Desperate Measures

Chapter 8

By Kalina

Hermione had good intentions of keeping her promise to Minerva, but Snape didn’t make it easy for her. He failed to appear at breakfast the next morning and came and went so quickly at lunch that she never had a chance to speak to him and offer him the opportunity to stop by and see Curt, whom she had left sleeping in her office. She half-rose from her seat as she saw Snape push back his chair, and then she quickly sat down again, unwilling to chase him out of the Great Hall. She would simply have to be quicker at dinner; she was determined that Minerva see her making an effort.

“So what happened yesterday?” Charlie asked, as he watched her gaze follow Snape out of the room.

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Hermione said glumly, picking at her food.

“Come on. What are friends for?”

“Well, Harry and Ron mostly got me into trouble and copied my homework,” she snapped. “What are you offering, exactly?”

“Whew! She’s in a right foul mood today, folks! C’mon, Hermione. Out with it.” She told him then, in a low voice and with several accusing glances in Minerva’s direction, everything that had transpired the previous afternoon and evening. “So I wanted to catch up with Snape at lunch,” she concluded, “so that Minerva could see me making nice like I said I would, and then he barely sat down long enough to eat before he was out the door again.” She gestured irritably at the door as if it were evidence of some sort. “How am I supposed to be nice to the nasty old bat if I never even see him?”

“Well, as long as you’re going at it with the right spirit,” Charlie said, grinning.

“Oh, shut up.”

“What do you want me to do? Shall I challenge the blighter to a duel? I could do it, you know,” Charlie teased. “I could do it with one hand tied behind my back.”

Hermione glanced down at Charlie’s useless arm and rolled her eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

He laughed. “Thank you. Seriously, Hermione – just give it some time. You’ll see him at dinner tonight or in the corridors sometime. I don’t think Minerva expected you to work a miracle before teatime. Is he still keeping Curt this weekend?”

“I suppose. That’s one of the things I was going to ask him about when I saw him.”

“Mum Floo’d us last night, and I told her you might visit at Ginny and Harry’s this weekend. Ginny’ll be looking to hear from you.”

Hermione winced and put down her fork. “Ginny! I meant to owl her and just completely forgot. I’ll do it the minute I get back to my office. She must think I’m the worst friend ever.” “Lucky for you she has her hands too full to think much of anything at all. The new baby’s awake all night, Mum says, and Anna’s being difficult during the day.” “I can’t even imagine trying to take care of a newborn and a toddler at the same time,” Hermione said with feeling. “Ginny deserves a medal.”

“She has Mum to help her, and Harry’s still on leave,” Charlie pointed out. “And she isn’t trying to teach full time.” “Thanks, Charlie. I don’t deserve that after the way I talked to you.”

“Don’t worry about it. We Weasley’s have thick skins. Have to, with our Mum.”

“Your Mum’s a saint. I don’t think I ever appreciated it enough as a child.”

Charlie seemed about to launch an argument when Rosa stopped behind his chair. “Are you still having trouble with Horklumps?” she asked briskly.

“Merlin, yes. And as long as the Horklumps are bad, there’s no way to keep the gnomes away. It’s driving Elspeth mad.”

“So, the Care of Magical Creatures instructor can’t get rid of garden gnomes without help?” Hermione asked, grinning.

“None of your cheek, wench,” Charlie admonished, and then he turned his attention back to Rosa. “Do you have something for me?”

“I’ll be working in Greenhouse Four this afternoon. Stop by and I’ll give you some of the herbicide Severus just brewed for me. He’s tinkered with the formula a bit, and it seems to work better than what I bought at the Apothecary last summer.”

“What’s in it?” Charlie asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said, before Rosa could launch into an Herbology lecture. “I need to get back to my office. I left Curt there with Winky, but he’ll probably be waking up soon.”

“That’s fine, dear,” Rosa answered vaguely, dropping into Hermione’s chair as she vacated it. “We’ll see you at dinner.”

Hermione escaped, mercifully without hearing anything more about the Horklumps, and hurried back toward her office and Curt. Rounding the corner to the Charms corridor, she stopped just short of running into Severus Snape. “Oh!” she said, and then she immediately cursed herself for an inarticulate fool.

He seemed to be thinking along the same lines and smirked at her. “Good afternoon, Professor Granger,” he said, in a way which suggested that he was demonstrating the proper way to greet one’s colleagues in a corridor.

Everything about his manner set her teeth on edge, but she was determined to be pleasant. “Good afternoon, Professor Snape,” she said, emulating him with just the tiniest bit of sarcasm. “I’m glad to see you. I was going to speak to you at lunch, but you left early.”

“Well?” “Er…I just wanted to see if you might like to spend some more time with Curt – at meals, or perhaps during your free period during the day.”

“I’ve just come from doing that very thing,” he said, nodding coolly in the direction of her office. “I hadn’t realized I should wait for an invitation.” “Oh…er, no, of course. I mean, you don’t need an invitation. I’m glad you stopped by.” He watched, impassive, as she stammered through her surprise but said nothing to ease the awkwardness. They stood there in the silent corridor, Snape less animated than the suits of armour that rattled around them and Hermione shifting awkwardly and trying to think of something that would further her promise to Minerva.

“I’m planning to go see Ginny and Harry and the new baby this weekend,” she said finally. “Can I drop Curt by at around one o’clock again?”

“Fine.” Snape gave her a sharp nod.

“Severus…” He cocked a brow, and she went on in a rush. “I’d be happy for you to spend more time with Curt…if you want to, that is. I know you haven’t had much chance before now, and I’m really sorry if I’ve…well…anyway,” she finished lamely.

He smirked again. “Thank you for the generous offer, Professor. I assure you that it is as unnecessary as it is insincere.” With that maddening statement, he swept away without a backward glance, leaving her seething.

And the worst part was, Minerva wasn’t around to see that she’d tried.

§ § § §

The weekly staff meeting, dreaded by all, was held on Friday afternoon, and Hermione arrived breathless and nearly late after having to give detentions to a group of third-year Gryffindors caught dueling in the hall.

“Honestly,” she groused to Minerva as she dropped into her chair. “What’s gotten in to these kids?” “Spring,” was Minerva’s succinct answer. “They all seem to lose their wits the minute the weather gets warm.”

“I’ll be glad when finals are over,” Rosa agreed. “If I catch any more students snogging in the greenhouses, I’m not sure I can be responsible for my actions. It’s giving the Mandrakes all sorts of notions. Here, Hermione, let me see Curt. That sweet face is just what I need to drag me out of this foul mood.”

It never failed. The minute she sat down at the staff table, the baby was whisked from her arms to make the rounds of his adoring “aunties” and “uncles.” He moved from Sprout to McGonagall to Sinastra to Trelawney, whose prophetic cooing over him gave Hermione a case of nerves.

“Such a tragic beginning,” she was saying breathlessly. “I’m afraid it does not bode well for his future.”

Hermione was unsettled enough about Curt’s future; the last thing she needed was to hear an old fraud like Trelawney making dire predictions about him. Snape was seated next to Trelawney, and without even thinking, Hermione shot him a look that said quite clearly, “get him away from her.”

Snape’s lips twitched slightly, but he reached for Curt and plucked him out of Trelawney’s arms. “I will be responsible for my son’s future, Sybil. You need not concern yourself over it.”

At the sight and sound of the first such public declaration, the table went quiet, and everyone stared at father and son. Snape, with characteristic indifference to public opinion, simply settled Curt more securely in his arms. For a moment, Hermione wanted to stand up and cheer, but then she bit her lip at the realization that Snape hadn’t said what he planned to do about Curt’s future - only that it was more his concern than Trelawney’s.

The panic she had felt when confronted by Almerick Fletcher on Monday had subsided into anxiety that had simmered just below the surface as she’d gone about her week. It had made her short-tempered with her students, earning her hurt and resentful glances when she’d overreacted to symptoms of Spring fever by assigning an avalanche of detentions and deducting an unprecedented number of house points. She had withdrawn from Minerva, fearful of a repeat lecture, and kept her distance from her other friends as well, choosing instead to spend her evenings in her rooms with Curt. Her one real conversation with Snape had been patently unsatisfactory, but she still had tried to be pleasant, speaking briefly to him at mealtimes and twice passing Curt down to him so that father and son would have a few minutes together. Her efforts had met with a predictably tepid response, and she began to think Minerva expected her to perform a miracle.

So it was somewhat reassuring to see Curt in Snape’s arms, and if she’d known of a father-son bonding charm, she’d have cast it on the spot – never mind the irony, given her feelings on the subject only a few days before. She settled for watching them closely, looking for something in Snape’s body language that might suggest what he was thinking. Normally, Curt would have continued to be passed around the table, but when Snape held the baby no one dared clamour for a turn; Curt remained with his father.

Albus came in then, flanked on either side by Poppy Pomfrey and Madam Pince, and the meeting soon was underway, with the details surrounding final exams and the administration of N.E.W.T.’s and O.W.L.’s taking up the bulk of the discussion. Forty-five minutes into the discussion, Curt began to fuss, and Hermione wordlessly passed a dummy across the table to Severus. It worked for a few minutes, but Curt soon spat it out and the fussing soon started again. Severus juggled the baby in an attempt to find a position that worked, and when the crying began in earnest, Poppy Pomfrey intervened.

“He needs his mum, Severus,” she said firmly, reaching for the child.

Another awkward silence followed that statement, and Hermione avoided looking at Severus as she rose and went to claim Curt. She turned slightly from the rest of the group and covered herself with a blanket as she put the baby to her breast, and Dumbledore resumed the meeting as if they hadn’t been interrupted.

Hermione didn’t hear another word. Somehow, out of two awkward silences and sheer desperation, an idea had been born.

§ § § §

She stood beside Curt’s cot that night and watched him sleep as she considered whether it was in her to do what she planned to do. She decided that it was. It wasn’t like she had any other prospects, after all. If she didn’t marry Snape, she’d probably never marry anyone since Hogwarts wasn’t exactly teeming with eligible bachelors. And it wouldn’t have to be a marriage in the true sense of the word. It would be more of a partnership forged on Curt’s behalf. Snape was the child’s father, and she was clearly his “mother.” Mothers and fathers were supposed to be married - or at least that was the message her mother had drilled into her. She was perfectly aware that it didn’t always work that way, but if they were to continue living at Hogwarts, it was unthinkable that a less formal arrangement would suit the Board of Governors. Of course, she would have preferred to marry someone she actually liked, but she was certain that for Curt’s sake she could bear anything - even Severus Snape.

The biggest question was whether Snape would agree. The law was on his side with regard to custody. He could take Curt and go – or give him to his Fletcher relatives - and no one would stop him. And once Curt was weaned, there was nothing Hermione could offer him that he couldn’t get from a paid nanny. Except that she knew a nanny couldn’t possibly love Curt more than she did. She would simply have to convince Snape of that.

She reached down and lightly brushed the satiny skin of Curt’s cheek with the back of her fingers. He stirred slightly and re-settled himself, his pink hand splayed like a small starfish against the sheet before he once again balled his fingers into a tight fist. It was remarkable, really, that this peaceful child could be the catalyst for so much turmoil, so much life-altering change, but of one thing she was absolutely sure: He was worth it.

§ § § §

She left her room punctually on Saturday, having finally learned that it took at least twenty minutes to get out the door to go anywhere. She’d owled Ginny and received one in return telling her that it was chaos at the Potter house but to come anyway, and that Harry and Ginny were excited about seeing her. Ginny urged her to bring Curt along too, and Hermione didn’t attempt to owl back and explain why that was impossible. Even in a face-to-face conversation, there would be a lot to explain.

She was nearly numb with nervousness. She wondered if she looked different somehow to the people she passed. Surely anyone so affected on the inside must evince some outward change as well? She felt different – that was certain. It seemed positively surreal that she was descending into the dungeons on her way to propose to Severus Snape. Like most girls, she had imagined different proposal scenarios from time to time, and while a tender suitor on bended knee wasn’t an essential element, she had always envisioned the man being the one to do the actual proposing, just as she had envisioned her relationship with the man to be a great deal less acrimonious than the one she’d historically had Snape. She had always planned to marry for love, however, and if Snape accepted her, she would be doing just that. That the love would not be for her husband probably should have troubled her more than it did.

She tapped lightly at the door, and almost instantly the source of her nervousness loomed large in the doorway. She sucked in her breath and wondered again if her distress was obvious.

“Come in.” It wasn’t an effusive welcome, but it was cordial enough - for him - and he stepped aside and gestured her in.

“How…how are you?” she asked, her voice a bit too bright and brittle, like an anxious child’s.

He seemed to realize something was amiss then, and raised an eyebrow at her. “I am keeping well, Professor Granger,” he answered. “And you?” She was wretched, thank you, and she absolutely refused to propose to a man who called her ‘Professor Granger.’ “I thought it was going to be ‘Hermione’ from now on," she managed.

“Very well,” he said, with exaggerated patience. “How are you, Hermione?” “Fine, thank you. May I sit down?” Before I fall, she added mentally.

“Won’t the Potters be awaiting your arrival with bated breath?”

“A few minutes won’t matter,” she answered, seating herself without invitation. “I don’t think their concept of time is all that precise lately anyway, with two little ones. Charlie gave me the impression that they just move from one crisis to the next.”

“A lifestyle with which Potter should be wholly familiar.” Snape sat stiffly on the edge of the chair opposite.

“I doubt he’d compare parenthood to battling Voldemort,” Hermione said with a smile. “He enjoys being a father more than anything, I think. I know he’s happier now than I’ve ever seen him.”

“I shall certainly rest easier, knowing that.”

“What about you?” she asked softly, glancing down at Curt. “Do you enjoy being a father?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer.

“Do you?” she prompted.

“I am still reconciling myself to the idea that I am a father,” he said stiffly. “I realize that I’m probably not doing it on your schedule or to your satisfaction, but I am trying.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, shaking her head. “I meant…” She bit her lip for a moment and then words tumbled from her mouth that she’d had no intention of saying: “Did you love her?”

Snape’s face registered momentary astonishment at her temerity, but then he responded with a bitter laugh. “I was not yet eighteen when Curt was conceived, Professor. I certainly thought I was in love at the time, but having been the unwilling witness to hundreds of adolescent romances over the years, I now know that few of them amount to the real thing. I have no idea what might have happened between us had things been different. Now, unless you actually came here to pry into my past, could I request that you come to something resembling a point and then get on about your day?” “I love Curt,” she said simply. “I know I’m not his real mother, but I truly love him as if he were my own. I want to raise him as my own. I don’t want to live every day with the fear that you’ll take him away from me.”

Snape stood up so suddenly that he nearly knocked over his chair. He towered over her, radiating fury. “I will not give you my son,” he hissed. “I’ve let him live with you, let you care for him, accepted without complaint what little time with him that you’ve been willing to give me. And now you want to take even that?” He leaned closer, close enough that his hot breath washed over her face, and balanced himself by gripping the arms of her chair. “No, Professor Granger. The answer is no.” “You haven’t heard the question,” she answered shakily, instinctively clutching Curt tighter and drawing back, away from the black-robed body that imprisoned her.

“Then what, pray, is the question?” he snarled.

She took a deep breath. He certainly wasn’t making this easy. “Will you…will you marry me?” He froze, still mere centimetres from her face, and then his eyes narrowed. “Surely you jest.” “Not at all,” she said, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “And if you’d sit down and stop acting like a Neanderthal, I’ll attempt to explain my reasoning.”

He shoved away from her and dropped back into the chair, crossing his robed arms like a sleeping bat and uttering one terse word. “Explain.”

“I think Curt deserves a mother and a father. He has a father,” she nodded at him. “I want to be his mother. I want us to raise him together. It’s really no more complicated than that. We could…live together, so we’d both get to see him every day.” She paused and licked dry lips. “I’m suggesting a partnership, Severus. I wouldn’t expect anything from you – financially or…otherwise. All I would ask is that if the day came when one of us wanted to leave Hogwarts that we would make that decision together.”

“A partnership,” he echoed. “And nothing more?” “Nothing more.”

“I told you that it would have been impossible for Curt to have been conceived last summer,” he said after a brief silence. “I did not say that I had been celibate for the last thirty years, nor do I have any inclination to remain celibate for the next thirty.” She nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t expect that. All I would ask is that you be as discreet as possible – for Curt’s sake if not for my own.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-five. Why?”

“I realize that you’re not as idealistic and foolish as most young women, but are you truly prepared to enter into a loveless marriage with a man nearly twice your age? Have you thought about what you’re suggesting?”

“I have. I would be marrying for love, in my own way. The Headmaster told me that he wanted us to do whatever would be best for Curt – to give him the best upbringing possible. I think that together we could do that – or at least could do a better job than either of us would do alone. Don’t you agree?”

“I think you’ve lost your mind,” he said flatly.

“I know that you don’t really like me,” she said, “but then again, you don’t seem to dislike me any more than anyone else, and I wouldtry not to annoy you. I think if we tried we could coexist peacefully enough, and it would give Curt two parents – a Mum and Dad, just like I had…just like Mr. Fletcher said he deserved.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Fletcher’s name. “I will not be giving my son to the Fletchers either,” he said coldly. “You need not worry on that account. That said, it is not necessary for you to marry me to see him. I am not insensible of the good you have done him and understand that a certain…bond…has been formed.” “You don’t understand anything about that bond at all,” Hermione said, her voice quiet and deadly. “You couldn’t possibly.”

“It must be strong indeed,” Snape said, “for you actually to consider marryingme on its account.”

Hermione made no response to that, but her silence spoke for her. She would not pretend that this was anything other than what it was – would not pretend that she suddenly found Severus Snape desirable. He was the father of the child she loved dearly, and she must tolerate him on that account, but her innate sense of honesty would not allow her to do more.

“I’m asking you to consider it,” she said finally. “Think of it from Curt’s perspective.”

He was silent for so long that she began to shift uncomfortably in her chair. She was about to prompt him to say something – anything – when finally he spoke, in an odd, uncertain voice she’d never heard from him before. “As a man who has valued his privacy for many years, the idea of suddenly sharing quarters with a wife and child is frankly repugnant. I will, however, consider it. It is certainly not an option that had occurred to me previously.” He cleared his throat then and rose and reached for Curt, indicating that the conversation was over. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

She almost thanked him as she handed him the baby and then stopped the words before they made it to her lips. It was bad enough that she was practically begging the man to marry her. She needn’t thank him for not turning her down flat in the first five minutes.

“Fine.” She gave him what instructions he needed quickly and then left for Harry and Ginny’s. She’d expected the nervousness to pass once the question had been asked, but in fact, she felt more agitated than ever now that all she could do was wait for his answer. What if he said no?

What if he said yes?

§ § § §

He hadn't known how strongly he felt about keeping his son until the moment he thought Hermione wanted to take him away. His violent reaction had been startling to both of them, but he thought that he actually might have been the more surprised. He still couldn't explain the feeling at all. Watching Curt the previous Saturday had been a nightmare, and he had demonstrated complete ineptitude when it came to handling the very normal crises of baby care. Were he to try to raise his son on his own, the child would likely wind up in the care of house-elves and paid servants, and he knew that wasn't what Diana would have wanted for him. It wasn’t what he wanted either. He had spent most of the week trying to decide between giving the baby to the Fletchers – an idea that rankled for some reason he couldn’t quite explain – and allowing Hermione to keep him. He had all but determined that the latter would be his final choice, so it was completely illogical that he should have felt such fury when he thought she was suggesting it herself. He hated being illogical.

He looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. He hadn't wanted a child. He wouldn't have chosen to create a child - then or now - but the reality was that the child existed. Curt was his son, and there was something, some recessive part of him, that simply couldn't ignore those ties of blood. The second he had launched himself at Hermione he had known that his decision was made. He would not give his child away.

But what of her insane proposal that they raise him together?

Under any other circumstances, her suggestion would have occasioned a rare good laugh, but with the memory of the previous Saturday hanging over him, he had to admit that what she was offering held some appeal. She was willing to do all the dirty work associated with child rearing while at the same time making his son available to him on a daily basis. He believed her when she said she didn't want his money; there was precious little of it to be had anyway, and she had proven herself perfectly capable of self-support. All she wanted from him was the chance to continue loving his child, and he had already acknowledged that Curt was thriving in her care. The biggest problem was that to have daily access to his son, he would have to put up with her. That was a considerable obstacle, less because she was who she was than because he had no desire to live with anyone. She had been right: Since her days as Potter’s sidekick had ended and before the tension began between them over Curt, he hadn't disliked her in particular and, in fact, had found her marginally more sensible than most of the young witches of her generation. That was a far cry from wanting to live with her, but it gave him a starting point for his consideration of the idea.

And to his immense surprise, he was actually considering it. As long as she didn't expect him to play the part of the loving husband - or any husband at all - he thought he might be able to tolerate her continued presence in his life. She was good for Curt, and if he was going to make any sort of stab at being a father, he would have to commit to doing what was best for his child, even if it was uncomfortable for himself.

And it would be uncomfortable in the extreme. He glanced around his cosy dungeon rooms and tried and failed to imagine sharing the space with a wife and child, particularly a wife and child whom he hardly knew. The very thought of Hermione Granger having access to his possessions, rearranging his books, shoving the things in his wardrobe aside to make room for her own…well, he was appalled just thinking about it. And worst of all, she wouldbe there. Morning and night, weekends, holidays – all those times when he was accustomed to quiet and privacy – he would instead have her to deal with.

Normally, he would take to the halls when he was disturbed in his mind. He did his best thinking whilst pounding the long stone corridors. But Curt was sleeping soundly, and the previous weekend had taught Snape that a sleeping baby was preferable to one who was awake and discharging bodily fluids. He dared not risk waking the child, so he remained confined in his armchair, exercising only his mind as he attempted to work out the right thing for his son, for himself, and yes, even for Hermione. It was frustrating. It was maddening. It was a tangled snarl of a problem with no proper beginning or end.

But by the time Curt woke up from his nap and gave his father a sleepy glare, Severus Snape had made his decision.