Chapter 5

A Baby, a Bunny, and a Pair of Booties

In her dream, Snape sat behind her on the bed. She pressed her back into his chest as the contractions worked through her, bringing their child ever closer to birth. He stroked his long fingers across the side of her arm and told her what a good job she was doing, how brave and strong she was. She didn't believe a word of it, but gratefully reached up to grasp his biceps and dig her fingernails in when the pain became excruciating.

When it was all over, Madam Pomfrey laid the swaddled infant in Charity's arms while Snape's black eyes glittered with emotion. He'd remained steadfastly with Charity the entire time, and now wrapped his arms around hers to gently trace the tiny features of his child. He rested his chin on his wife's shoulder and whispered his gratitude for giving him a son.

In reality, it was Mrs. Burbage who joined Charity at the birth. Her presence was a comfort, although not nearly as reassuring as Snape's had been.

"My God, she looks like someone's putting the cruciatus curse on her!"

"Mrs. Burbage, if you can't remain calm—for your daughter's sake—I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to go into the other room," the midwife counseled. "Believe me when I tell you that she's the picture of composure compared to you on the day you brought her into this world."

Charity's mother closed her mouth and looked properly chagrined.

"I assume the reason you asked me to deliver your grandchild was because you trusted me, yes? So trust me, and do what I ask. Another contraction is starting—hold your daughter's hand and coach her through her breathing."

Mother and daughter inhaled and exhaled deeply until the contraction hit its peak, and then Charity nearly twisted her mother's hand off as she icksnayed the breathing and groaned the rest of the way down.

"Here." The midwife handed Mrs. Burbage a few small leaves. "Have her chew these. They'll help her relax between contractions."

Charity gobbled those leaves up as well as several more before her labor was finished. At last, the midwife delivered to the Burbage line another perfectly healthy baby girl.

"A girl!" Mrs. Burbage clapped her hands together.

"A girl?" Charity said, laughing. Snape continued to surprise her. The midwife took the infant away to wash and examine her, and Charity's eyes misted over. The love she had felt for the child while it grew in her womb suddenly magnified as she watched her squirm and cry.

"Good lungs," the midwife commented before wrapping the baby tightly in a flannel blanket and carrying her over to Charity. "Here's your daughter."

Charity gingerly accepted the warm bundle and blinked furiously to clear the tears that blurred her view of this most precious gift. The infant was exhausted from her ordeal and now slept peacefully in her mother's arms.

"She's got your nose," Mrs. Burbage murmured, and Charity didn't miss the note of relief. "What are you going to name her?"

"Her…" Charity's voice trailed off. She'd been so sure it was going to be a boy, she hadn't even thought of any girl names. "I think…Deanna."

. . . . .

Charity's mother stayed in Paris for a few weeks to help care for her grandchild, with Mr. Burbage joining them over Christmas and New Year's. But when the baby started sleeping for longer stretches at night and Charity had mastered nursing and diaper changing and promised to send an owl if she needed anything at all, Mrs. Burbage returned to England. She'd wanted to take Charity's pet rabbit back with her—said it was an unnecessary nuisance with the baby around—but Charity wouldn't hear of it. She couldn't abandon her faithful companion simply because she had a new love in her life.

But after her mother left and Charity looked around at her cramped apartment and got a whiff of the bunny litter that wasn't getting changed often enough, she realized that her mother had a point. She stroked the rabbit's silky black and white fur and got an idea. "I think I know just the place for you, my wittle pretty."

On a mild day at the end of January, Charity bundled up baby Deanna and took her to Ma Jolie Petite to meet Natalie. The shop was just about to close for lunch, and the only customers were a couple of witches browsing the magical section—as evidenced by their lack of response to her polite smile as she passed them.

"Ah, le bébé! I have something for you, ma cheri." Natalie snuffed out her cigarette and waved her hand through the air to clear the smoke, and then lifted a pink bag tied with a giant chiffon ribbon.

"Natalie, stop! You sent that huge basket over right after she was born. She's only six weeks old and you're already spoiling her."

"That is what fairy Squibmothers are for." Natalie smiled and handed the bag to Charity.

"Well, since you're in such a giving mood…when I come back to work, do you think we could give up a little space in the shop for my pet rabbit? The customers will love him, so he'll probably get more attention here than he does at home these days. And I'll make sure to clean out his cage twice a week and take care of all the feedings. What do you think?"

Natalie shook her head. "I'm not interested in running a petting zoo."

"Have I shown you the latest photo of him?" Charity pulled out a large wizard photo of her rabbit. It was sitting up on its back legs and wiping its adorable face with its front paws. Every once in a while it tilted its head to smooth a paw along one of its ears. The bunny was every bit as finicky about its appearance as Natalie was about hers, and Charity knew her partner wouldn't be able to resist the endearing display of cuteness and cleanliness.

Natalie's brow furrowed as she handed the picture back to Charity. "I do have some new potion recipes that require rabbit droppings."

"Perfect! You won't regret it!"

Natalie held a polished fingertip up in warning. "On a trial basis only. One whisker out of line, and he is gone. Now, I would much rather talk about this darling creature." She reached into the stroller and loosened Deanna's wrappings. "May I?"

"Of course."

Natalie lifted the baby and held her so that she could get a good look at her face. Deanna's dark eyes stared back at her. "What's this?" Natalie's thumb brushed a black curl peeking out from under the baby's cap, and Charity pulled the hat off completely to reveal a mass of black hair.

"The curls are mine; the color is her father's."

"The eyes are her father's too?"

"Mmm not quite, but the doctor said they'll likely darken even more as she gets older."

"Ah." Natalie winked at the baby as if they shared a secret.

Charity narrowed her eyes.

"What?" Natalie asked.

"Why did that 'ah' sound so smug?"

"Did it?"

"Yes, it did."

Natalie shrugged as she repositioned the baby more comfortably in her slender arms. "Is always a good feeling to solve a riddle."

"A riddle?"

"Oui. You tell me nothing of this mystery father's identity, and so it is a riddle for me to solve."

Charity's eyes widened. "And you solved it?"

"Did I?" Natalie raised a pencil thin eyebrow.

"Uh, well, I don't know. Wh—who…" Without realizing she was doing it, Charity had taken Deanna from Natalie and was now protectively cradling her child.

Natalie's mouth softened into a sympathetic frown. "Forget this. We do not need to discuss it."

"Yes, we do," Charity answered, stroking her cheek across Deanna's soft, warm curls. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. It's just…it's been my secret for so long, and you caught me off guard. Who—who do you think it was?"

"The double-agent wizard, Severus Snape."

Charity's swallowed to relieve the tightness in her throat. "How did you figure it out?"

"Not too difficult. I know your history—attendez un moment."

The two shoppers had emerged from the magical section. Natalie rang up their purchases and then followed them to the door to turn around the closed sign. When she returned, Charity clung more tightly than ever to Snape's child.

"The few times you did speak of the father, it was always with a measure of sadness—not bitterness, as with a break-up. So I conjectured he was no longer with us. And I've seen Monsieur Snape's pictures in the paper and read of his reputation prior to his death." Natalie's characteristic smirk twitched at her crimson lips. "It had all the makings of a classic bad boy/good girl romance. Then he saved your life and hid you away in his love nest—the attraction must have become irresistible."

"There was a little bit more to it than that," Charity said with a small laugh. Now that Natalie had said all this aloud, being outted didn't seem nearly so frightening.

"You loved him."

Charity nodded. "I still do."

. . . . .

The following weeks passed quickly, and when it came time for Charity to return to work, Mrs. Burbage didn't like the idea of her granddaughter being exposed to germs in the shop at such a young age, and so came back to Paris to babysit for those first few weeks. Charity thought her mother was being overly cautious, but was glad for the extra help—it was going to take some juggling to be able to keep up with the work at Ma Jolie as well as care for the baby at the same time. She didn't work Saturdays, and so Mrs. Burbage was able to spend the weekends in England with her husband, but those mid-week evenings became special times for the three generations of Burbage women.

Charity would feed the baby while Mrs. Burbage made dinner for the two adults, and then they'd marvel at how verbose and intelligent little Deanna was as she cooed and gurgled nonsense to them while they ate. After cleaning up the dinner things, Charity would rock the baby to sleep and hold her for a while, not caring what kind of bad habits she might be setting that she'd have to break later, and Mrs. Burbage would knit. Correction—Mrs. Burbage would attempt to knit. Deanna had yet to receive a pair of homemade booties. It wasn't that the knitting itself was bad—it was very even and tight, as a matter of fact—it was just that the resulting shape and size were never quite right.

"Good heavens," Mrs. Burbage commented one night as she held up a rather large stocking-looking thing. "This would fit your father!"

"Dad might like a pair of…pink…socks…?"

Mrs. Burbage let out a disgusted sigh and then flung the mammoth bootie into the air with her wand. The sock spun and flipped as an ever-increasing length of pink yarn pulled from it and danced around the room. She gave one final twirl and flick of her wand, and the whole thing landed in a pile at her feet.

"Mum, all of her jammies have feet in them anyhow. Do you know what she could use? A blanket. A nice, square blanket."

"Don't patronize me, dear," Mrs. Burbage chided as she picked up her needles and started again.

Charity chuckled and began humming softly to Deanna, who was fast asleep and breathing out warm gusts of air onto her mother's neck.

"It's bad enough I can't tell anyone about my gorgeous grandbaby, and now I can't even knit her a decent pair of booties. And that's not to mention all the lies I've had to tell people about where you are and where I'm going when I come to visit. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to hold off Oliver Wood. The poor boy seems on the verge of calling in his own team of bloodhounds."

"Ollie's called for me?"

"Heavens yes. You've gotten a couple of owls from your Preppy mates too. I forgot to bring the letters. Ah well, next time. Did I tell you Miss Marple had quite the mystery going on over at her place? It ended up only being a garden gnome with a penchant for Frank Sinatra, but for a while there…"

Mrs. Burbage continued to prattle on about the goings on in the neighborhood while Charity thought about Oliver Wood. She'd done the disappearing act on him once again and wouldn't blame him if he wrote her off completely. Even still, she was glad to hear he hadn't. At least, not yet.

When her mother seemed to have run out of stories for the evening and the room fell silent, Charity told her, "If Ollie Wood calls again, it's okay to tell him where I am."

"Oh, he'll call," Mrs. Burbage stated confidently before holding up her knitting for an examination. "Ugh, for Merlin's sake!"

The knits and pearls once again flew up into the air.