Desperate Measures

She looked out of her window and saw that night had fallen. It was almost time.

She was sore, but not impossibly so. She knew she was strong enough to do what she had to do. She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it had been two hours since she last fed the baby, and she was sure the nurses would be bringing him again soon.

She reached into the small satchel next to her bed and drew her wand. A few whispered charms had her packed, and she made her way to the bathroom, wishing she could see a mediwitch about the episiotomy. The stitches were uncomfortable, and she bathed them carefully as the nurse had taught her. It would be much easier if they were gone, but she couldn’t risk letting anyone in the wizarding world know that she had given birth. She would have to bear things the Muggle way.

By the time the nurse entered, pushing the small cot, she was settled back in her bed, affecting a light doze. The nurse spoke softly to awaken her.

"He’s beginning to stir, dear. We thought you'd want to feed him before he gets too worked up."

"Oh," she said, letting her eyes drift open in what she hoped was a convincing way. "Yes…of course. Just let me…" She raised the bed, and in spite of everything she smiled as she held out her arms for her son. He felt so right. He was so tiny, yet he filled her arms to perfection, and she wished she could bottle the feeling of his warm weight and his mysterious baby scent. She pulled him close and buried her nose in his tender neck until he complained, screwing up his red face in irritation and making wee squawking sounds. She moved her gown to one side then, watching as he began to suckle greedily and they became one again.

"Nothing wrong with his appetite," the nurse said, smiling down at them. "He’s doing wonderfully."

"He’s perfect." She reached down and cupped his skinny foot in her hand, running a finger across the long toes. His skin was still scaly and dry in patches but already, after only two days, was beginning to clear up and give way to silky softness.

"I’ll leave you two alone, then," the nurse said. "Call if you need anything."

"I will. Thank you." She answered without ever taking her eyes off of her son. As she fed him for the last time, she tried to memorize each feature, speculating over what came from whom. It was difficult to tell with newborns, of course, but she rather thought he looked like her - or at least like the pictures she’d seen of herself as a baby. The shock of dark hair must have come from his father, however. She was completely bald as a newborn, and then as a young child her hair was honey blonde. It continued to darken gradually as she moved through adolescence until it became an uninspiring shade of medium brown. She actually liked that the baby had his father’s hair. It was one of the things she liked best about him, and one of the few traits she would choose to have their child inherit. She tried to imagine what her baby might look like as a grown man, with her features and his father’s dramatic colouring, but her imagination failed her. Or perhaps it was her courage. She was terrified that for her, the child would always be just what he was on that day.

In a few hours, his time would stop.

Her son ate his fill and then drifted off into a contented sleep, and she wanted so much to hold him and watch him, to wonder about each movement of his eyes under their delicate lids and each twitch of his tiny lips. She no longer had that luxury of time, however, so she moved quickly, not wanting to be caught by the nurses. She put him in his little bed while she removed some comfortable Muggle clothing and a length of shimmering fabric from her suitcase, and then she tossed in a few odd items from the bathroom. After dressing and shrinking the suitcase to the size of a purse, she tucked it under one arm. Finally, she gathered up her baby and draped them both in the invisibility cloak.

She paused at the doorway, glancing through the crack to make sure no one was watching before easing out into the hospital hallway. There was enough background noise to cover the sound of her footsteps, and she made her way cautiously out of the maternity ward and through the main artery of the hospital. She didn’t dare take the lift and risk such close quarters with the Muggles, so she made her my way toward a staircase. She had to pause twice on her way down the stairs. She was out of shape and childbirth had taken its toll. She could still feel the occasional contraction of her uterus, like a fist clenching inside of her, and the warm flow of blood between her legs, and she pressed her hand to her rounded belly as she caught her breath.

Only one more floor.

She completed her descent and made her way out of the front door of the hospital without a single Muggle ever glancing her way.

All those late night trysts with Severus are actually paying off.

The sheer ridiculousness of that thought threatened to send her into hysteria, and she shoved it aside. There would be time enough for hysterics later, and she had no doubt she would indulge the impulse. Right now, all that mattered was the baby.

She headed toward Wellington Road, making straight for the tube station, and even though she knew the Muggles couldn’t see her, she sought the shadows where she could, cringing away from the lights. It was still early, and there were people all about, and in their midst she felt more than invisible; she felt nonexistent, just like the child in her arms. She watched the Muggles through the haze of the cloak, taking care to keep her distance and knowing that in just a moment she would disappear completely without any of them having known she was there. 

Once she reached the station, she clutched her precious burden tighter to her chest and bent over to scrabble in the niche behind a dustbin. She grit her teeth against the sudden flare of pain that came with the motion. For a moment she didn't find what she sought, and just when she was about to panic, her fingers closed over an old comb with several teeth missing.

Yes. Blitsy had done what she was told, and the minute her hand touched the comb, she felt the sharp tug in her abdomen - painful so soon after giving birth - and was jerked away from the tube station. She nearly fell upon arrival, so focused was she on holding on to the baby. The two waiting House Elves reached out, groping for her invisible form. Blitsy made contact first and steadied her before pulling off the cloak.

"Miss is all right?" she asked, obviously searching her mistress’s face and form for signs of ill health.

"I am fine, Blitsy. Thank you." She put down the suitcase and pushed the blanket away from the baby's face, giving the Elves a peek. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Moxy shuffled forward and looked at the sleeping child. "Is you sure, Miss? Is you absolutely sure?"

She was unable to hide the pain the question caused, and Blitsy whirled on him in an elfin fury. "Moxy shouldn't be asking that of Miss! Of course Miss knows what is the best thing to do. Moxy should be ashamed!"

Moxy’s ears drooped with chagrin. "Blitsy is right, Miss. Moxy is ashamed. Moxy shouldn't question…"

"No," she told him tiredly. "You shouldn't question. You don't understand, Moxy. If I don't do this, the child will belong to the Dark Lord one day.  He'll have no other choice. And I can’t…I just can't let that happen. I would rather he be dead than in You-Know-Who’s service - truly I would. At least this way, he'll have a chance."

"But his father…" Moxy said hopefully.

"Is the reason I have to do this," she said. "No. His father  mustn't know. No one must know. As far as anyone but us is concerned, this child never existed."

"Is you giving him a name, Miss?" Blitsy asked, daring to touch the soft skin with one long finger.

"No." The ache was growing stronger; it was becoming harder and harder to even look at her child. "I just…can't, somehow. If we meet again, as I hope we will, I’ll name him then. In the meantime, it's easier if he doesn't have a name."

She looked around the small cottage, a ramshackle building on the outskirts of her father’s estate. She played there as a child, enacting fairy tales she’d heard and often altering them to suit her girlish fantasies. There was a grotesque parallel in what she was about to do, and the words happily ever after kept circling her brain. Since she had left for Hogwarts, the building had been ignored and had fallen into disrepair. She handed the baby to Blitsy and then drew her wand, walking around the house and casting charms on the roof, the walls, the windows. When she was finished, the small building was indestructible by any force short of the darkest magic. When she left, she would add additional wards to discourage visitors. The cottage was only one room, and she selected the small cupboard for her hiding place, creating a soft bed in one corner and casting a glamour over it so that the bed would be invisible. Then there was nothing left to do except the thing itself.

"It's time," she said finally, choking slightly on the words. "Give him to me."

"Oh, Miss!" Blitsy squeaked, clutching the baby tighter.

"Blitsy…"

Blitsy’s enormous eyes filled with tears as she handed the baby to her mistress, and Moxy looked away, out the window, his ears twitching with suppressed emotion.

She reached for a nearby vial and drew the deep red potion into a tiny dropper. She inserted the dropper in her son's mouth and carefully squeezed out four drops. His tongue thrust against the foreign object, attempting to suckle, and for a moment his tiny lips were stained blood red and she had to look away. She collected herself with a wracking shudder and then kissed him for the last time, pushing back the silky black hair and pressing her lips to his brow for so long that his softly rounded face was damp with her tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. “If there was any other way…” She clamped one hand to her mouth, forcing back the rising hysteria and then taking a deep breath before putting her baby down on the bed she had made for him.

Somehow, she gathered the last remnants of her control and raised her wand. “Sine tempore dormi.”