Chapter 23: Birth

"I had no idea having a baby was so athletic." Ginny adjusted her grip on Hermione's elbow, holding her steady as she waited out another contraction. "Why all the walking around?"

"Walking during early labour relaxes and warms the muscles, maintains blood-flow, and allows gravity to assist in easing the baby downward." Madam Pomfrey was holding Hermione's other elbow. They were both doing a much better job than Lupin.

She straightened up, wincing. At least she wasn't wearing a stupid hospital gown or anything. Madam Pomfrey had provided a comfortable, sack-like shift that covered her to elbows and knees, but could easily be hitched up later when necessary. "It's also supposed to make the later stages easier and less painful, and I'm all in favour of that. How long has it been?"

Ginny looked at her watch. "Nearly an hour since you started walking. Is it working?"

"If by 'working' you mean 'are the contractions getting stronger' then yes. Definitely yes. Thank God I had a good night's sleep, this feels like it's taking forever."

"It's going to be a while yet." The midwife - a nice, motherly-looking lady who had introduced herself as Stella - nodded approvingly as Hermione started her slow shuffle around the hospital wing again. "Poppy will get you an Invigorating Draught if you get too exhausted during the delivery, but let's see how long we can manage without one, shall we?"

"We will if we stop getting talked to like we're five," Hermione whispered very quietly. Ginny snickered.

"I can't walk anymore."

"Just a little more -"

"My knees won't go! Look, they won't stay up!"

"You weigh a ton, Hermione. Let her lie down, Stella, I can't hold her up forever."

"All right... onto the bed, now, good girl. Ginny, make sure she's propped up comfortably. She needs to sit, not lie flat."

Severus had gotten through the day's classes through sheer habit. He had taught every class dozens of times, he didn't need to concentrate to recite the appropriate lessons and detect any deviations from the requisite actions.

Somewhere above him, his son or daughter was being born. Born early, too. What if something was wrong with the child? Or the mother? How long would it be until he found out? One hour? Two?

He could go up there. He could claim his place as the child's father and support Hermione through the birth. She would allow it. And then...

Then he'd be sacked, most likely; Hermione would be horribly shamed in front of all her friends; and the child would have to live with the stigma of being the child of a former Death Eater, the Greasy Git, the man who had inspired near robe-widdling terror in hundreds of children over the years.

No.

His third-year class suffered for that realization, several of them fleeing the classroom in tears at the end of the lesson. Good. That left him free to pace, and wonder what was happening in the hospital wing.

"Nnngh!"

"Hermione, you okay?"

"Yes. That feels... different. Is it supposed to start feeling different?"

"Final stage, dear. He's almost with us now."

"Does having babies always take this long?" Harry and Ron had given up standing to attention in front of the door after the first two hours, and were now sitting in front of it, playing chess.

"I don't know." Ron made a move, then nibbled thoughtfully on a thumbnail. "How long's it been now? My watch has stopped."

Harry looked at his. "Nearly ten hours." If it hadn't been for Dilly bringing them regular piles of food and a chess set - she was apparently quite keen on Hermione being guarded - they'd have been really incredibly bored by now.

"Wow. If I'm ever a dad, I'm bringing a book or something."

"One more... just one more... that's it... there!" There was a thin wail, and Stella held up a small, sticky pink form. "Congratulations, Hermione. You have a son."

Hermione managed to sit up just a little more, watching anxiously as Ginny wiped the baby mostly clean and wrapped him in the blanket her parents had sent. "I want to see him."

"Here." Ginny smiled, tucking the little bundle into Hermione's arms. "He's beautiful."

He was beautiful. He had a tuft of dark hair, a little squashed face, and a tiny button nose. As she cuddled him, he stopped wailing and his eyes opened. They were an odd, murky greenish-brown, and they stared up at her in a puzzled sort of way.

Hermione kissed his sticky forehead gently. "Hello."

The door banged open and Harry jumped up, chess forgotten. Ron lurched to his feet too, wincing and rubbing his knees, as Ginny leaned out of the door. She looked tired and there was a smear of something reddish-brown on her cheek, but she was beaming. "The baby's here, and it's a boy! Come and see!"

Harry felt an odd lurching in his stomach, and he frowned a little as he followed Ginny up the stairs. He was a godfather. Hermione was a mother. He had a little sort-of family to be part of.

He should definitely be feeling happier. Shouldn't he?

If Ginny looked tired, Hermione looked exhausted. She was smiling, though, and cuddling a bundle against her chest. "He's asleep," she whispered. "Come and see."

Harry followed Ron over to the bed. Ron immediately started making gurgling noises. Harry looked curiously at the baby. He was very small and red, with a weirdly squashed face. He looked like an alien, actually, with bulgy eyes and a domed head. Not really all that cute.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hermione was gazing at the baby alien with a besotted expression. "His name's Martin."

"He's adorable," Ron agreed, as Martin's eyes opened. (A weird muddy colour. Weren't new babies supposed to have blue eyes?) "Hey, he's looking at me! Oooji-ooji-oo! He likes me!"

"Of course he likes you." Hermione chuckled wearily. "Martin, the noisy red one is your Uncle Ron, and the one with glasses is your Uncle Harry."

"Hi." Harry leaned over so that the muddy eyes could take him in. Martin looked puzzled, as if he didn't think much of Harry. "He's... really cute, Hermione. He's going to have your eyes." That was the sort of thing you said, right?

"And her hair. As soon as it got dry it started sticking right up, look." Ginny slid an arm around Harry's waist and he leaned against her, feeling a little better. "Ron, you're going to make him cry if you keep making those noises."

"But he's so cute! I changed my mind, I definitely want one of those someday." Ron patted one of the baby's bulgy cheeks. "Even if they do take forever to come out."

Ginny shuddered, and Harry tucked his arms around her. "They do, and it's not nearly as miraculous as people make it sound. It takes ages and it's tiring and messy and painful."

"Very painful. But you've got bigger hips than me, Ginny, so it might not be so bad for you." Hermione winced. "Madam Pomfrey did about twelve different healing spells on me before I started feeling like my pelvis was the right shape again."

Ron had stopped gurgling and was looking a little green. Harry siezed gratefully on the chance to talk about something besides the weird-looking baby. "Couldn't Madam Pomfrey do a spell to make it not hurt?"

Hermione shook her head. "No... well, she could, but it would be counter-productive. Giving birth hurts because all the muscles are straining to push the baby out, and so on. She could numb it, but that'd be like... I don't know... numbing your legs before running a marathon. It wouldn't hurt to run it, but you wouldn't win either, because you can't run properly if you can't feel your legs. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Hermione looked different. Older. Maybe it was just because she was so tired, but when she looked down at the baby she seemed somehow very far away. "Uhm... you look really tired, Hermione. Should we go away and let you rest now?"

"That's a good idea." Hermione yawned. "I'm glad you're here, though. Both of you."

"We're glad too." Ron leaned over to kiss the top of her head. "You get some sleep. Bye-bye, Martin... we'll see you tomorrow!"

Harry gave Hermione a quick, awkward hug. "G'night."

"Night, Harry." Hermione smiled at him, and for a moment he felt better.

The child had been born five hours and forty-three minutes ago. A boy. Healthy. Adorable, according to Ginny Weasley.

It was now ten minutes past three in the morning. He'd been watching the clock for some time. The midwife had left. Poppy would surely be asleep. So would Hermione, presumably, after spending most of the day in labour. The corridors would be clear. If, during the course of his patrol, he just glanced in on the child, he would not be observed.

He made a brief pretence at patrolling before he gave up, with a quiet snort of self-disgust, and headed directly for the hospital wing. The desire to see the child was irrational and pointless. Since he would clearly get no rest until he had reassured himself that the boy was healthy, however, he might as well get it over with. Then he could get on with... things.

The hospital wing was dark and silent and he slipped between the beds as unremarked as any shadow. Hermione was in one of the private rooms tucked away at the end of the large infirmary, and he tapped the door-handle with his wand to ensure that it would open absolutely soundlessly. He opened it just a crack and froze, hearing a quiet murmur from inside.

"The outside world seems pretty big to you, I suppose," Hermione was murmuring. He looked through the crack to see her sitting up in bed with a fuzzy green bundle of blankets in her arms, and then looked away abruptly as he realised she was nursing. "Especially after how cramped up you've been for a while. But don't worry. I'll be right here, I promise." She cooed, shifting the baby a little. "And I won't be getting much sleep for a while, but that's okay. I've got a sling to put you in, so I can study while we cuddle. Mummy knows how to multi-task." She kept talking in that quiet, cooing tone, and he sneaked a glance at her. She had a loving expression on her face that made his stomach knot up with joy and jealousy. She loved the baby, was utterly absorbed by him, and he envied his son even as he was happy for him.

Long before he tired of watching, she shifted the baby in her arms, rearranging her nightgown and cuddling him against her shoulder. "There... ready to go back to sleep, sweetheart?" she said, and Severus thought he heard a faint coo from the child. Then Hermione looked up, as she leaned over to put the baby back in his cradle, and saw the open door. "Hello?"

He should have closed the door. He should have walked away. But she'd been eroding his self-control for too long, and he slipped into the room, closing the door silently behind him. "I..." What on earth could he say? "Are you... recovered?"

"Madam Pomfrey says I'll be all healed up by tomorrow, or the next day at the latest." Hermione shook her head, smiling. "It would take much, much longer the Muggle way." She looked down at the baby, and up at him. "He's perfect," she said, that tender note in her voice again, and then she smiled. "He looks like my father, I think. Would you... uhm... like to see him?"

"I... yes." There was no point in lying, she must know why he was here. "He's healthy enough, or so I hear." He moved closer, and she tilted the bundle towards him. He saw a little squashed, red face topped with a thick fuzz of dark hair, surrounded by pale-green blanket. The eyes were closed, the baby apparently fast asleep.

"He has brown eyes," Hermione said, brushing the tiny cheek lightly. "Isn't he beautiful?"

"He is... very small," Severus said quietly, half-lifting a hand and then forcing it back down to his side. He couldn't honestly say that his son was beautiful - he looked like a bald pink monkey - but he was tiny and helpless and vulnerable and he made his father's chest hurt with painful, complicated emotion. "Is it usual for a new baby to be that size?"

"He's a tiny bit smaller than usual, because he was born a bit early," Hermione said, gazing admiringly at her son. "But he's within the standard range of healthy birth-weights, even if it is near the bottom. Madam Pomfrey says he's in perfect health."

"Good." He found his hand lifting as if to reach out towards the child, and pushed it back down at his side quickly. "He doesn't resemble you. Or me. Fortunate, I suppose."

"He might favour either of us later. It's hard to tell with babies." Hermione looked amused. "Ron thought he was adorable. I think Harry thought he looked weird. He was trying to be polite, but he kept looking at him sort of... funny."

Severus scowled. His son might look a little pink and squashed, but that was no reason for Potter to be his usual rude, empty-headed self. He was supposed to be fond of Hermione, at least. "He looks like a perfectly ordinary baby, doesn't he? What's weird about that?"

"I don't think Harry's ever seen a newborn up close. He was probably expecting something cuter and chubbier." Hermione kissed her son's forehead gently. "Like the babies on television."

His son was far superior to the fat, stoned-looking babies Severus vaguely remembered seeing on television when young. He looked more alert even when sleeping in his mother's arms. "Perhaps I should feed Potter an Inflating Draught and some Dreamless Sleep and see how cute he thinks it is to look like a blancmange on drugs," he muttered.

Hermione laughed quietly. "That would be awfully difficult to explain to the Headmistress. However well-deserved."

Severus detected just a trace of annoyance, and smirked. As understanding as she was clearly trying to be, Hermione was irked that Potter didn't think her baby was pretty. "I assure you, my connection to his... state would never be discovered."

"Given that the first person consulted after Madam Pomfrey made her diagnosis would be you..." She snickered quietly. "But no. He's just not used to the reality of babies yet." She cuddled her son, and then looked up at Severus with an oddly hopeful expression. "Would you... er... like to hold him?"

Severus drew back hastily. "I might drop him," he said, although he knew he wouldn't. Years of training himself to absolute surety of movement wouldn't fail him now. But he knew that holding the child, acknowledging him even in the privacy of this room, would be a very, very bad idea.

"You wouldn't drop him," Hermione said, lowering her eyes hastily. "But you don't have to. I just thought... uh... that you might like to."

She wanted him to hold the child. As was happening more and more often, he found the desire to make Hermione happy, even for a moment, overriding his habitual caution. "Very well. Give him to me." He mimicked the configuration of her arms with his own, and she settled the baby into them, resting the child's head on his upper arm and supporting the boy's body with his other hand.

The baby weighed barely more than Akilah. Severus stared down at the tiny face, absently cataloguing the faint scents that came to his nose. Lavender, presumably from the blanket, chamomile from the soothing lotion Poppy had asked him to make, an odd smell that he couldn't identify that might be left over from the birth... While he catalogued, trying to quantify the tiny, living weight in his arms in some way he could understand, the child's eyes opened. They were brown, just as Hermione had said... an oddly murky colour, somewhat greenish, but definitely brown. They stared up at Severus with quiet curiosity for a moment, and then closed again as the baby sighed and drifted back into sleep.

Severus had never seen such trust and drowsy contentment in any look directed at him. For a long moment Hermione was entirely forgotten as he cradled his son. Then he looked up at her, swallowing hard. Let me acknowledge him. Let me be with both of you, love you both as you deserve, care for you... I don't know how but I want it so badly... He couldn't say it. She had offered him a place in her child's life, of her kindness, but not in hers. And to have one but not the other would be worse than being shut out entirely. "Have you chosen a name?"

"Yes. Martin Phillip Granger." Hermione reached out to twitch the blanket aside a little, revealing a tiny red fist that she stroked with the tip of her finger. "Martin for my grandfather, Phillip for my father." She smiled a little. "If he was a girl, he was going to be Katherine Jane, for my grandmother and my mother."

"A good name." Severus said quietly. Martin meant 'warrior', as he recalled, yet wasn't a militant-sounding name of itself... a well-chosen name for a child born of the aftermath of war and the celebration of peace. "Will your parents be coming here to see him?"

"Tomorrow. Professor McGonagall is arranging it." Hermione yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "They're so excited, I've had two owls from them already."

"Then I will let you sleep." Carefully, he laid his son in the crib, tucking his blanket in around him. Martin sighed again in his sleep, his lips pursing a little as he turned his head.

"I probably should." She leaned back against her pillows, giving him a drowsy smile that made his heart ache anew. "Thank you for coming."

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said quietly, and slipped away before she could look at him that way again. His patrol forgotten, he headed for his rooms, there to lie sleepless until dawn.

A thin, furry figure slipped out from under one of the beds in the outer infirmary, and sat down to lick her paws thoughtfully. A fascinating development...

"Hermione!" The moment she was through the door, Jane Granger rushed over to her daughter, hugging her gently. "Oh, darling, I can't believe it!"

"Where's the new arrival?" Phillip asked, pulling a large blue teddy-bear out from under his arm. "There he is... nice workmanship on that cradle, Hermione, it looks antique."

"It is antique. The house-elves are a little fuzzy on time, but it's at least six hundred years old." Hermione wriggled out of her mother's arms and scooped her son up out of his cradle. "The contents, however, are brand new and less than one day old. Isn't he beautiful?"

Harry might have proven unsatisfactory, but her parents cooed and fussed as much as Hermione could have hoped for. They'd brought armloads of gifts - toys, little suits with feet, tiny vests, a woolly hat with ears and other such things- and she gave them a recounting of the other gifts so far recieved. "Mrs Weasley sent me about six teeny woolly jumpers, and a blanket for him, and a simply enormous tin of fudge to keep my strength up."

"That was kind of her." Since it was Phillip's turn to have a hold of the baby, Jane had put her arms around Hermione instead. "She seems like a very nice lady."

"She really is, Mum." Hermione leaned happily against her mother's shoulder. "And I got the most appallingly overdone little baby-dress from Fleur and Bill, all over lace and bows and things. I know poor Bill had nothing to do with picking that thing out."

Jane giggled. "When you were born, you were given at least a dozen pretty little crocheted matinee jackets, with ribbons and roses and all sorts of things. Every time I put you in one, you vomited on it."

"If Martin vomited on this, I wouldn't blame him one bit." Hermione shuddered. "Neville's gift was nice, he gave me some soothing lotion for Martin's skin, and Madam Pomfrey gave me a little kit with all sorts of remedies for the little day-to-day problems babies have. Runny noses, rashes, that sort of thing." She laughed suddenly. "But Mum, you should have seen Crookshanks's present!"

"Crookshanks? Your cat brought you a present?" Phillip looked up from gurgling at his grandson. "How'd he manage that?"

"I don't know how he got it up here, I really don't." Hermione snickered. "But he marched in that door just after I woke up, and he was dragging a dead rabbit that was as big as he is, almost, and it was oozing blood on the floor, and oh, Dad, he looked so proud of it!"

Jane and Phillip both laughed at that. "Bless him, I expect he thought he should provide for you while you're laid up," Jane said, smoothing her daughter's hair back gently. "What on earth did you do with it?"

"Dilly - she's the house-elf assigned to me and Martin - took it away. I'm going to have it for lunch." Hermione smiled, shaking her head ruefully. "I just couldn't turn it down, after he'd gone to so much trouble."

"Well, rabbit is quite nourishing, I believe," Jane said, looking a bit doubtful. "And it was very kind of him to bring it."

"It was. He's quite taken to Martin, fortunately. I can't imagine what I'd have done if he'd come over jealous." Hermione reached down to the end of the bed, where Crookshanks had curled up on Molly's baby-blanket and was adding orange fur to the yellow fluff. "Yes, you like the baby, don't you?"

Crooks purred briefly, then tucked his paw over his head and went back to sleep. "Looks like his hunting trip took it out of him." Phillip handed the baby to his wife, and gave Crookshanks a pat. "Thanks for taking care of her, Crooks."

Crookshanks twitched an ear in acknowledgment... then suddenly bolted upright and leaped off the bed, taking refuge behind the cradle. All three Grangers stared at him for a moment, and then the door banged open. "Hi, Hermione!" Ron bounced in, with an unusually subdued Harry close behind. "We brought you something for the baby!"

"It's just like Christmas, except that most of the presents are too small for me." Hermione laughed when she opened the bag Ron offered her - he'd gone back and bought the dreadful Chudley Cannons outfit. "Oh, Ron, he's too young for Quidditch!"

"You're never too young to have a team," Ron said, gazing affectionately at the baby being cooed at by his grandmother. "And you know bugger all about Quidditch, so obviously Harry and I have to teach him."

Phillip laughed. "I'll teach him about football, you teach him about Quidditch," he said, nodding approvingly. "Between us, we'll bring him up a sportsman."

"That's the sort of thing his dad should be doing," Jane said, with a scowl that sat oddly on her friendly face. "I can't believe he still hasn't come forward."

"Oh, Mum..." Hermione took her baby back, cuddling him protectively. "Don't start again, please?" Jane had been absolutely supportive of her daughter and delighted to be having a grandchild, but her comments about the father of said grandchild had been getting more and more pointed as the pregnancy went on.

"Well, he should be here!" Jane said, still scowling. "Here's this beautiful baby, no dad in sight..." She gave Ron a suspicious look. She'd always suspected Ron, since he had been the boyfriend at the time.

Ron blinked, and then shook his head. "Don't look at me," he said firmly. "Couldn't possibly be mine. He's not got red hair." He tugged at a lock of his own flaming hair for emphasis. "Absolutely everyone in my family's got red hair, and his is darker than Hermione's."

Jane looked at Martin again, and then nodded, clearly conceding that point. "I do wish you'd tell us who it is, dear." She touched Hermione's shoulder in a conciliatory way. "We'd keep it secret if you wanted us to, of course."

"You would not. You'd murder him." Hermione glared at both her parents as well as Ron and Harry. "All four of you. You'd kill him and then you'd revive him just so you could drag him up here and order him to treat me nicely in future."

"Well, yeah. Probably." Ron, at least, had the grace to look mildly embarrassed. "But he deserves it, Hermione."

"He does not. You don't know anything about it." Martin whimpered, and Hermione occupied herself with untying the neck of her nightgown and tucking him into place. Harry turned around hastily, and Phillip looked away. Ron, having seen her breasts often and been quite fond of them, didn't bother. "He's my son, that's what matters."

"But he shouldn't get away with this, Hermione." Harry was still facing the other way, but he sounded annoyed. "He shouldn't treat you and the baby like you don't exist."

"He hasn't." Hermione hugged Martin a little tighter. "This is for the best, for him and for me and for Martin. It just... is."

"But Martin will want to know," Jane said. "It's not easy growing up without a dad, Hermione -"

"Yeah, and what if he looks like him?" Harry turned around, scowling. "What if someone works it out and Martin doesn't know, and -"

"Hey, I bet Mr and Mrs Granger would like a tour of the castle!" Ron said loudly. Everyone stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. "He said, tactfully hinting that perhaps Hermione's getting a bit upset and we should drop this now."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione whispered, giving him a wobbly smile.

"Yeah, well..." He flapped his hands at Harry and Hermione's parents until they left, Jane looking guilty and Phillip a little annoyed. "I may not have been the best boyfriend ever, Hermione, but I did learn to tell when you're upset." He leaned down and kissed her cheek affectionately. "I'll march them around the castle a few times and give you and the baby some peace, yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Hermione sniffed and kissed his cheek in return. "You really weren't the best boyfriend ever, but you're doing pretty great as a friend."

"It's my best thing." Ron looked down and grinned. "I do miss those, though."

Hermione laughed. "You haven't been going short of breasts since we broke up, Ron, I know that for a fact."

"And I've liked them all very much, but yours were the first ones I ever saw up close and they have a special place in my heart." Ron laughed, retreating to the door as she brandished a pillow at him. "All right, all right, I'm going. You feel better. I won't let them talk about it anymore."

"But if you find out, you'll kill him."

"Not kill, as such. Rough up a bit, of course, but I won't actually kill him if you don't want me to."

"I don't."

"Then I won't. I'll just hurt him."