Vignette 5: Firstborn
It was late at night, but Snape was still awake, still in his chair, still working on his freelance chemistry work, writing down formulas, when he heard a commotion upstairs. His instinct snapped alert, and easily surmised what all the fuss was about.
Better go make sure the golden boy doesn't bungle this, he thought to himself, setting down his pen, rubbing his eyes strained from late night work, and wheeled himself upstairs. There he found Hermione standing with her hand over her round belly, a certain twitching concern in her eye, and Harry running around like a chicken without a head trying to piece together a throw bag that looked fit more for a rummage sale than a hospital stay.
Snape exhaled. "Seriously? You didn't prepare for this ahead of time?"
"I'm prepared, alright!" Harry blurted irritably.
"Yes, I can tell," he drawled. "Your efforts would surely put Ethelred the Unready to shame. For the first time in centuries, he genuinely has a contender for the title…"
"Would you quit treating me like a school boy!" Harry exploded. "You're in my house after all, you arrogant git!"
"I'm the arrogant one, am I?" he sneered. "I think you're getting rather big in the head for your damned bloody britches to fit over…roughly where your eminent brain capacity is located…"
"Both of you, please, no fighting…ahh…" Hermione leaned against the end table against an early contraction.
"See, now you've upset Hermione! If something bad happens, it'll be your fault!"
Snape opened his mouth to spit something back, but then seemed genuinely wounded by accusation, and closed it again.
"Harry, now stop it, I'll be fine," Hermione chided him. "But look, you'd better go upstairs and get yourself a bag too, just in case."
"Uh…should I leave you alone?" he asked, hesitatingly.
"I'm not gonna dissolve for the next 5 minutes, okay?" she huffed. "Besides, the professor's here…"
"A lot of help he would be in an emergency," Harry snorted.
Snape shot him a look that read "that was the stupidest most ill-thought-out thing you could have possibly said in the universe, vagrant", and it had the effect of chastening Harry. After all, he had provided Snape with enough emergencies to deal with over the years, and the mere fact that he was alive bore testament to the old wizard's skill at damage control.
"Alright…okay, I'll get the bag," he mumbled, somewhat ashamed of himself, and headed upstairs.
"Harry….he didn't mean it. He's just nervous, that's all." She closed her eyes automatically at the pain, and leaned against the coach arm.
"For the love of Merlin, sit down and lie back, girl!" Snape snapped at her. "What are you trying to show off about? How you can go through the onset of labor on your feet?"
She didn't have to be told twice, leaning back into the coach. "I suppose it will be a boy," she remarked. "The way he's been kicking me…always trying to get attention, being active…"
"And you never tried that, young lady?" Snape snarked.
She snorted. "Yes, but I did it…all in my head."
"Well, you knew everything, of course," he mumbled sarcastically.
"Yes…I was always…up to something…oh…" She tightened at another full contraction. "This…this has got…to be a boy…" She smiled a little, trying to make light of the look on the professor's face.
"Is the pain…particularly bad early on?" he asked rather cautiously.
"No, I…no, it's not bad…I've been through worse things, I'm sure…I can handle it…I suppose I'm just…new to it…it's different than anything I've felt…" She brought her hand to her face as if shielding a few unexpected tears. "Alright, so you can start…start saying how much of a weakling I am now…getting all out of sorts out of something that women have been doing since the beginning of time…go ahead…"
What she didn't expect was to feel her hand being clasped. She gazed at his hand, stiffly but firmly holding hers, the same look on his face, somewhat colored by questioning now if this is really what he was supposed to be doing.
She looked him in the eyes. "You're softer than you act sometimes."
"I believe my grip is not soft at all," he retorted. "Besides, it's only fitting…" He paused awkwardly. "When I knew pain, you let me…hold."
"Ah, a turn for a turn, is that all?" she twitted him.
His eyes started to soften. "I…don't like to see you in pain."
She smiled softly and squeezed his hand back.
He turned his eyes down. "It'll be a boy, surely," he sighed. "High strung and always in trouble…no doubt with a chip on his shoulder, just like his father. I shall find him profoundly annoying, no doubt…and…" He drew a long pause. "I suppose you'll be expecting me to keep him out of trouble again, yes?"
"It's what you do best," she conceded with a chuckle. "You've always been…good with emergencies…" She flinched again.
"Damn," he grunted, then yelled up the stairs, "Potter! Get the hell down here, or do you want to be delivering your brat on your own?!"
"Alright, alright, here," he blurted, half-tripping down the stairs and spilling the bag on the ground. "You don't have to shout!"
"Well, what do you think YOU'RE doing, brainless one?!"
"Both of you, please, now pull yourselves together! Let's just…let's just go, okay?"
"Right," Harry agreed, helping to pull her up from the couch and escort her towards the door.
"Careful…driving," Snape muttered under his breath.
Hermione smiled over her shoulder at him. She had a knack for reading between the lines. "Harry will give you the ring if anything momentous occurs."
"No need, he'll probably just rouse me from my sleep," he grunted.
"Why you uncaring git…" Harry sputtered.
"Er…he'll call you anyway," Hermione assured, with a roll of her eyes, and they both headed out the door.
And lo and behold, Snape found himself worrying, and that alone made him worry that he was altogether losing his marbles. He shouldn't be worrying, no, not at all. That sort of thing was a bad sign, a very bad sign indeed…that was a sign that an attachment had started to sink in. And he had sworn to himself long ago he allow himself no other attachments. He was frustrated with himself.
But all that did nothing to stop him staying up all night next to the phone and nearly falling out of his wheelchair when it finally rang, with Harry, now having been united to Snape through common concern, had enough wherewithal to break the news that Hermione had come through okay, and somewhat incoherently with sheer hyperactivity, explode with the news that it was a boy, and he was a father…Snape tossed in something suitably droll about acting as if he deserved a badge for his wife's labor pains. But he was inwardly pleased nonetheless.
When they finally came back home from the hospital the following day, Snape was on the first floor, waiting for them. Harry seemed jittery yet excited and Hermione exhausted yet almost blissful, looking down into the carrier at her newborn. She sat down on the couch, seemingly enraptured by what she had brought home.
"You…alright?" he asked gingerly.
She nodded somewhat sleepily but happily. "I told you it would be a boy. He gave me quite a time of it for a while."
She reached into the carrier and pulled her baby up into her arms as it started to make gurgling noises. She looked very happy with it, although Snape surmised it looked something like a scruchy-faced newly-hatched dinosaur. He restrained himself from the commentary, however.
"So what…what did you name it? Or did you…?"
"He's named James, what do you think of that?" Harry announced in a challenging tone.
"Harry," Hermione blurted. "Could you…go in the kitchen and get me a sandwich? I'm rather hungry."
"Oh…sure."
Hermione noted the look on Snape's face, the look of having his imperfect efforts at being understanding slapped back in his face, and being told in so many words that this was his old rival's domain, even from the grave. And as always, "Snivelus" was sticking his snout into everyone else's business…She could hear his teeth grind…
"Want to hold him?" she asked carefully.
"Not especially," he grunted, tired of trying to be polite.
She gazed at him softly. "He's mine too, you know," she reminded him. "He's…he's part know it all, and he'll have to get used to you keeping him in line…hmm?"
Damn. Why did he feel so beholden to her? He hated feeling beholden. But her gentleness over the past year had worn away the strength and length of his defensive modes. And somehow or other, he found himself allowing her to position his one good arm to receive the little bundle.
"Just lean him up against you like so…there…that's not so bad is it?"
The baby seemed somewhat curious by the shift of perspective and wiggled a little bit.
"It's not going to throw up on me, is it?" he inquired blandly.
"We would hope not," she exhaled.
He stared down at the infants for a few moments, feeling rather nervous. It wasn't really all that heavy, but he was using only one arm, and was totally new to the act. But, he noted, the child seemed largely unafraid, just lost in its own little world of baby nonsense, sucking on one of its hands. Then Snape felt a rather odd emotion that made him even more comfortable. It wasn't so much that he thought the child was adorable, or anything so ridiculous, but it was just…so very helpless and harmless, and something like protective instinct was being roused…and he didn't altogether like the fact that he could feel protective over James the Second…it was damnably unnatural…he wanted to get this over with…
"Alright, fine, I'm holding it…how long do I have to…?"
Suddenly he looked up and saw there was a smile on Hermione's face and her cell phone was extended. Something like panic gripped Snape, and he sputtered, "Don't you dare, young lady…!"
But the photo snap sound already resonated from the hand-held device, and he was shutting his eyes to the electric shock sensation, and she was observing it like a trophy of war. Snape shut his eyes closed from the flash.
"Damn it, what are you trying to do, blind me, woman?!" As if on cue, the baby started crying.
"Well, what are you trying to do, scare little James half to death?" she chided him, though not too harshly scooping her baby back from him, and patting him on the back. "Besides…this will be perfect for the refrigerator…"
"Miss Gra…Mrs. Potter…"
"Oh, no," she chuckled, "not back to school again…"
"Hey, got the sandwiches," Harry announced, handing one to his wife and haphazardly tossing the other to Snape.
"What…what is this, Potter?" Snape demanded, staring at the substance suspiciously.
"It's a sandwich," he stated.
"Yes, but what type?"
"Peanut butter marshmallow banana."
"What?! You're giving that to your wife fresh out of the hospital bed?"
"Actually, I quite like those," Hermione chimed in, giving Harry a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, dear."
Snape rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you to your smorgasbord," he grumbled, starting to wheel out of the room.
"Oh, and Professor…" Hermione called after him.
He turned back with a look of annoyance.
She smiled. "Thanks."
He exhaled in exasperation, shook his head somewhat indulgently, and wheeled away.
