Chapter 18 – Part 5

"You should eat something more than that." Lavender was berating Hermione whilst devouring toast and bacon. Hermione had just managed to force a piece of toast down, but felt too sick to eat anything else.

"I can't, I feel terrible."

"Have you taken the potion that Professor Snape gave you?"

"No," Hermione replied irritably, "I don't want to take anything. It can't be good taking all these potions to cure anything and everything."

Harry, seated the other side of her, stared at Hermione as though she was insane. "You used to take anything just to see what it would do! You drank Polyjuice Potion that you brewed in a toilet!"

"Now she won't even take a potion for contraception," Lavender added sagely.

"Hence the current predicament," Harry concluded.

"Would you two just shut up?" Hermione winced and felt her stomach churn.

"He wouldn't give you anything that would hurt you," Harry said quietly, "or the baby either."

"Since when did you join the Severus Snape Fan Club?" Hermione snapped.

"I haven't, but I know he wouldn't hurt you."

"Yeah, well, he hasn't said two words to me since he found out about the baby."

"That's not true," Lavender countered, "he came and gave you the potion. He was really nice to you then."

"You think he's just lovely don't you? Why don't you marry him if you think he's so great?"

Harry and Lavender stared at her. "Wow." Harry managed, "That was the most childish thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

Harry was distracted when McGonagall placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and owls began to descend from the rafters with the morning mail. Hedwig dumped two letters onto Harry's plate and then settled on the table to pick at what was left of Harry's breakfast.

"Hermione?" McGonagall leaned down to speak quietly into Hermione's ear, "I've booked an appointment for you at St Mungo's, for next Saturday morning. We thought it might be best if you and Severus go to London on Friday evening so you have plenty of time to get there."

"Friday?" Hermione frowned at her, "Why can't we just Apparate on Saturday morning?"

Minerva pursed her lips disapprovingly. "You can't dear, and Apparating is very bad for the foetus. Now it might be an idea to ask Mr. Potter if you can both stay at Grimmauld Place. Severus has said that he'll get rooms at the Leaky Cauldron but it depends on what you would prefer."

"I have keys to Grimmauld Place," Hermione murmured, "we can stay there."

"Good," Minerva smiled tightly, "Good. I know that Severus is trying to get a coach to take you to London, but Albus isn't overly pleased with this turn of events and is saying that he can't have it, so you'll probably have to take the Knight Bus…I'm sure Severus will come up with something else."

"Tell him the bus will be fine."

"Alright." Minerva looked at Hermione, attempting to decipher her mood. "Are you feeling well?"

"I…I'm…I feel a little…sick."

"Oh yes…" Minerva smiled, remembering a piece of information she was supposed to be passing on, "Severus says to drink your potion."

Hermione said nothing, but as Minerva straightened up and turned to go Hermione grabbed her arm. "How is he?" She asked quickly; " How is he about…about everything?"

Minerva bent back down to Hermione's ear. "He's better than I thought he'd be," she admitted. "I thought he'd have run screaming into the distance if someone gave him this piece of news. But he is very…calm."

Hermione absently stroked her small belly through her robes. Calm was better than terrified, and it was certainly better than angry or depressed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle of potion that he had given her. Harry was right, Severus wouldn't hurt her, not physically anyway.

"Take the potion," Minerva said in a motherly fashion as she finally began to walk away. She patted Hermione's shoulder, "It'll make you feel much better." Minerva then looked to Lavender and in a firmer voice said, "Make sure she takes it."

Lavender grinned and began berating Hermione with renewed vigor.

"Who did you get letters from? " Hermione asked Harry, ignoring Lavender who was pouring a measure of the potion into a spoon.

"One from Moody…" Harry scowled at the letter and crumpled it into a ball, "congratulating me on getting rid of Draco. The other one is from Fred," Harry picked up the letter, reading from it, "he wants me to go out to a club with him."

"Maybe you should go," Hermione suggested, taking the spoon from Lavender and downing the potion, "Ooh, Strawberry flavored."

"He must've made it nice for you," Lavender teased, "I think he lurves you."

Hermione rolled her eyes theatrically. If only it were true. "Maybe you should go," she repeated to Harry.

"With Fred?" Harry sounded dubious, "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not? You might have fun."

"Yeah, and I might spend all night working out how to get Fred's hands off my arse."

Hermione shook her head and smiled, feeling better as the potion quickly went to work. She only wanted to see Harry happy, and while she did not believe that Harry and Fred would make an even halfway decent couple, she thought that perhaps Harry might enjoy a night out and away from his troubles – and away from Draco. Draco, who hadn't said much at all to anyone, but who was slowly killing himself with drink and Harry was blaming himself for that too.

For Lavender though, the thought of Draco was a little more troubling and she couldn't help but ask the obvious question; "what about Draco?"

"I'm suggesting Harry go out for a night," Hermione replied, "I'm not suggesting he and Fred go and elope."

"Yeah, but it's still a date," Lavender reasoned, "and unlike you guys I've actually talked to Draco recently and I've seen what he's doing to himself. He's not going to take it well."

Harry was silent at this. It was true, he couldn't imagine Draco taking it well. School would be over soon, exams were in a matter of weeks and after that Harry would leave Hogwarts and probably wouldn't see Draco again. There would be plenty of time to go out with Fred then.

But that prospect terrified him too. He didn't not want to see Draco everyday, and in all honesty he didn't want to go out with Fred, even for a couple of drinks.

The bench moved and someone sat down heavily beside him. Harry glanced sideways and felt his mouth dry up when he realized that Draco had just sat himself down next to him and was reaching for coffee.

"What are you doing?"

Draco looked back at him and scowled, "having breakfast, what does it look like I'm doing?"

Harry stared at him, unshaven, reeking of stale alcohol and sweat and Harry still wanted him – badly.

Draco's mouth twisted into a sneer as he misinterpreted the look on Harry's face; "if you look around the table you'll notice that there's no other place to sit," he growled it out and when Harry said nothing he pushed the coffee away, swore violently and made to leave the table.

Harry grabbed him and pulled him back. "Sit down," he said, his confusion over what to say easily being mistaken for irritation, "and eat your bloody breakfast."

Draco, who really needed the coffee, slumped back down insolently.

"Draco." Lavender leaned across Hermione and Harry and before they could think to stop her she asked; "Fred Weasley asked Harry to go and have a couple of drinks with him. Would you have a problem with that?"

Harry glared at Lavender as his stomach flip flopped and Hermione automatically began massaging the headache from her temples.

Draco stared at Harry. "You want to go out with Fred Weasley?"

"It's just a drink," Harry said stiffly.

"Why?" Draco asked in a clipped tone.

"Because he asked me." The irritation in Harry's voice was very real now.

"Are you planning to fuck him?" Draco asked accusingly.

Harry's mouth fell open. Why was it that Draco's first thought always had to go straight to fucking? And why, Harry reasoned, should he have to justify who he was going out with?

"Well?" Draco demanded, "are you?"

"If I fucking want to!"

"Fine, "Draco spat getting up from the table, "have fun… and I hope you catch some hideous fucking disease from his putrid fucking cock!"

And with that he stalked away.

Lavender shrugged in the face of the furious stare Harry was giving her. "Well, at least now you know he minds."

"Yeah, thanks Lav," Harry sneered, "thanks a lot."

*******
Lucius sat in his ornate wheelchair and stared out the French doors onto the balcony. He had not been outside for three days, despite the fact that the sun was shining and summer had almost arrived. It seemed he was perpetually stuck indoors.

He knew why. Non had gone to Hogwarts and not come back. Semeuse had been silent on the House Elf's absence and had made no moves to replace him. The Curator's mood had been foul, and he'd not spoken to Lucius since Non had disappeared. Instead Semeuse had hit him occasionally, and grunted something before magically hurling him to the bed and buggering him hard.

Lucius had come to the conclusion that Non was dead. Semeuse must have caught him – and Semeuse must have killed him.

He'd surprised himself by crying when he'd realized the little Elf's fate. Not for himself, but because he had; beyond all expectations, liked Non. He had grown up with the Elf in the house, and he had placed Draco in his care. Non had started in the kitchen and worked his way up to running the whole Manor. He did not belong in the museum. He did not deserve to die because the Curator of the museum was a madman, or because Lucius had gotten himself into this kind of trouble. He deserved to be back at the Manor, living his life and dying a very old contented Elf indeed.

He didn't deserve to have a sick pervert kill him.

Lucius wondered what had happened. Had Non been caught going to Hogwarts or coming back? Or had he just displeased the Curator as so many of the Elves had?

The irony was not lost on Lucius. He'd killed plenty of what he'd termed lower creatures just because they had irritated him.

But Non was not a lesser creature. Non was Non and Lucius felt the loss of him more than he thought possible.

It was as though a net was closing around him. He was going to die alone here and for the first time he felt scared.

*******
Hermione stood nervously outside the castle gates trying not to let her feet sink into the mud that lined the edge of the road. Not that the road itself was much better, but since the rain had finally stopped for more than a week, everything was beginning to dry out. The chill of winter was also beginning to diminish although it was still cold. She had always remembered May to be warmer than this, but then again, she could be wrong. She wasn't sure of much any more.

She had dressed for the trip to London with deliberate casualness. Basic jeans and jumper and her heavy traveling cloak wrapped tightly around her to ward off the chill. Lavender had suggested something more sexual, something seductive that would perhaps lure her companion into her bed, or drive him insane. Hermione doubted that making such an effort would be worth any rewards. Severus Snape was not the type to be seduced by an outfit and whilst their last few meetings had certainly been civil, they had not been particularly friendly. It was obvious to her that the prospect of fatherhood terrified him and that his way of coping was to retreat into civility. He had approached the task of appointment making and arrangements with the same military precision that a general would use when planning a battle. It was something he had to do, not something he wanted to do.

Hermione looked at her watch – he was late. Very late. Which went against everything she ever knew of him. The sun was setting and she looked nervously back to the castle. She didn't like the idea of standing outside the castle alone. No matter how many times Harry had told her not to worry about Krum, she couldn't help herself. How did Harry know that Krum wouldn't come looking for her? He had promised her that he'd not killed Krum and she was uncomfortably aware that she wished he had. At least that way she could stop looking over her shoulder every five minutes.

She shivered under the cloak and clutched her bag a little tighter. Had she known Severus was going to be late she would have taken the time to re-pack her bag. She knew full well that Lavender had exchanged her pajamas for some scrap of silk and all of her comfortable underwear for little lacy things. Hermione had been supremely annoyed. Aside from the obvious implications, she liked her cotton underwear and she liked her Pooh Bear pajamas, why couldn't Lavender just accept it?

Besides, she was pregnant and wasn't comfort more of a priority than sexual allure when you were pregnant? Not that she looked pregnant. She had developed the smallest of belly's, but it didn't look out of place or unbecoming. She had also developed a fabulous cleavage seemingly overnight – not that anyone had noticed, as she'd kept her shirts securely buttoned up and her robes clasped – Lavender thought it all a terrible waste.

"I'm sorry," Severus came running down the path from the castle towards her, "I got held up at Staff Meeting. That stupid Sprout woman was carrying on saying that someone had killed all of her Snapping Lilliums and it just had to be a Slytherin student. Of course she doesn't know exactly who it was, but it had to be a Slytherin…" he stopped, realizing that she probably had no interest what so ever in his gripe with the Herbology Professor.

He was of course wrong in that assumption. Hermione would have sat down and listened to him complain about his day for hours on end. Especially if they were settled in front of a fire and she could perhaps give him a neck rub and they were living happily ever after.

She shook her head and dispensed with the fantasy. She smiled nervously.

"How do you feel?" He eyed the area of her cloak that concealed her belly.

"I'm okay…a little cold."

"It'll be warmer in London." He really was not good at small talk, and so he looked away, suddenly finding the castle wall incredibly interesting.

Hermione looked at him openly, taking in the whole of the man he was. He too was wearing a travel cloak, and he appeared to have worn Muggle clothing under it, something she knew would have pained him. She could see a glimpse of wool and what looked suspiciously like corduroy. He was holding a battered black carry on bag and he changed hands so that he could pull out his wand to hail the bus.

"I'm really not looking forward to this," she laughed nervously.

"It'll be fine, I'm sure that St Mungo's will be very professional."

"I was talking about the bus ride."

"Oh." The ivy on the castle wall was looking particularly green this evening.

Hermione rocked back and forward on her feet, wondering what else she could say. Something to take her mind off the fact that she was about to go to London with her Potions Master; ex-lover, to check the progress of her accidental pregnancy. Oh yeah, her life was going along fabulously.

She was saved from having to speak by the violent purple bus seeming to burst out of nowhere and screech to a halt in from of them, spraying both their cloaks with mud and causing them both to swear bluntly. Severus reached for Hermione's bag and she released it willingly as Stan Shunpike leaned lazily against the door frame and began his usual spiel, reciting it as though he had learned it by rote and had no real interest in his new passengers at all.

Severus ignored him, protectively ushering Hermione up the step and on to the bus itself. Stan didn't even notice that his passengers were on board until Severus roughly shoved the bags at him. And then he couldn't help but gape in a combination of horror and shock. He could have happily lived his entire life without seeing Professor Severus Snape ever again, and now here the old buzzard was, on the bus…his bus. Why was he catching the bus? Without thinking he squeaked out, "Professor Snape!" and then instantly regretted it when Snape turned a critical eye on the acne faced conductor.

In all honesty Snape could not remember who Stan Shunpike was, which was a fairly good indicator that; at school at least, Shunpike had been a reasonable student who neither excelled at anything nor caused him any trouble. Snape looked into Stan's eyes, plucked his name from his mind and grunted, "Shunpike."

Stan could not seem to draw his gaze from his old Potions Master, the last person he ever expected to climb aboard the Knight Bus. He didn't even notice that he had two passengers and not one.

"Two tickets, London, Grimmauld Place," Snape muttered sharply.

Stan snapped out of his stupor and his eyes instantly flicked from Snape to Hermione and his eyes widened. Hermione he did recognize. She had caught the bus a few times; a friend of Harry Potter's, about 18 years old and getting on the bus with professor Snape – and they both had Muggle clothes on under their robes. Stan's mind made a leap of faith and came up with something that he would have been shocked to find was rather accurate. "Going away for the weekend then, Professor?"

"How much does it usually cost to make this journey without the questions?" Snape growled.

Stan's eyebrows shot up into his fringe and he began to suspect that his thought (that the pair were off for a dirty weekend) might actually be correct. "There are sleepers on the upper decks Professor, but it's still seating down here. Where would you like to sit, Sir?"

Severus knew the bus well enough to know that they wouldn't wait for them to reach the upper decks before taking off and he didn't want to risk Hermione falling over – and it was still early, so they wouldn't want to sleep anyway. "Down here is fine."

Stan tried a lopsided grin, but the idea of having Snape on the bus had caused his day to become just that little bit worse, though having said that, his love of fresh gossip was working overtime, and all of it was focused on why Snape was on the bus with this girl. He allowed the strange pair to shuffle down the isle and find two armchairs near the front, then he ambled to the front himself and banged on the partition window and saying loudly "London Ern, Grimmauld Place". He then turned and grinned as the bus shot off into the oncoming night.

Hermione's stomach gave a lurch and both chairs slid forward a little.

Stan leaned easily against the window and picked his teeth; "Hot Chocolate? Cup of tea?"

Severus tried to be formal, but his own stomach had started to churn and he looked at Hermione and managed to get out, "do you want anything?"

Hermione really didn't think that her stomach was going to stand up to actually drinking anything on the bus. She dug her fingers into the arm of her chair and gulped, "no thank you," as she felt the blood draining from her face.

"Just the tickets," Snape said, directing this to Stan and worrying a little over the knowledge that Hermione was not going to take this ride well.

Stan gave one last look before issuing the tickets and pushing himself off the window and turning to at least pretend that he was focusing his attention on Ern and the road ahead.

Severus turned his attention to Hermione, "are you alright?"

She tried to smile reassuringly. "I…" she swallowed thickly as the bus rounded a corner and stopped suddenly, sending the chairs skidding forward violently. Snape grabbed the arm of Hermione's chair, ensuring that she didn't end up at the other side of the bus. He hadn't ridden the Knight Bus since he was a child – and it appeared that Ern's driving had not improved.

Several people climbed aboard and mounted the stairs to the upper deck as the bus took off at full pace once again.

"Oh God, does he have to drive like that?" Hermione groaned.

"He always has," Snape replied.

"Doesn't make it right," she gasped, suppressing a burp, "every time I ride this thing I get sick."

As they rounded another bend the countryside became little more than a dark blur and Snape's churning stomach was beginning to instigate itself more forcefully. He felt sick but he wasn't sure what was causing it, Ern's driving or the fact that he was getting closer to London and thus confirmation of his role as father to be.

He decided it was probably Ern's driving, and he should have tried to find something more suitable to travel in. After all, Hogwarts had carriages, and he should have been able to borrow one. Dumbledore had not been entirely happy about Hermione's…condition. Still, by punishing Severus he was also punishing Hermione. Snape decided he would hire something in Diagon Alley to get them back to the castle.

There were several stops to make before they reached the outskirts of London and any conversation they might have had was stilted in the face of their motion sickness and Stan Shunpike watching them with unguarded interest. When the bus finally stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron they both breathed out with relief. They were much closer to escaping, with only a few more stops before they could get off the bus and let their stomachs settle.

Irrationally Snape felt hungry, which seemed to fly in the face of his current predicament. He wondered what she wanted for dinner.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked as the bus took off again. Hermione felt as though she had been sitting there for hours and was surprised when Severus told her it was a little after eight o'clock in the evening. They'd only been on the bus for a little over forty-five minutes, not the multiple hours that it felt like.

When the bus came to a halt at the end of Grimmauld place they both climbed gratefully from the bus and took a few deep breaths. Stan Shunpike took one last suspicious look and the bus sped off out of sight.

Hermione stepped cautiously across the uneven cobblestones that lined the sides of the road, rummaging through her cloak for her keys to the house while Severus picked up the bags from where they had been dumped. As always, the rubbish bins seemed to be overflowing at every house on the street and the smell assaulted her nostrils, obliterating any relief from the incessant nausea that she may have felt when she got off the bus. She pulled the keys out of her pocket and stared at the row of houses until they shuddered and then slowly separated, revealing number twelve, Grimmauld Place for the pair of them to see.

She stared at the house for a long time, for some reason dreading the climb up the stairs. She absently turned the keys over in her fingers and stared at the door.

"Do you have the right keys?"

She jumped, his presence enveloping her. "Huh? Oh, yes…sorry, I was off in my own world." She stepped up to the house and unlocked the door, slipping inside as quietly as a thief as a matter of habit more than anything else. She didn't have to be so stealthy. Harry had told her that Draco had managed to coax old Mrs. Black off the wall, along with the family tree and they both now hung in some remote part of the Malfoy Manor where Mrs. Black was well and truly happy, surrounded by hundreds of portraits of Malfoy family ancestors.

But they were still quiet as they walked down the hall, passing the living room which had been redecorated for comforts sake and was hardly ever used, and heading to the kitchen. Despite the kitchen being dark and gloomy most people still gathered there. Harry had tried desperately to make the living room a place that visitors felt they could relax in, but they had all returned to the kitchen in the end.

Severus set the bags down by the hearth and pulled out his wand to light the fire. He didn't mind the kitchen; he'd been in worse. "Is this where you plan to live?" he asked, "I was led to believe that Potter had asked both you and Weasley to live here...does he still want that?"

Hermione nodded and warmed her fingers over the newly lit flames. "Yes, he's happy to have people here, and I don't think he wanted to be prowling around this place by himself."

Snape, who had always been alone, snorted with derogatory humor.

"Well you can't talk," she said crisply. "You've spent your entire adult life at Hogwarts, and you won't even live in your own house – and the Fenn is beautiful!"

He shut up at that, not wanting to admit that she was right – but he felt a well of hope opened in his stomach, she thought the Fenn was beautiful. The Fenn. Possibly the most unbeautiful place he could imagine. But then he was possibly biased on that score. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked irritably.

Hermione had not thought about dinner at all. She had considered eating before they left, but considering the bus ride she was very glad she didn't. "I don't know." She shrugged. She knew there was nothing in the house and she couldn't cook anyway. "We could go out."

"I was more thinking of the chip shop down the road," he admitted, "but we can go somewhere if you want to."

"Chips are fine."

"No, we'll go out, there has to be something around here."

Hermione seemed to recall that there was an Indian within walking distance, but now that he had mentioned chips she was warming to the idea. "Actually." She smiled. "Chips sound really good."

He felt a warm pleasure flow into the well in his stomach, he'd managed to make her smile. "Chips it is then." He tried a tentative smile of his own and slipped his cloak off, hanging it over the back of a chair.

She smiled again. He looked so sweet in Muggle clothes, like her odd uncle who routinely got dressed in the dark. She wasn't going to tell him that though. She watched as he rummaged through his pockets, looking for his wallet and when he found it she watched as he checked the money in it. She was surprised that he knew anything about Muggle money, as most Pureblood Wizards didn't have any idea of Muggle money's worth. The idea that paper could be traded for anything at all was ludicrous to a society that placed their trust in gold, silver and bronze.

"Do you want anything other than chips?"

She made a soft humming noise as she considered the question and then looked at him with large wheedling eyes; "Umm, a piece of battered hake…and some mushy peas."

"Oh Gods, how can you eat mushy peas?"

"I have no idea, I just want them tonight."

He looked slightly disgusted, this must be the notorious cravings he had heard so much about. It had to be, because it would be a cold day in the nether regions of hell before he ate mushy peas. He shoved the wallet into his back pocket, absently ran his hand through his greasy hair and told her to find plates and the like while he went to get food.

He took longer than either of them expected. He'd found the chip shop with no problems, but had also found a Europa store open across the road and decided that purchasing food for the next day was a good idea. He did not like to entertain the idea of starting his day without his morning coffee, and he knew that she needed to eat, so by the time he arrived back at the house he was laden down with simple basics such as bread butter and milk as well as fruit and juice and; to Hermione's delight, chocolate, biscuits and ice-cream.

They ate, keeping up a friendly banter. She had almost forgotten how easy he could be to speak to and as long as she avoided the topic of the child he seemed to relax no end. They discussed the upcoming exams. He thought she would do well, Lavender's idea for opening a perfume store (he thought the idea was ridiculous, and who would pay good money for a scent they could make themselves?), and Harry and Draco's break up. He was; quietly, unashamedly happy about it, but he did admit that Draco was not handling it well, and when pushed, he reluctantly agreed that perhaps they would be better off together.

Once dinner was finished and the dishes washed and cleared away (neither of them were particularly good at household charms so they did it the Muggle way), thoughts automatically turned to what they were going to do for the remainder of the night. It seemed too early to go to bed and although Hermione was a little tired, she was reluctant to go to sleep. It had been a long time since she'd been able to just sit and talk to him, and it felt good. Good to just sit there with him and talk about something other than school work. Good to feel close to him, as though he was still the lover he had once been.

Also, the topic of sleeping arrangements had not yet been discussed and he had no idea where any of the guest rooms were. She should really tell him, or show him, but once again, she was reluctant to do so.

He was planning to just follow her upstairs and wing it from there, and he figured there had to be some room he could sleep in, even if it was Potter's or Weasley's.

"What about a game?" Hermione asked at last. She could have suggested television, as they'd had one installed over the summer, but the reception was impossibly bad because of all the wards on the house – and when they could get a decent picture they all agreed that there was nothing decent to watch anyway. Harry had gone out and purchased a video and they were amassing a decent collection, but she seriously doubted that Severus would be interested in watching any Muggle melodrama.

"What kind of game?" Severus raised a skeptical eyebrow, as his experience of games as a youth had been limited and had almost universally ended in him being the butt of some joke or other.

"A board game," she explained, "Harry went crazy over them in the summer and bought heaps. How about Scrabble?"

"Scrabble?" he scowled, "never heard of it."

Hermione was momentarily dumbstruck, the same way she had been when Harry had confessed that he had never played the game - the fact that Ron hadn't played either seemed inconsequential, but for some reason she equated playing board games with a good home life. "What do you mean you've never heard of it? Scrabble is one of those universal games, everyone has played it, like Monopoly!"

He actually laughed at that, "I've never heard of Monopoly either Hermione. Board games don't usually grace Wizarding homes."

"Why not?" she asked indignantly, "what kind of games did you play as a child?"

He looked uncomfortable. "My family weren't particularly fond of games," he said stiffly, "not the kind that children play anyway."

"Did you play any games?"

"Not really. I could play that game that Muggles play with cards…solitaire."

Hermione felt a pang.

"And on the rare occasions that my father had guests over, and if those guests had children, I would play with them…but I can't remember what we played," 'wouldn't remember more like,' "oh, and Lucius let me join in with him some times, but he was a lot older than I was so I didn't get most of it.' He smiled at one memory, "I remember when I was seven and he was fourteen, he would get these Muggle girls from the village and we would play hide and seek. He would send me off to hide and I always thought I was doing so well because he would never find me. Then one day I found out he was shagging the girls and he just wanted to get rid of me for an extended period of time." He stopped suddenly as it was not such a happy memory after all. By the Gods, I'm a walking disaster zone. "You said you wanted to play Scrabble?"

Hermione tried to dismiss the swell of compassion that was building in her, knowing full well that he wouldn't want it. She couldn't help but ask the question however; "but what about your parents, they must have played some games with you?"

"My mother was too busy trying to please my father to play games with a child," he said blandly, staring at the coffee that he'd made and deciding that he no longer wanted it. "And my father was not the bonding type."

Hermione sipped her own coffee and thought about her own happy childhood. Her parents had always been there to support and encourage her despite her various oddities and her strange ability to make things happen. When her Hogwarts letter came they had taken the news in their stride, accepting that their daughter was never going to be what was considered normal. Her memories of her childhood were fond ones, interrupted by the war, but fond none the less.

"Didn't you do anything as a family," she asked, seemingly unable to keep her mouth shut. "Camping? Barbeques? Going to the beach?"

He stared at her, wondering of she had actually looked at him lately. Did he honestly look like someone who had ever been to the beach? "Um…no, I was lucky if my father slapped me on the back of the head when he saw me." His mouth slashed into a sardonic smile and he sat himself down on the hearth. "My parents' marriage was not the usual Pureblood affair."

Hermione sat beside him, tucked her legs up and settled a little closer to him; "your mother wasn't a Pureblood?"

"Oh, no, she was," he replied hastily and then relaxed a little, closed his eyes and leant his head back against the warm bricks of the fireplace. She was going to make him exhume old memories and he wasn't sure that it was such a good idea to let her. Then again, she wasn't forcing him to speak, so perhaps he wanted to tell her things…but these things? These memories were ones he had never told anyone, and with good reason. He released a tight breath and ploughed on regardless. "My parents got married because they had an affair and my mother got pregnant. My father's marriage had already been arranged but he was forced to marry my mother because of me."

"But if your mother was a Pureblood, why was it so bad?"

"Because, Hermione, she was from a family quite similar to the Weasley's, no money and one of ten siblings, and her father was a bit of a nuttter. The woman my father was supposed to marry was from a wealthy family and was supposed to lift the Snape family fortune. When I was born he saw me at best as an inconvenience and at worst as the thing that ruined his life. Every time he looked at me he'd see the consequence of the mistake he had made, and the price he had to pay."

Hermione was looking horrified, "but…I'm sure he loved you."

Harsh laughter escaped him, "Hermione, you can't get me to say he was a good man without lying. No, he didn't love me, he never said 'I love you' or anything like it. In fact, he spent a lot of his time telling me just how much I disappointed him and when he screamed at my mother he generally used me as an example of just how crap his life had ended up being. My father was exceptionally good at degradation and insults; where do you think I learned my skills?"

"But…"

"Hermione, shut up!" He rolled his eyes exasperated. "My father makes Potter's uncle look like jolly old St Nick! If you want proof I can recount story after story after story, but there is no real point. And why do you care anyway?"

"Because I want to understand. How could your own parents hate you?"

"Very easily. I'm very hateable."

"That's not funny!" Hermione scowled and turned to stare into the flames. "You must have some happy memory from your childhood."

"Alright then," he looked thoughtful and more than a little sarcastic, "every year the Malfoys'; who as you know lived next door, had this big garden party and invited all the best families from the Wizarding world. Merlin knows why they bothered inviting us, but they did, every year. Anyway, one year I had taught myself some stupid charm and I wanted to show Lucius and of course I bungled it in front of the entire party. My father, salt of the earth that he was, started ranting about what an idiot I was, and it escalated from there. After about five minutes he was yelling and shaking me like I was a rag doll and my mother watched from the drinks table while she had a fresh drink made and some canapés brought up. When someone tried to intervene, I think they said something like, "he's only a boy, and it was a very complicated charm," my father grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and took me home. When my mother came home they spent the rest of the night arguing over whose fault it was that I was such a failure. That was my childhood, that one story sums the whole thing up." He stood up, picked up the poker and jabbed viciously at the fire. "The only time I can remember my father having a good word to say to me was when he discovered that I had an uncanny knack for hexes. I was a student at Hogwarts when he died, and when the news came I read my letter, finished my breakfast and wondered how I was going to get to Arithmancy without running into Potter or Black. That was how much I cared."

"What about your mother?" Hermione was almost afraid to ask, but for some reason she needed to know.

"She died four years ago. Dumbledore organized a funeral and I attended at the last minute. I wanted to make sure they put her in the ground – and covered her up."

He heard her sigh regretfully from the hearth stone, "Severus…"

"Don't! I've already heard every sympathetic noise a person can make when it comes to the topic of my family." His grip on the poker tightened and he began to grind his teeth. He had come to terms with the harsh reality of his upbringing a long time ago, and he never usually thought about it. But now, now that he was going to be a father himself, he couldn't help but dwell on it. He was so much like his father, an ironic twist of fate to be sure, but a reality none the less. His childhood had made him strong and adaptable as well as spiteful, it had given him his calm exterior as well as well as his cruelty. In short, had it not been for his upbringing he probably would have been useless as a spy.

"I guess it wasn't ideal," Hermione said with an ache in her voice. It was an ache that matched the one in his chest.

"Not a good training ground for parenthood is it?" He looked at her squarely then, and allowed his gaze to fall to her stomach. "I don't like children," he said quietly, "they annoy me and they fear me and I like it that way…actually I don't like people in general."

Hermione bowed her head and instinctively rubbed her small belly. She didn't understand the cycle of it. She didn't understand how it was possible that his father had shamed and humiliated him because he thought his son weak, and now Severus did exactly the same thing to the likes of Neville Longbottom – or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his path. Where would the cycle end? Would it end? Perhaps it was best that he should have nothing to do with her child.

But another part of her trusted him and truly believed that; given the chance, he would be a good father. She didn't know why, she knew no real good of him in that respect, but it was just a feeling that coursed through her as strong as a rip tide.

She cleared her throat. "It will be different with your own child."

"You think?"

"Yes, I do."

He laughed and shook his head. "The idea of raising a child scares me half to death," he admitted.

"It scares me too, Severus. All I can do is try…and so can you."

Once again he jabbed the fire, sending sparks flying up the chimney. He could try, but what a thing to experiment on! A child, his child. What if he fucked up and turned out to be every bit as horrific as his own father had been?

She stepped up behind him and pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was a warmth more comforting than the fire in the grate. She rested her cheek against his back and slowly began to stroke his chest and belly through his jumper. The gentle movements seemed to soothe the upheaval in his gut.

"I know you can do it because I know you," she whispered.

He twined his fingers with hers and he lifted her hand, pressed a kiss into her palm and then moved himself around in her arms until he could hold her in his own. He considered that perhaps she was the one who was truly mad, perhaps madder than Regina. She cared about him more than he thought anyone could possibly care. Suddenly, it seemed stupid to be apart from someone who could love him that much.

But what Hermione thought or felt was vastly different to the reality. "Hermione, I'm not capable of loving someone the way you want me to. I'm not gentle. I'm not a good man."

"I've seen you be gentle, and I've seen you be a good man."

He laughed, actually smiling at her innocence, the way she believed what she was saying; "I'm gentle with you…"

"And Minerva, and Draco…"

"People I care about," he finished, "but that is all. I'm good at watching over people, I watch, I spy…and lately I try to protect."

"You can protect me," she murmured, "you can watch over me."

He smiled at her. "You don't need anyone to watch over you, you're fearless."

"No I'm not, the baby scares me. I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life and I spend every day terrified that Viktor is going to come after me."

"You don't have to worry about Mr. Krum, as he is no longer a problem."

Hermione frowned. "What have you done?"

"Nothing for you to concern yourself with." He pulled away from her.

"But Harry knows?" she asked, not letting him go. "He said not to worry either, what have both of you done?"

"Nothing that Mr. Krum didn't deserve, and I believe it is a secret best kept between Potter and myself."

"So you and Harry are suddenly sharing secrets?"

"Only ones of necessity."

"Did you kill Viktor?" She was afraid of the answer, but she wanted to know.

He smiled again, a self assured smile, as though he was back on his own territory, dealing with facts not emotions. "Would it matter if I had?"

She considered the question and then shocked herself with her answer; "no, it wouldn't matter."

"Then feel free to think the worst."

She swallowed; "and what about Harry? What part did Harry play?"

"Potter surprised me." He pushed a shank of hair back from her face, "you see, that's how I protect people, I eliminate the problem."

"I don't care, I still love you."

"Silly girl."

"No, I'm a lucky girl."

He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Go to bed Hermione, it's been a long day."

She sighed regretfully and let him go, turning away from him. "What about you?"

"I'll find somewhere to sleep later."

"I'm the next level up, I have Pooh Bear on my door."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes, heaven preserve him from her obsession with that infernal bear. "Go to bed."

She walked away saying softly; "goodnight Severus."

*******

Continued