Desperate Measures

With an hour before dinner, Hermione took the baby straight to her rooms, intent on transfiguring some appropriate furnishings and equipment for him. She rather liked the idea of a girls’ night with Minerva spent transfiguring baby clothing, but she wanted to find something warmer for him right away. The upper regions of the castle were nowhere near as cold as Snape’s dungeon, but it was still chilly, and she worried about the baby's feet remaining bare.

Her door swung open as she gave the password, and immediately she saw that Dumbledore had anticipated the baby’s needs. The furniture in her sitting room had been rearranged, and one corner now held a round baby cot of rich mahogany. Five brightly coloured stuffed dragons danced above it, and the bedding had been made to match, with gaudy dragons moving about breathing golden fire upon one another. She had heard somewhere - or read, more likely - that babies needed colour and stimulation, but thirty seconds of watching the dragons convinced Hermione that her already frazzled nerves weren’t equal to Albus’s idea of baby decor. She banished them with a sweep of her wand and replaced the bedding with some with muted colours that blended with her sitting room. The child would only be there for a short time; he could find his stimulation somewhere else.

She put the baby down in the cot and sank into a nearby chair. What on earth had she gotten herself into? She’d gotten up that morning with nothing more interesting on her schedule than her meeting with Snape, and now she was tucking a newborn baby into bed – a newborn she was expected to nourish and care for. It was…terrifying, really. Had she only known, she’d have read every baby-care book available and been prepared. Instead, she had taken on a responsibility – for perhaps the first time in her life – with absolutely no preparation and no guarantee of natural aptitude. She knew nothing about babies beyond the fact that they required frequent feeding and changing. Well, fortunately Poppy had given her a crash course in those things - though she was rather dreading the next nappy change.

She forced herself to rally. How hard could it be, after all? He was just one tiny person. He couldn’t walk or talk, couldn’t get into any trouble, and by the time he could do those things he would be long gone from Hogwarts. This would probably be for one night. Surely she could keep a small baby for one night! He was sleeping there so quietly, after all.

She went to use the loo and took a moment to straighten her hair and change her bra and blouse before putting her teaching robes back on. She was ready for dinner. She went back into the sitting room and reached for one of the flannels Poppy had given her, eying the sleeping child to estimate his size and then transfiguring the flannel, turning it into a fleecy footed sleep suit. Crimson, of course, with a tiny Gryffindor crest. It was a petty jab at Snape, consciously made, and she didn’t regret it for a moment. Besides, she rather thought the baby’s colouring would look nice with crimson. Really.

But now that she had the clothing and the clean nappies, she had to actually do something with them. He hadn’t awakened when Poppy examined him. Perhaps he would sleep through the change of clothes…

Then again, perhaps not.

The minute she unwrapped the blanket that swaddled him, the baby began to stir and fuss, and by the time she opened the nappy and saw the disaster within, he had started to scream. She managed to get the soiled nappy off, but not without dirtying the new bed linens, and then she had quite a job to hold his stiff legs and get all the cracks and crevices cleaned. She had judged Snape harshly for considering the silencing charm, but she considered that and more as she tried to change her first nappy in years. Petrificus Totalis would have been immensely helpful, or even a simple cleaning charm, but for some reason she wanted to do it just as Poppy had done, just to prove that she could. Finally, she had the new nappy rather sloppily in place, and after casting a cleaning charm on every surface she or the baby had touched in the last five minutes, she worked his enraged person into the fleece sleep suit.

He calmed slightly when he was dressed and she picked him up again, but then he turned to her breast with a searching mouth. Surely he couldn’t be hungry again! Hadn’t she just fed him? Apparently it didn’t matter to the baby; he was making himself quite clear on the subject, so she sat down and tried to unfasten her robes with one hand while holding the baby in the other. When it became clear that this was going to be impossible, she reached for her wand and charmed her clothing open rather than putting the hungry baby down again. She once again felt her body’s response to the baby’s cries, and this time the milk let down in both breasts. She had to summon one of Poppy’s flannels to absorb the flow on one side while the baby nursed on the other, and she wondered how on earth Muggle women did this. Had she not been able to use her wand she would have needed an extra pair of hands – at the very least – to manage.

The baby’s nursing followed the same pattern it had in the infirmary – he nursed enthusiastically at first and then more leisurely once the worst of the hunger had abated. By the time he was finished with the first breast, it was five minutes until dinner. By the time he finished with the second, she was twenty minutes late and still had to clean and fasten her clothing. She was nearly out the door when the small person in her arms emitted a sound like a trumpet blast.

Poppy Pomfrey had been absolutely right. Her cleaning charms were getting quite the workout.

This time, the soiling extended past the nappy and onto the newly-transfigured sleep suit, but at least the child was relaxed and content as she changed him and performed the necessary cleaning. He stared up at her with dark, murky eyes and pursed lips, as if trying to decide what to make of her, and despite her frustration at being made tardy for dinner, she couldn’t help smiling down at him and talking to him as she changed him.

"Hello," she said. "My name’s Hermione. I wish you could tell me yours so we could get you back to your mum and dad." She paused then and held up the dirty nappy, wrinkling her nose and deciding not to even attempt cleaning it. Instead, she deposited it into the bin she summoned from across the room and reached for one of the new ones Dumbledore had left there. "In the meantime," she continued, "I’m going to do the best I can, but I can’t promise much. I’m terribly new at this – of course, you seem to be fairly new yourself, so perhaps we can learn together."

The baby had stared at her when she first began speaking, but by the end of her speech his gaze had roved away from her and he seemed to be staring at something just over her shoulder. She reflexively looked behind her, but of course, no one was there. She cleaned the sleeper again and worked him into it. She tried to swaddle him in the blanket as Poppy had done, but her effort was rather messy, with loose corners flopping about. She’d have to ask Poppy just how she’d gotten it so snug.

Finally, she was ready to leave for dinner. By the time she arrived in the Great Hall, the students were trailing out and several of the staff members had already left. Dumbledore was there, however, and he caused her plate to fill with food as she approached the table.

"I’m sorry, Albus," she said. "It was, er, a bit harder getting out the door than usual."

"No need to apologize, Hermione. I understand perfectly. Here, give him to me, my dear. I’ll hold him while you eat." She handed the baby to Dumbledore, who held him beneath his head with one hand and his bottom with the other as he peered into the child’s face and made a thoughtful sound.

"Albus?" she asked.

"Nothing, my dear. I was just getting to know this little one a bit better." Dumbledore lowered the child then and cradled him against his long beard.

Beyond the Headmaster, Minerva, Irma, and Rosa were craning their necks in an attempt to see the baby. After only a minute or two, Minerva spoke impatiently. "All right, Albus. You’ve had your turn. Pass him along now."

Dumbledore winked at Hermione, who grinned in return, but he dutifully passed the baby to Minerva, and three pointed hats converged over his small person as the witches made a variety of cooing and babbling sounds and fought amongst themselves for a chance to hold him.

"I admit, my dear, that I anticipated that," Dumbledore said, nodding toward the older women. "It gives us a chance to speak somewhat privately."

"Yes?"

"I spoke with Severus this afternoon. I cannot, I’m afraid, tell you all that we discussed, but there appear to be reasons why we should keep the baby here for a while longer, rather than calling in the Department of Orphans."

"All right," she said slowly. She had a hundred questions, but all of them seemed precluded by the fact that he was unwilling to tell her what he had discussed with Snape.

"Hermione, I am concerned about you caring for the baby for more than a day or so."

She blinked at him, surprised. "I know I’m not terribly experienced, sir, but I assure you…"

"No, no," he interrupted. "You misunderstand me. I have no concerns about your ability to care for the child. I know that having committed yourself to the task you will do it well, just as you always do. What concerns me is that you might become too attached to him – that it might be too painful for you when it is time to part with him."

"But Albus…" She wanted to deny that this could happen, to assert that her common sense would keep that problem at bay, but the truth was, she didn’t really know. She had never experienced anything quite like the feeling of holding that babe to her breast. Even her sexual experiences, while satisfying, hadn’t had the same quiet intimacy. Already she felt connected to the child, and logic dictated that the feeling would only increase the more time she spent with him.

"It is a valid concern," he said kindly. "I should not wish to see you hurt by this."

She glanced down at her colleagues, all of whom were making silly faces at the baby. "Poppy said that the lactation charm could only be performed on a witch of childbearing age. There is no one else."

"There are alternative feeding methods. Given a day, Severus could make him a suitable formula and we could let the House Elves care for him."

"Poppy said that there was powerful magic in mother’s milk. Is that true?"

"It is," Dumbledore said. "Magical ability is inherited, as you know, but mother’s milk can enhance that ability and can also give the baby a great deal of protection against illness or various curses. If the child is a Muggle – and he may well be – he will only derive the same nutritional benefits that Muggle children get from nursing. If he’s magical, then it could make a crucial difference in his later abilities."

"Let me do it for another day or so at least," Hermione said. "Perhaps in that amount of time, you will have learned more about him. Is there any way to test to see if he’s a wizard?"

"I’m afraid not. The best way is to find out who his parents are. If they are witch and wizard, then we can surmise that the child is probably magical. Squibs are rare among pure-bloods." He looked at his young Charms instructor and then glanced at the gaggle of aging witches and smiled. "Very well, Hermione. Keep him for the next day or so, and I will apply myself to finding out who he is. I have only one request of you."

"What’s that?"

"I personally find his attire quite fetching, but perhaps you should strive to make the rest of his clothing a bit more…neutral."

She had the grace to look slightly contrite. "I suppose it’s just as well that Professor Snape left before we got here."

"Severus did not come to dinner tonight," Dumbledore said, looking grave. "There are some complicated matters which may or may not have anything to do with this child, but they certainly are to do with Severus. Please do your best to get along with him when you see him."

"Hmph. In that case, it’s probably better that I don’t see him at all."

Dumbledore’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

  § § § §

Two a.m. feedings.

Why was it that everyone always talked about two a.m. feedings? Was there something special about two o’clock in the morning that made babies across the world demand to be fed at precisely that time? Hermione didn’t know, but as she put the baby down in his cot for the night, she had the vague feeling that she should expect to be awakened at two o’clock on the dot. She loved her sleep and had always been an eight-hours-per-night kind of a girl, but she thought that she could manage a two a.m. feeding now that she’d used her breasts for their intended biological purpose three whole times and felt she was getting the hang of it. She didn’t even call Winky, assuming she could handle things herself.

When she was awakened by the wail coming from the next room, she glanced at her watch and saw that it was only eleven p.m. She’d been asleep for less than two hours, and two a.m. was still three hours away. Why was the baby crying? She dragged herself into the sitting room and pulled him from his cot, fumbling sleepily with her gown and finally just pulling it over her head and tossing it to the floor. She felt silly – not to mention chilled – in her sitting room wearing nothing but her knickers. She would have to find out what nursing mothers wore. Surely they weren’t required to disrobe completely every time they fed their children?

Forty-five minutes later the baby was fed and changed and back in his cot. She politely wished him goodnight and went back to bed. Her rooms, while adequate for one person, were not terribly large, and she had left the door open between her bedroom and her sitting room so that she would be sure to hear the baby if he cried. Unfortunately, not only could she hear him cry, she could hear every other sound he made, and just then he was making an assortment of grunts and snuffles that told her he wasn’t sleeping. It was just enough noise to keep her awake and wondering what in the world he was doing in there, and finally she got up from bed again and padded back to his cot.

“Hello,” she said. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

The baby looked at her with wide dark eyes. She didn’t think she had ever seen anyone look less sleepy in her life.

“Well, would you mind if I slept? I have to teach in the morning, you see.”

She accepted his non-answer as permission, ignoring the hippogriff-sized fallacy in her reasoning, and went back to her bed.

The snorts and snuffles continued, and she pulled her pillow over her head to muffle the sounds. As if he could see her, he turned up the volume, and the soft sounds turned to a whimper, then the whimper to a cry. Midnight found her in the sitting room with a baby cradled in her arms.

Two a.m. came and went, and with it another feeding, but still the baby didn’t sleep. She talked to him, sang to him, and transfigured a chair so that she could rock him, but still he remained awake. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy, and her head ached from having been awake for so long. Her left arm was beginning to hurt from holding the baby for so many hours. Just as she was actually beginning to grow angry at him for his failure to appreciate the significance of the dark sky outside her window, he grew fussy again, and this time, when she put him to her breast, he finally fell asleep. She put him back in his cot at 3:30 and dropped, exhausted, into her own bed.

Her alarm sounded at six, as it always did, and she awoke with a groan, feeling disoriented and slightly queasy from lack of sleep. When she rose from the bed she realized that the left side of her gown was soaked where the mattress had been pressing against her full breast. “Ugh,” she muttered, stripping the wet garment off and exchanging it for a dressing gown. Her bath was running when once again she heard the sound of the baby’s cry, and she seriously considered joining him and just giving into the tears of exhaustion and discomfort that threatened. Instead she sat down to feed him again – it was amazing how natural that felt now, after only one night – and reached for her wand to summon Winky.

The Elf appeared with a sudden pop, smiling and twitching with unmistakable pleasure. “Miss Hermione!” she exclaimed, “The Headmaster told Winky you is taking care of a baby! Winky was expecting you to call her before now.”

“I wish I had,” Hermione admitted, adjusting her dressing gown even though it was ridiculous to feel modest in front of an Elf. “I don’t understand it, Winky. He was just…awake most of the night. I couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t seem to want anything in particular.”

“Babies is like that, Miss Hermione. Babies is not knowing day from night yet.”

“Oh…I didn’t realize that. Well, can we try to keep him up today so that he’ll sleep tonight?”

Winky beamed at her, and Hermione could tell that the Elf was amused by her profound ignorance but too respectful to say so. “Miss Hermione can try, but babies that age is sleeping when they want to sleep and waking when they want to wake.”

“You seem to know a lot about babies,” Hermione said, a bit enviously.

“Oh, yes. Winky is knowing all about babies. If Miss Hermione feeds him, Winky can take care of the rest.”

“At the moment, I find that terribly reassuring,” she said. “As soon as I finish feeding him, I’m going to leave him with you so that I can get ready for breakfast.”

She normally bathed in the morning, but on this day she opted for a shower, standing under the stinging spray and letting it pound her into sufficient wakefulness that she thought she could navigate the stairs without life-threatening incident. She made sure to select a bra with a front clasp and then donned her usual layers of clothing - blouse, skirt, and teaching robes. She had absolutely no idea how she was going to nurse this baby - who seemed to want to eat every two hours - and maintain her normal teaching schedule. It was difficult enough commanding respect as the youngest teacher in the school. Disrobing in front of her students was certain to be detrimental to her authority.

She said as much to Winky when she returned to the sitting room. “Winky, I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day. I’m planning to take the baby to class with me, but I’m concerned that he’ll cry or need to be fed whilst I’m teaching. Will you attend class with me today in case he needs to be taken out?”

“Winky is happy to be helping Miss Hermione with anything she needs,” the Elf said. “If Miss Hermione wants Winky to go to class with her, then Winky will go to class. Now, Winky packed blankets and nappies for the day,” she held up a changing bag, “but where is baby’s clothes?”

“Oh! I forgot to transfigure any more, and you’re right - he oughtn’t go down to breakfast wearing that.” She reached for some of the fabric Poppy had given her and began touching them with her wand, one at a time, until she had a pile of sleep suits and several undershirts. “Will this do?” she asked.

“Baby is needing some booties too,” Winky said emphatically.

“But his sleep suits all have feet,” Hermione said, holding one up to examine it.

“They is not warm enough in this castle. Baby is needing booties underneath.” It was clear that Winky did not intend to give in on this point.

“If you say so.” A moment later, she had transfigured several pairs of knitted booties, and Winky took a pair from her and began to dress the baby, who was once again sleeping. The Elf examined the clothing carefully and selected a navy blue outfit trimmed in white, and she soon had the baby dressed and ready to go. Hermione wanted to kiss her.

Winky promised to be in Hermione’s first class but disappeared as they approached the Great Hall. House Elves did not sit down to eat with humans, and Winky was ever-conscious of her place.

As Hermione made her way to the High Table, she heard the murmur of interest run throughout the students as they caught sight of her with the baby. She was too tired to care, however, and merely dropped into her habitual place. A Moses basket on a stand had been placed beside her seat, and she put the sleeping child in it and reached for the pot of coffee, desperate for the jolt of the caffeine.

Minerva took the seat next to her, and smiled as she wished her good morning. “You’re not normally a coffee drinker, Hermione,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

Hermione gave her a look that could have stripped paint from the walls.

“Long night?” Minerva continued cheerfully.

“You’re living dangerously, Minerva.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” the older woman said, chuckling giving her friend’s arm a squeeze. “I really do want to know how it went.”

“I’ll tell you, but if you say you learn by doing even one time, you can consider our friendship over.”

“My lips are sealed,” Minerva promised.

“In that case, yes, it was a long night. He was up from eleven to nearly four, and I couldn’t figure out why. Winky says it’s normal.”

“He has his days and nights mixed up,” Minerva said knowingly.

“Why didn’t anyone think to warn me of that possibility?” Hermione complained. “I thought I might be up with him once. I didn’t expect…” She trailed off as Snape stalked up to the table and took his usual spot at the opposite end. She watched him for a moment, but he didn’t look her way. “I’m sorry…what was I saying?”

“That you didn’t expect to be up with him half the night,” Minerva answered. “Don’t hold me to it, but I suspect Poppy didn’t want to tell you of that possibility just because she was afraid you mightn’t agree to do it.”

“Remind me to have a word with her later,” Hermione said darkly.

“He’s certainly sweet,” Minerva said, rising and peeking into the basket.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed with a sigh. “He is that.”

She had a steady stream of visitors throughout breakfast, as one colleague after another stopped to peek at the sleeping baby. In fact, everyone - even Alastor Moody - paid his or her respects, with the notable exception of Snape, who ate his meal in an even more repressive silence than usual and spoke not a single word to anyone during the meal.

“Will you be all right today, Hermione?” Albus asked, after his baby visit.

“I have no idea,” she answered. The fatigue seemed to have stripped her of her normal polite responses. “Winky will be there to help, so I expect we’ll manage one way or another.”

“Let me know if it gets to be too much for you,” he said, and she felt guilty when she saw his real concern.

“We’ll be fine, sir. I want to do this. Truly.”

“Very well. Have a good day then.” He squeezed her shoulder and was gone, and it was time for her to start her day.

§ § § §

The baby slept through her first class, but then her nine o’clock class started late because she was still feeding him. Fortunately, the students were sixth-years with an upcoming Potions exam and actually used the extra time to study rather than taking the opportunity to practice hexes upon one another as the younger students might have done. They were grateful for the extra time and didn’t seem bothered in the least by the fact that their Charms class had been cut short.

It bothered Hermione.

One of the things she enjoyed most about teaching was that there was a predictable, controllable pattern to her days, and she planned each class carefully and kept herself on schedule. She needed that predictability in her life, thrived on it. It was frustrating, then, to suddenly have her well-organized day thrown off-kilter by a force over which she seemed to have little or no control.
The baby demanded, and she met the demands, and their relationship was as simple as that. She met the demands whether or not she was doing something else and whether or not it meant that her sixth-years got an abbreviated lecture. Somehow, this new arrival who could neither talk nor walk had seized the upper hand.

She spent the rest of the morning feeling harried and behind, yet paradoxically she still enjoyed holding and feeding the small person who was the source of her exhaustion and distraction. She enjoyed her time with him; she just wished it didn’t infringe upon time when she needed to be doing other things. But Minerva was right - he was sweet, and she still felt a swelling of contentment each time she held him in her arms. She relished the quiet moments with him in her office and found reasons to prolong them, even knowing that the time she spent with the baby was throwing the rest of her day completely off.

He was sleeping at lunchtime, so she left him in her office with Winky and made her way to the Great Hall alone. She dropped into the seat at the end of the High Table and then smiled as she saw Care of Magical Creatures instructor Charlie Weasley approaching. She patted the seat next to her, and he grinned and made straight for her.

Charlie and his wife Elspeth lived in Hogsmeade with their four-year-old son Jack, so the midday meal was typically the only one Charlie took at the castle. He and Hermione usually sat together; in the two years she’d been teaching at Hogwarts, she and Charlie had become genuine friends, instead of just friends-through-Ron, as they’d been during the years immediately following the war.

“Hello, ‘Mione,” he greeted her cheerfully, settling into the seat she’d saved him and automatically arranging his useless right arm in his lap. “So where’s this little one I’ve heard about?”

“Sleeping for the moment,” she answered, unsurprised by the question. The Hogwarts grapevine was as robust and thriving as ever. “I left him in my office with Winky.”

“No idea who he is yet, then?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but you’d do better to ask Albus. He’s on investigations; I’m on feeding and changing.”

The plates filled then, and she turned toward her meal with unusual enthusiasm. She was particularly hungry that day.

“Not as easy as you thought, eh?” Charlie asked with a chuckle.

“I didn’t really have time to think about it at all,” she said. “But no, it’s definitely not easy, particularly whilst trying to teach.”

“And you’re really able to feed him?” Charlie’s gaze wandered blatantly to Hermione’s breasts. “Never heard of a charm like that.”

“If you don’t mind,” she answered irritably, pulling her robes around her.

“Sorry,” he said, grinning widely and sounding completely unrepentant. “It’s brilliant - really.”

“I hadn’t heard of it either, but I suppose I haven’t had occasion to read up on such things. It's not as if I'd teach it. But there didn’t seem to be much to it, actually. Your mum’s probably heard of it.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “Sounds like one of those things they’d write articles about in Witch’s Weekly.” He reached for a piece of bread.

“D’you want a bit of butter on that?”

“Thanks.” Charlie’s right arm had been crushed by a dragon three years before. He managed well with his left, but some tasks were more easily done by someone else, and he didn’t mind accepting a friend’s help when it was offered. Hermione buttered the bread for him quickly and returned to the previous subject.

“So who told you about the baby?”

“The students first, and then Minerva and Rosa when I saw them in the staff room this morning. They were going on about how precious he is. You know how women are.”

“I have an idea, yes,” she said dryly. “So what are the students saying? Mine haven’t said much of anything to my face, but I know they must be curious.”

“Mostly it’s just the stuff you’d expect - the girls, especially, seem to think that babies left on doorsteps are somehow romantic. Seems dead irresponsible to me.”

“I’d have to agree,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Especially considering it was Snape’s doorstep.”

Charlie whistled under his breath. “Blimey! I didn’t hear that part, but I only talked to Minerva for a second. You think the kid is Snape’s?” He cast a discreet glance down to the other end of the table, where Snape was eating his meal in silence.

“Actually, no,” she said. “There’s no sign at all of hooves or a tail.”

Charlie roared with laughter as Hermione dissolved in a fit of giggles, and they both earned a disapproving look from Minerva, who was seated several people down from them. Hermione composed herself with difficulty. “Seriously,” she said, whispering again, “he says the baby can’t be his, and he really doesn’t look much like Snape, except for having dark hair. Albus talked to Snape about it, but he wouldn’t tell me what was said.”

“Interesting,” Charlie mused. “Well, keep me posted. I look forward to meeting the little tyke. Seems like yesterday that Jack was born. Can’t believe he’ll be five soon.”

“Well, when will you be having the next one? You’re falling behind you know,” she teased. “You have a family reputation to maintain.”

Charlie smiled, but she saw something in his face that told her that her joke hadn’t been entirely successful. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“S’alright, Hermione. It’s just…I’d like to have another, actually, but Elspeth doesn’t want to. We’ve had several rows about it lately. She says I want her to be just like my Mum and want to keep her barefoot and pregnant the rest of her life. It’s not true, of course. I just know what it’s like coming from a big family, and I’d like for Jack to have at least one brother or sister.” He shrugged slightly. “I’m sure you know she was pregnant when we got married. I think she’s always felt like she was forced into something she wasn’t quite ready for, but I can’t exactly change any of that now, now can I?”

“No. Of course you can’t.” She reached out and gave his good arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t realize…”

“No reason why you should’ve,” he said. “It’ll all work out. And if nothing else, coming from a family like mine, Jack will always have plenty of cousins about.”

“True enough,” Hermione agreed with a laugh. “When’s Ginny due again?”

“In about six weeks, I think. You’d do better to ask Mum  - or Harry. You wouldn’t have to ask Harry, though, come to that. He doesn’t talk about much of anything else that I can tell.”

She giggled. “I believe it. When Gin was pregnant with Anna, it got so I ran from Harry in the hallways at work. Ginny still swears I took the job here just so I wouldn’t have to listen to Harry talk about the baby.”

“Did you?” Charlie asked, eyes twinkling.

“I’ll never tell.”

§ § § §

Hermione survived the afternoon and even managed to get some marking done after classes, but once again, the baby’s evening meal coincided with her own, and when it became apparent that she would again be a half-hour late, she asked Winky to bring her meal to her rooms. Resident teachers were expected to take their meals in the Great Hall during the week, but she knew that under the circumstances Albus wouldn’t dare chastise her for her absence. And besides, Snape had missed dinner the night before with far less reason.

She handed the baby over to Winky after feeding him and prepared herself for bed, despite the fact that it was only seven o’clock. Her experience the night before had taught her a lesson, and she decided that she would sleep while she could. She awoke to the sound of the baby’s cries and noted that it was once again just after eleven o’clock. By the time she got to the sitting room, Winky had already retrieved him from his cot and was enraging him with a nappy change. She hurried to his side, feeling her breasts tighten and tingle at the sound of his cries, and spoke soothingly to him until finally Winky was done. Within seconds, she had him in her arms and at her breast, the cries replaced by greedy sounds of suckling.

“This is just when he woke up last night,” she said, stroking the silky dark head. “I wonder if he’ll stay up again.”

“Winky will stay up with baby, Miss Hermione. Miss Hermione is needing her sleep.”

“Thank you, Winky,” Hermione said gratefully. “I don’t think I could handle another night like the last one and manage to continue teaching.”

So once the baby was fed, she turned him over to Winky and returned to her bed. Even with the door closed, she could hear his soft, wakeful sounds and the sound of Winky talking to him. As exhausted as she was, she found that sleep wouldn’t come. She continued to listen to the child in the next room. Occasionally the sound of a fussy cry would reach her ears, and twice she nearly rose from the bed to go to him. Finally, she reached for her wand to cast a silencing charm.

The incantation had already begun to leave her lips when she stopped mid-syllable and put her wand away. She realized that not knowing if he was crying was somehow worse than hearing him cry, and against all reason, she crawled from beneath her duvet and went to the sitting room.

It was another long night.

§ § § §

By the fourth day of combined newborn care and teaching, Hermione was virtually sleepwalking through the daylight hours. She didn’t even register the sound of Albus speaking to her at breakfast until he had repeated her name for the third time.

“I’m sorry, Albus…did you say something?” She looked at the Headmaster with bleary eyes and then glanced longingly at the coffee pot. Poppy had caught her drinking coffee the second day and had told her that the caffeine might not be good for the baby. She had retorted that staying up all night wasn’t particularly good for her, but she had avoided coffee since. She reached for her pumpkin juice instead.

Albus shook his head. “This cannot continue. Bring the baby to the Infirmary tomorrow at noon, please, Hermione.”

“What for?”

“We will need a sample of his blood, my dear. It will only take a minute.”

He left her then and made his way to the opposite end of the High Table. She saw him bend down to say something to Snape and watched as Snape’s face hardened before he jerked his head in a brief nod. Dumbledore squeezed the Potions Master’s shoulder and then swept out of the Great Hall.

§ § § §

A feeding made Hermione and her charge slightly late to the infirmary, and when she arrived, Poppy, Albus, and Snape had already gathered around two goblets. One was full of a viscous, violet liquid with wisps of steam rising from its burbling contents. The other stood empty.

“Ah, there you are,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “Thank you for bringing him, Hermione.”

“Of course,” she said. After all, it wasn’t like she’d had any particular choice in the matter.

“I’ll need to get at his heel, Hermione,” Poppy said, offering a reassuring smile.

The baby was in the quiet stage of alertness that often followed a feeding, and he allowed Hermione to undress him without protest. She slipped the blue bootie off his foot and held him as she offered up the tiny heel. She bit her lip - hard - when she saw the needle, and her arms tightened reflexively around the baby when Poppy made the stick. There was a slight pause, a brief lull of anticipation, and then the child let out a shriek of protest. It was high-pitched and outraged, unlike any cry she’d ever heard from him before, and she gathered him closer and began crooning soothing nonsense as tears sprang to her eyes. She turned her back on the assembly, silently blaming all of them for the hurt done to the child.

He calmed quickly, actually, and she felt the trauma longer than he did. She dabbed at her eyes and turned around in time to see Poppy emptying approximately half of the contents of the first goblet into the second before adding several drops of the blood she had just taken from the baby’s heel. The contents of the goblet fizzed violently for a few seconds, threatening to erupt over the sides, and then subsided. Poppy, Albus and Snape all bent over it with furrowed brows, looking from one goblet to the other.

Snape spoke first. “That’s impossible. Something must have gone wrong.”

“You made the potion yourself, Severus. You haven’t botched a potion since you were a fourth-year pupil here,” Poppy said.

“May I ask what we’re doing?” Hermione said.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, and as Snape glared, he nodded. “She has earned the right to know, Severus.” He gestured to the goblets. “This is a Patrilineage potion. It is used to prove shared bloodlines. Several drops of Professor Snape’s blood were added to the first goblet before you came in, and then we added the baby’s blood to that mixture. Had the baby been unrelated to Professor Snape, the potion would have changed colours. As you can see, it did not.”

“But…” Hermione looked at the two goblets thoughtfully, trying to recall what she had read about the Patrilineage potion. “Professor Snape is a pureblood wizard, sir. Those families have been intermarrying for so many generations, that it seems like they’d practically all be related, one way or another.”

“An excellent point, my dear, and it is quite true that the Patrilineage potion is less than precise. However, this potion only shows fairly close blood ties - say, two to three generations back at most. I think that based on our results here, it is safe to say that this baby did not arrive in Severus’s office by coincidence or by mistake.” He looked at Snape and spoke gently. “The child is some relation to you, Severus. I presume you’d like to find out more about him.”

Snape’s eyes rested briefly on the child in Hermione’s arms and then darted away. “I suppose I have no other choice,” he said grimly.

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. “Poppy, I believe St. Mungo’s can do advanced genetic testing, can they not?”

“Yes, Albus, but I’ll need two more blood samples.”

Hermione took a step backwards and felt immediately foolish. Obviously, she had no choice but to offer up the baby’s other foot. He didn’t like it any better than he had the first time, but she was slightly better prepared. Once again she held him close and calmed him while Snape pushed up his sleeve and thrust out his arm.

§ § § §

Two-and-a-half weeks into Hermione’s new role, the baby made a sudden and welcome shift from night time wakefulness to day. He still awakened frequently for feedings, but he usually was up for only a few minutes before she was able to get him back to sleep. During his daytime wakeful period, she kept him with her, wearing him strapped to her front by means of a sling Poppy had given her. If he became fussy or needed a nap, she had Winky take him to her office, but generally he remained with her, absorbing early lessons in Charms and accepting the adoration of the adolescent witches in her classes. After a few nights of this new routine, Hermione began once again to take note of the world around her, feeling as if she were emerging from a dim tunnel, blinking and somewhat dazed by all that she had missed whilst she was away.

For with returning consciousness came the realization that she'd let a great deal slide over the past two weeks. She was behind on her marking, though not drastically, and she hadn't seen a single student in her capacity as Minerva's successor. Minerva had just quietly taken over those responsibilities again, leaving Hermione to focus on the baby. She had no idea how the incident at the Quidditch match had been dealt with, and she realized with horror that it hadn't even occurred to her to go to Dumbledore's office for the scheduled meeting about it. She wondered if Snape had gone. She suspected he had. Her colleagues had gone on about their usual business while she had slid into a black hole where baby care dictated every moment of her day and night. For more than two weeks, it had been all she could do to put one foot in front of the other while she made sure the child's needs and her basic teaching responsibilities were met.

Nothing about Hogwarts had changed, but she quickly became aware of changes within herself. Becoming Head of Gryffindor mattered less, somehow, than it had before. She realized that she didn't honestly care how the incident at the Quidditch match had been resolved, beyond feeling guilty that she'd shirked a responsibility the Headmaster had given her. The ability to get some sleep at night combined with the increased confidence that came from experience (“you learn by doing,” as Minerva so tediously said) made caring for the baby a joy, and suddenly he seemed far more interesting than the things that had consumed her attentions before. It wasn’t easy, by any means, and there were still times when she wondered why women didn’t grow an extra arm during pregnancy, but on the whole she felt her life was a great deal fuller and more enjoyable than it had been before the baby was in it.

But it wasn’t until the Headmaster summoned her to his office that she realized that at some point during the sleepless nights, she had fallen in love.

§ § § §

“Hermione, I requested this meeting because we have received the results from St. Mungo’s,” Dumbledore said, after settling in with his tea.

“And…?”

“There can be no question that the baby is Severus Snape’s child,” Dumbledore told her. “The genetic evidence was irrefutable.”

“But sir, Professor Snape was absolutely emphatic about the fact that he hadn’t…”

“I know. And I believe him, which is why I am forced to investigate the possibility that there is something very special about this baby.”

“Meaning what?”

“Hermione, have you ever heard of a Somnostasis spell?”

She frowned. As the Charms instructor, she didn’t like to be presented with curses she’d never heard of, but she couldn’t recall even reading about this one. “No,” she admitted. “I don’t think so. But if it’s what it sounds like…”

“It is classified as Dark Magic,” Dumbledore interrupted, nodding. “It was popular during the Middle Ages but has faded almost completely from use in modern times. It is a spell which places a living creature in a state of dormancy. Once the spell is cast, the victim will be asleep and frozen in time.”

Hermione stared at the Headmaster in horror. “And you think someone might have done that to this baby? Albus, that’s terrible! Who would do such a thing? And why?”

“Those are questions we have yet to answer. In fact, I’m not certain that particular spell was even used. What I am certain of, however, is that a male child was born to Severus Snape and a young woman by the name of Diana Fletcher back in 1978. His name went down for Hogwarts the minute he was born, and when the time came for him to start, we were unable to find him. I think there is at least a chance that the child in your arms is that same child.”

“But…that would mean that this baby is older than I am!” she exclaimed. “Albus, that just seems impossible.”

“Improbable, perhaps, but not impossible.”

“Who is Diana Fletcher? Where is she now?”

“Hermione, I will answer your questions, but before I do so, I must extract a promise that nothing we discuss will go beyond this room. These are intensely private matters for Professor Snape, and under ordinary circumstances I would never discuss them with you or anyone else. However, I recognize that we are asking a great deal of you right now, and however that child was conceived, you are his primary caregiver and thus have an interest in anything that concerns him. I trust I can count on your discretion?”

“Of course, Albus. And I truly don’t mean to pry…it’s just…” she glanced down at the child in her arms, the child she now knew to be the son of her least favourite colleague. It didn’t matter, she realized. Whoever his parents were, however he had come to be at Hogwarts, she loved him, and that was that.

“I understand,” Albus said gently. “To answer your questions, Diana Fletcher was a student in Severus’s year here at Hogwarts. She was a Ravenclaw and very bright, but unlike some bright girls,” he let his eyes twinkle at her, “she was extremely reserved in class. She was the kind of girl who tended to be overlooked, and I’m sorry to say that I never got to know her very well while she was here. I do recall being aware that she and Severus were an ‘item’ – as they say – in their seventh year, but by the time the child was born the relationship had been over for some months.

“That was during Voldemort’s first rise, as I’m sure you know, and soon after the baby’s birth, Diana joined the resistance. It was then that I came to know her better. I knew that she had borne a child, but she never mentioned him and I never thought it my business to ask. She had changed greatly in the year since she left school. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the changes since I hadn’t known her well before, but I was not the only one to mark the difference. I don’t know if she was simply a late-bloomer or if the birth of her child might have brought about the change. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. At any rate, this girl who had been so shy and retiring became one of the most active members of the Order. She worked tirelessly, almost frantically, to bring about the defeat of Voldemort. There was nothing she wouldn’t do, no risk she wouldn’t take. She was involved with Sirius Black for a time, and they often worked together, spying on known Death Eaters. It was dangerous work, and eventually it claimed her life.”

“How terrible,” Hermione murmured. Having experienced Voldemort’s most recent rise first-hand, Hermione could relate to the young woman’s frantic desire to see him defeated, to see the dangers she and her friends faced finally brought to an end. For her, that had happened, and her closest friends had survived, but many of her classmates had lost loved ones during the war, and the sight of their pain was something she never could forget.

“It was dreadful,” Albus agreed. “Her family was devastated, of course. Her parents were not supporters of Voldemort, but they had never approved of her direct involvement with the Order. They blamed – mistakenly, I happen to think – her uncle Almerick Fletcher for enticing her into the war. The two brothers quarrelled, and Diana’s father died without them ever reconciling. Her death literally destroyed her family, and of course it was also a tremendous blow to the friends she left behind. She and Sirius were no longer romantically involved at that time, but he still cared for her a great deal, as did we all.

“But there was one other who was deeply affected by her death,” Albus went on soberly. “Severus Snape was among the group of Death Eaters who killed her.”

“Oh, no!” Hermione gasped.

“He did not participate in her murder,” Albus clarified, “but he witnessed it and was powerless to save her. The next day he came to me and renounced his allegiance to Lord Voldemort. I believe you know how that turned out.”

Hermione pulled the baby closer and buried her face in his neck as she considered the story she had just heard. She wanted to cry for the wasted life of a young woman she’d never known, wanted to cry for Sirius and Snape and everyone else who had ever cared about her. She especially wanted to cry for the child – perhaps the child in her arms – who had never had the chance to know his mother. She knew she should say something, but the right words wouldn’t come.

“Thank you for telling me all of this,” she said finally. “I admit I don’t quite understand how it all fits with the baby, but I’m still glad to know.”

“I thought you might be,” Albus said, nodding. “And perhaps you will understand why I must ask you to continue caring for the child a bit longer. There is still much we don’t know, but it will ultimately be up to Severus to decide the child’s future. In addition to giving him a profound shock, this situation has stirred up a number of painful memories for him. He is simply not ready to make any decisions of that magnitude.”

“I’ll care for him as long as it’s necessary,” she said. “I have only one request of Professor Snape, and I’ll leave it to you to decide when the time might be right to ask him.”

“And what is that?”

“I’d like for the baby to have a name. I’d like to be able to call him something besides ‘baby.’ I’d considered just coming up with something myself, but I suppose that wouldn’t be appropriate under the circumstances.”

“I’ll speak to Severus about it soon,” Albus promised. “Actually, that might be a good first step toward accepting his place in the child’s life. Thank you for suggesting it.”

“You’re welcome,” she said politely, but she felt the first stirrings of unease at the thought that Snape, who had hardly spared the child a glance, had a greater claim on him than she did. Despite being terribly moved by Snape’s part in the story Albus had just told her, nothing she had heard changed the fact that Snape was Snape, and she couldn’t imagine a man less suited to fatherhood.

She had no desire to share her baby with him.

Her baby.