldn't let him get away with that."

"Yes, well, that is her decision," Minerva said repressively. "And I am certain that she has her reasons, which are nobody's business but her own. However, her pregnancy will require some slight adjustments in her class schedule. Naturally, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes will not be a problem... although I understand pregnancy can disrupt self-focused Arithmantic calculations, is that correct?"

"Occasionally, but it shouldn't be any problem." Vector nodded. "I'll warn Miss Granger about the possibility, though."

"Thank you, Septima. Filius, will Charms be any problem?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Flitwick said cheerfully. "I can't think of anything on the seventh-year syllabus that might be dangerous, and of course I'll keep an eye out for accidents."

"Good. Transfiguration should be feasible, although she'll have to postpone self-transfiguration slightly." Minerva nodded. The Headmistress would be teaching N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, until a new teacher could be found. It was a difficult subject, and the temporary teacher she had managed to scrounge up, a Professor Lewellyn, simply wasn't up to Minerva's exacting standard for post-O.W.L work. "As for the problem subjects - Pomona, will you be able to get her through to N.E.W.T. standard without putting the baby's health at risk?"

Sprout thought it over for a moment. "Should be easy enough," she decided. "She'll have to sit out a few of the more active classes, but if she takes notes, that should do."

"Very good. Remus?"

Lupin, who'd been looking worried (scarred lump of sloppy sentiment that he was), nodded. "If she wants to continue the subject, I'll arrange it," he said quietly. "She'll have to sit out a few classes, as Pomona says, but she'll manage with the notes, I think."

"Good." Minerva nodded sharply and looked down the table at the Potions Master, who was dissecting his sausage in an attempt to maintain a proper appearance of disinterest. "Severus, about Potions - "

"She will have to drop the subject," Severus said flatly.

Flitwick gave him a reproachful look. "Severus, the rest of us are willing to make a few compromises in order to allow the girl to continue, surely you can - "

"Of the thirty-four potions on the seventh-year syllabus, twenty-seven are potentially harmful to a pregnant woman at some point during the brewing process, and all of them are potentially life-threatening if they are brewed incorrectly," Snape said caustically. "Having children involves sacrifice, something Miss Granger might as well learn now."

"I had suggested to Miss Granger," Minerva said, giving him a distinctly chilly look, "that perhaps you might permit her to follow along with the written work. There is no reason why she cannot, at least, complete the essay portion of the course. If she is given the opportunity to brush up on her brewing after the child is born, which will be well over a month before the N.E.W.T..."

Severus sneered at her. "It sounds as if you have made up my mind for me," he said harshly. "I cannot help but wonder why you bothered to ask me if the decision has already been made."

"I was being civil, Severus," Minerva said icily. "A practice you might do well to imitate. Especially when it comes to Miss Granger."

"Very well," Severus snarled, abandoning his breakfast and standing up. "I will go and rearrange my entire schedule so that Miss Granger may flout all common sense and school tradition to continue a subject for which she has little aptitude and less appreciation." He turned, stalking towards the door. Damn it! He'd been sure that he wouldn't have to deal with her as a student, at least, not now...

"Severus," Remus called after him, sounding reproachful. "It wouldn't hurt you to be a little more considerate of Hermione. She did save your life."

Which was, unfortunately, true.

Damn it.

Author's Note: Anyone seeking more of my writing should check out 'Borolin' on ffnet - a nick under which my collaborative effort with whitehound, 'Lost and Found' is posted.