Desperate Measures

True to his word, Snape returned to their quarters just before five o’clock so that Hermione could go see her parents. He was relieved that she hadn’t wanted him to accompany her home. He wouldn’t have done, in any case. He had no interest in spending the evening with a pair of Muggle dentists who wanted to know his intentions toward their daughter - particularly when he had no intentions toward her whatever - but he was glad to be spared an argument. He’d rather enjoyed the one at the breakfast table but thought it too soon for a repeat engagement.

Their rooms were quiet when he arrived, and, after glancing about the living area, he crossed to “her” side of the flat for the first time, feeling like an intruder. He saw that one of the doors was cracked, and he could hear Hermione humming softly within.

“Hermione?”

“In here,” she called, and he pushed the door open and saw Curt’s room. She hadn’t properly prepared him for the dragons, but on second thought, it might not be possible to prepare anyone for the dragons. They were silent, fortunately, but they were everywhere and in raging colour – racing around the room, breathing fire upon one another and then leaping and racing around again.

He was speechless for a moment and then, “How do you stand this?”

Hermione was rocking Curt as she nursed him. “I don’t. I’ve been sitting here with my eyes closed.”

“A temporary solution at best. I will deal with the dragons while you’re away tonight.”

“My hero.”

His lips twitched. “I’m equal to these, at any rate. I’m not quite so foolish as to go up against their living counterparts.”

“Nor am I,” Hermione admitted. “Well, leave a few – stationary, of course – so that Albus won’t be too offended.”

“Bugger Albus. If he wants racing dragons, let him put them in his own rooms.”

“Perhaps he has.”

“No – or at least not as of the last time I was in them. This is the kind of nightmare he enjoys visiting on others.”

“Did he do anything dreadful in your room?” she asked.

“No,” Severus admitted. “It looked exactly as it had when I’d left it that morning.”

“Mine did, too. And the living areas aren’t at all bad.”

“They’ll do.” A pause. “Shouldn’t you be going soon?”

“How nice of you to ask.” She smirked just a little. “But yes. As soon as Curt’s had his fill. Do you want to know his bedtime routine?”

“His what?”

“His bedtime routine,” she repeated. “What you need to do before you put him down.”

“Doesn’t Winky know all of that?”

Hermione sighed. “Of course. I just thought you might like to know.”

In fact, it had never occurred to Severus that a baby might have a bedtime routine. In his experience, the baby got tired and then he slept, and Severus didn’t see why that process needed to be cluttered up with a routine at all. However, the look on Hermione’s face told him that he had just failed some sort of important fatherhood test. He was too stubborn to recant, so he decided he’d just observe Winky when Curt’s bedtime came ‘round and see if there was anything to the routine business or to see if – as he suspected – Hermione just enjoyed making things more complicated than they needed to be.

“We’ll be fine,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to wait for you in the other room – away from the dragons.”

“I don’t blame you a bit.” Hermione sighed and closed her eyes.

She came out a few minutes later with Curt slung over one arm, a long line of drool trailing from his mouth to the floor. She held a small basket of toys in her other hand.

“Should you be holding him like that?” Severus asked, frowning at her. “He looks uncomfortable.”

“He’s fine. He doesn’t need his head supported anymore, and he’s getting heavy to carry the other way. Here.” She handed him the baby and then the toys. “I’m going to go get changed, and then I’ll be off.”

Snape settled Curt more comfortably in the crook of one arm, looking around for something with which to wipe the drool and then groping for his wand when he could find nothing useful. He summoned a flannel from his bathroom and wiped Curt’s mouth and chin, wishing again that babies were less prone to leakage. He handed the baby a toy, a rubber bear that squeaked when he picked it up. Curt held it briefly, dropped it to the floor, and then stuffed his fist into his mouth.

“I thought the bear was stupid, too,” Snape murmured, not bothering to find another toy while the baby was content with his hands. He still wasn’t prepared to admit how much he enjoyed holding and watching his son, but he thought, privately, that living with Hermione might actually be worth it if it meant he’d have more moments like these.

Hermione came back out dressed in slacks and a light summer sweater, her hair out of its usual twist and held by a clip at the nape of her neck. He hadn’t seen her in anything but robes since she’d worn the Hogwarts school uniform, and at the sight of her, it hit him for the first time what, exactly, he had done:  He’d married a Muggle-born.

He knew it shouldn’t matter, of course. And it didn’t matter – or not as it once would have. But he wondered if he’d ever be completely free of that particular prejudice or if it was as much a part of him as his nose and his hair – legacies of his father, all three. His father would have hated Hermione Granger, would have been appalled at the thought of his grandson suckling at a mudblood breast. His mother would never have received her in the family home.

“-asleep when I get back.”

“What?” he said, realizing that he hadn’t been listening to anything she’d said.

“I said, I’m sure Curt will already be asleep when I get back.” She sounded irritated that he hadn’t been paying attention. “Just call Winky if you have any problems.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“I know.” She crossed over and leaned down to kiss Curt, giving Severus a clear view down the front of her sweater. There was nothing there he hadn’t seen in the course of her feeding his son, but this particular view was intriguing, and his glance lingered there rather longer than it should have, until she quit fussing over Curt and pulled away.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” and then, somewhat grudgingly, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” she said, giving him a wry smile. “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

§ § § §
 

He had been looking forward to the time with his son, but he felt too unsettled after Hermione's departure to give the baby his full concentration. It had been a long time since he'd given much thought to the fact that Hermione Granger was Muggle-born; she seemed so much a part of Hogwarts, and her friendship with Potter had given her a prominent place in wizarding history. He'd claimed to renounce the bigotry he'd been taught as a child the minute he'd left Voldemort's service, but a real change in his thinking had come more slowly. He realized for the first time how much he'd truly changed, however, when he realized that he'd married a Muggle-born without giving her parentage a thought beforehand.

 Close on the heels of that realization had come his awareness of Hermione Granger as a woman. It had only been a moment, while he'd let his gaze wander to that tantalising swell of her breasts, but it had been enough to unsettle him. Suddenly, his eyes were opened to the fact that he was going to be living - platonically - in close proximity to a reasonably attractive young woman and that there might be moments when such an arrangement was less than comfortable. Just as he had never thought of Hermione as a Muggle-born, he had also never thought of her as a woman. She'd been his student first, and he loathed students and tended to view them as their first-year incarnations of themselves long after they had been transformed by puberty into something altogether different. He'd stopped seeing Hermione as a first-year some time ago, but he'd never considered her in light of someone he'd...admire, even in a superficial way.

 And he didn't, of course. His had been an automatic reaction - one that any man would have had. It would be unreasonable to expect a man presented with a clear view of a woman's breasts to look anywhere but there. It didn't mean a thing, he decided. Tomorrow she'd be back in her robes and that would be the end of it. Any other possibility was too awkward to contemplate.

 He was busy not contemplating when Curt began to arch his back and complain. Snape reached for one toy after another, only to have them rejected. If anything, his offerings seemed to increase the baby's agitation. He stood up, and that seemed to help slightly, so he paced the floor with Curt over his shoulder. He glanced at the clock: It was barely 6 p.m. Was that the baby's bedtime? Hermione hadn't said, and always before, Curt had just fallen asleep when he got tired.

 Still, if this was what he was going to be like awake, Snape would just as soon the baby sleep. The walking already was becoming tiresome, and it didn't seem to be working particularly well anyway. He wondered if he should just try to put the boy in his cot. Did he have pyjamas? Hermione hadn't said. Hermione hadn't said much of anything useful, he realized with irritation.

 "Winky!"

 What a welcome sight the hideous little creature was. She bobbed at him. "Yes, Professor Snape?"

 "What's the matter with him?" Snape snapped. "Hermione's only been gone a few minutes, and he's already screaming."

 "It's time for Master Curt's bath," she said. "Master Curt is usually fussing before his bath, then better for a while, and then he is fussing again and needing his sleep."

 "Well, fine then," Snape said. He remembered Hermione's blathering about bedtime routines and wanted very much to hex her for being right. He thrust the baby at Winky. "Bathe him, then."

 "Yes, sir," Winky said, taking Curt and crooning to him as she headed for Hermione's bathroom. Snape sank down into his chair and listened to the sounds of water running and baby fussing in the next room. Thank fortune for house-elves. In fact, he wished he'd asked Winky to fix him a drink before she'd left with the baby. With a sigh, he stood up and poured one for himself.  The baby was no longer complaining, but he could still hear the sound of water coming from the bathroom. An unusual curiosity drove him to peek in on them.

There was no question but that Curt's mood had been improved immensely by a little water. The baby was in a tiny bathtub, naked and laughing as he kicked his legs. Snape had never noticed how round the child's belly was, and he had rolls and creases in the most unlikely places. He watched as Winky washed the baby, sudsing the fine, dark hair and then carefully drizzling water over him to rinse. She tried to avoid getting water in Curt's face, but there seemed little point since the water didn't bother him at all. If anything, it seemed to make him laugh harder. She worked the flannel into all the creases, talking to the baby all the while.

Snape didn't know she was aware of his presence in the doorway until she startled him by addressing him. "Would Professor Snape like to watch Master Curt in the bathtub while Winky gets his pyjamas?" she asked. Before he could answer, she added nervously, "If the Professor has other business, Winky is happy to take Curt to the nursery with her."

"No... it's fine," he said. "I'll stay here with him."

Winky bobbed and waited for him to approach the counter where Curt's bathtub was perched, and then she edged away, out of the room, leaving them alone. Curt grinned up at his father and continued to kick and splash energetically. Snape eyed the water and rolled up his sleeves, and then he tentatively ran his hand over the slick skin of his son's abdomen and upwards, his fingers resting briefly over the child's heart.

Watching his son kick and splash and enjoy such a simple pleasure, Snape felt a thousand years old.

He forgot that he had planned to leave the "bedtime routine" entirely up to Winky and continued to play with his son in the bath until Winky crept into the bathroom with Curt's pyjamas and diaper in hand. "Pardon Winky, Professor," she said, "but Master Curt's bath is getting cold."

"I suppose it is," he said, realizing that the water probably was becoming uncomfortable. "Er..." He turned back to Curt, intending to lift him out and give him to Winky, but he realized he wasn't going to be able to do it without getting wet. He reached under the baby's slick armpits and lifted him, dripping, from the tub. Winky had the towel open and waiting and wrapped Curt in it immediately Snape handed him over. Curt continued to make contented sounds, and Snape watched as Winky expertly diapered and dressed him and then rubbed his damp hair with the towel.

"Does Professor Snape want to play with Master Curt until his bedtime?" Winky asked, once the baby's needs had been addressed.

He did want to, in fact, and this time, thoughts of Hermione didn't intrude. On Winky's advice, he spread a blanket on the floor in front of the cold fireplace and let Curt roll around. He could roll from his front to his back now, Snape noticed - when had that happened? - and very nearly could make it the other way round again. He seemed to require little beyond the occasional word or two, so mostly Snape just watched quietly as the baby exercised.

The end came quickly, when it came, and Curt went from cheerful to fractious in a matter of moments. Snape called for Winky again.

"Is it time for him to go to bed?" he asked, patting the baby's back awkwardly.

"Yes, sir," Winky said. "Master Curt is needing his sleep now."

"Here. Take him for me for a moment."

"Yes, sir," she said again, watching as he reached for the mantelpiece and removed his wand.

It took only a few seconds for him to vanquish Dumbledore's dragons. He left one, stationary, as Hermione had requested, but he added in a tiny snake coiled around one of the dragon's legs.

 Much better.

 He went back out and took Curt from Winky. He was still crying, and Snape wasn't sure what he should do with him in that state, but it seemed rather cold to just dump the child in his cot and leave. He eyed the nursery rocking chair with distaste and sat in it only because there was no chance of anyone seeing him. He settled Curt over his shoulder, since that position seemed marginally more agreeable to the child, and rocked slowly back and forth, rubbing the baby's back with his long hands. He didn't sing. Wouldn't. But he did talk a bit in a low, soothing voice, reciting potions ingredients and bits of incantations until the child stopped crying, relaxed, and Snape realized with a sense of triumph that Curt had actually fallen asleep. The transfer to the cot was awkward, and for a heart-stopping moment Snape feared the child would awaken. Curt gave a spasmodic jerk, screwed his face up as if to cry, and then relaxed again into slumber as his father released the breath he'd been holding and then moved silently out of the room.

He was still feeling pleased with himself when he settled into his favourite chair with a book. So there was something to this “bedtime routine” business after all. He wasn’t sure he was ready to tackle it without a House-elf, but he hadn’t found it anywhere near as disagreeable as he’d expected to.

§ § § §
 

Hermione arrived and found her husband with his book still in hand.

“You’re still up,” she said.

“Obviously.”

“Were you waiting to hear about my evening?”

“Of course not. I was simply reading.”

“How did things go with Curt?”

“Fine. Er, Winky…helped.”

She arched her eyebrows but didn’t inquire further. “Good.”

Neither said anything for a moment until Snape shifted in his chair, and the crackle of the leather rent the silence that had fallen. “So did you…enjoy your dinner?”

“I did. I enjoyed my dinner very much. I also enjoyed my dessert, and my coffee, and the game of chess Dad and I had afterwards.” She paused. “What I didn’t enjoy was the conversation we had after that.”

“Ah.”

She bit her lip. “They were…um…upset. I think they said some things they didn’t mean.” She sighed, remembering her father’s shouting and her mother’s tears. Apparently we don’t mean anything to you anymore...don’t even rate an owl…haven’t even SEEN you since Christmas… it had gone on and on. “I probably should have told them beforehand - before the wedding I mean. It bothered Mum a lot that she wasn’t there.”

He gave her a blank look. “Well, it’s not like she missed much.”

“No,” she said quietly. “Just her only daughter’s wedding.”

“Oh for…I beg you not to turn into a melodramatic female over this, Hermione. Not when your good sense is one of your most admirable qualities. We have an arrangement for Curt’s benefit. Surely they can understand that.” He waved one hand dismissively. “So, they’ll be at your next wedding.”

“A nice thought, but not one I was at liberty to share with them. I understood that the terms of our marriage were to be kept between us.”

He gave her the look he had reserved for Neville in her school days. “I meant that I didn’t want it spread all over the castle. Use your brains, girl! What could it possibly matter what you tell your parents?”

“It would have been nice to have known that before I left,” she said coldly, “since as it happens, it mattered a great deal. Now that I know, I will certainly reassure them that my sentence is only temporary.”

It was a good parting shot, and she recognized it and used it to full advantage. She didn’t stomp off in a huff, but that was only because she lacked the energy for proper theatrics. Her evening with her parents had left her feeling completely drained, and dealing with Severus Snape was simply too much just then. She left him sitting in his chair, book still in hand, and went to Curt’s room first, to check on him. He was sprawled on the mattress, his arms thrown wide, and his light blanket had been kicked into a twisted wad at his feet. She covered him again and then tiptoed into the adjoining bath to ready herself for bed.

She made it through her nightly routine and into her nightclothes before she gave in to the tears that had been threatening ever since she’d left her parents’ home. They came in a storm, and she crushed her face into her pillow and twisted her hands into the duvet as she sobbed. Gradually, the tight knot of pain in her throat seemed to loosen and the sobs subsided to hiccoughs, and only then did she lift her face and take great gulps of fresh air.

She believed that she could have handled everyone else’s disapproval, but her parents’ grief – and that was the only word for it – their grief - at her decision had been the final, crushhing disappointment. Her father had looked at her as if he didn’t even know her. Her mother hadn’t been able to look at her at all. She could still picture her mother, hunched over on the sofa with her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Her father had loomed over both of them, at first insisting that Severus had put her under some kind of spell, that no baby could have possibly been “asleep” for that long, that he’d known all along that sending her to Hogwarts had been a mistake. This was news to Hermione; her parents had often been worried, especially during the war, but they had always seemed proud of her and supportive of her decision to live and work in the wizarding world. Now, they seemed certain that she had ruined her life, and it was clear that they blamed Severus and Hogwarts and maybe even Curt.

Might her father be right? Was it even possible that she had done the right thing in marrying Severus? It certainly felt right whenever Curt was in her arms, but was it possible that she was right and everyone who cared about her was wrong? And hadn’t Severus just proved their point with his utter insensitivity?

At first, her parents had been delighted to see her – so delighted that she had felt guilty for not having visited sooner. She could Apparate, after all, and could have popped over almost any weekend, but it had been since Christmas that she had seen her Mum and Dad. They had neither complained nor nagged, but her Mum had treated her like visiting royalty and her Dad had kept wandering into the kitchen while dinner was cooking, just so he could put his arm around her shoulders and hug her to his side. It had all been pleasant, as she had told Severus, until she and her Dad had finished their after-dinner chess game and her Mum had begun urging her to stay the night, the weekend, the week. It was summer, after all. Why on earth couldn’t she leave Hogwarts for a few days?

She’d had to tell them then. Had to tell them that they had a grandson - and a son-in-law – whom they’d never met,, and that she’d acquired them in all the wrong order and in a way that was hardly believable to the witches and wizards of her acquaintance and completely beyond the ken of her Muggle parents. They were bright people, but words like Somnostasis tumbled by them, leaving them in utter confusion. The thing they understood, the thing that was devastating in its simplicity, was that their only child had gotten married, and they hadn’t been there - hadn’t even met her husband.

There was no answer for that – or at least none that Hermione felt would be helpful. She hadn’t told them because everything that had happened to her since Curt had arrived had been of her world, and not of theirs. She hadn’t told them because she’d known they wouldn’t approve, and at the time it had seemed more convenient to beg forgiveness than to ask permission. She hadn’t told them because deep down she knew they had always hoped for so much more for her than the greasy Potions Master she had so despised as a schoolgirl.

Her Mum hadn’t even asked to meet Curt. She had still been crying when Hermione left. Hermione had promised to return soon, to talk about it further, but as she drifted off to sleep that night she had little hope that the next visit would go any better than this one had.

§ § § §
 

Snape was thoroughly exasperated after Hermione left him. He had known that living together might have some difficult moments, but he hadn’t imagined that they would begin and end every day with a quarrel. Students knew him for his unpleasantness, but the truth was that he enjoyed peace and quiet in his off-duty hours and had become accustomed to viewing his private quarters as his haven. So far, sharing quarters with Hermione had been neither peaceful nor quiet, and his laboratory was now his only haven.

He thought back over what he had said in their most recent disagreement and couldn’t find a thing wrong with any of it. She had been the one to propose marriage, after all, and they had agreed together on the terms. Was it his fault she’d waited to tell her parents? He couldn’t imagine how, nor could he imagine what possible good would have been served by her parents attending a wedding that had been a mere formality.

He tried to read again and couldn’t, too irritated by the vagaries of Hermione’s behaviour to concentrate on the book in his hand. He snapped it shut and got up, and as he did, he heard a sound coming from Hermione’s side of the flat. He assumed it was Curt, so he drew closer, not realizing until it was too late that the sound was coming from Hermione’s room.

She was crying. Sobbing. The sound was muffled but easily recognizable. He stood still and silent outside her door, wondering what, if anything, he should do. Had he caused this, or was it something her parents had said? He still felt exasperated with her, but he also felt the stirrings of something unfamiliar. He had the vague feeling that he should apologize for something, though whether it was for his words that evening or for allowing her to become tangled up in his life he couldn’t have said.

He couldn’t bring himself to knock on her door, but he stood outside until the sound of her sobs subsided.

§ § § §
 

Curt awakened Hermione the next morning as usual. She barely remembered staggering into his room for his middle-of-the-night feeding, and even hours later she still felt heavy with exhaustion, as if she were coming down with something. She always felt dreadful after a cry; it was one reason she didn’t allow herself to do it often.

She took her time nursing Curt and dressing him for the day in the hopes that it would give Severus plenty of time to be gone from their rooms. Her eyes were still red and swollen from her bout of tears the night before, and every instinct cried out against exposing such vulnerability to her husband. She needn’t wonder if he’d use them to his advantage; that question had been settled in her earliest days in his classroom.

Unfortunately, he was still seated at the breakfast table when she and Curt emerged. “Good morning,” she said stiffly, seating herself at the table.

“Good morning,” he replied, not cheerfully, exactly, but certainly civilly. He lifted the teapot. “Tea?”

“Thank you.” She reached for the teacup, surprised and grateful, but mostly wishing she could find some way to hide her face.

“Did you notice I vanquished the dragons?” he asked.

She couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. “I did,” she admitted. “It’s tremendously improved. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I rather enjoyed it, actually. It was a bit like playing a Muggle video game.”

She nearly spit out her tea. “What do you know about Muggle video games?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I am not completely ignorant of Muggle culture.”

“Have you ever actually played a Muggle video game?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I once confiscated a magazine from a student that had an article about them.”

Something about the mental image of Severus Snape alone in his office pouring over a Muggle magazine gave her a fit of the giggles, and she forgot all about wanting to hide her face. Severus looked annoyed and reached for Curt. “Here. Let me have him so you can eat breakfast.”

“Thank you,” she said, handing the baby over. The change in Severus’s manner from the night before was so pronounced that she was beginning to feel rather suspicious. She sneaked glances at him as he walked around the room with Curt, allowing him to touch and explore various objects.

“So, what are your plans for the day?” he asked, without turning to look at her.

“Um, nothing much, really. I think we’ll take another walk this morning. We used the pram for the first time yesterday, and Curt seemed to enjoy it.” She paused and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t respond. Was he waiting for her to invite him along? “So, er, what are you doing?”

“Working. I’ll be in my lab.”

She was relieved. He was certainly making an effort to be pleasant, but the thought of spending a whole morning with him was rather intimidating. She was about to ask him about his research when he turned suddenly and said, “Hermione.”

“Yes?”

“Would it help if I were to meet your parents? To help explain our situation?”

She stared at him, completely speechless, noting in some still-functioning part of her brain that Curt was over his shoulder and chewing on his hair. That would probably have bothered her a great deal had she not been so completely dumbstruck by his offer.

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

“Er, I don’t think so just yet,” she managed. “Maybe once they’ve had a bit of time to get used to the idea, but now…I’m not sure it would help. Thank you, though,” she added quickly. “I appreciate the offer, it’s just…” She didn’t know how to say what she was thinking – that actually meeting Severus Snape might make her parents worry more, rather than less. “I think this is more about me,” she said finally. “I should have been more open with them about everything in the first place. It’s not your fault.”

“Very well, then,” he said. She thought she detected some relief in his harsh features. “I should probably be getting to work.” He approached the table and handed her the baby. “Enjoy your walk.”

“I’m sure we will,” she said. “Thank you.” She watched as he left for the dungeons and then shook her head as if to clear it. She no longer felt as if she was catching a cold, but Severus’s odd behaviour had left her feeling distinctly off-balance. “Strange,” she murmured. Curt looked at her curiously, and she kissed him and hugged him close.

§ § § §
 

She decided to seek Charlie out to ask if Jack wanted to accompany them again on their morning walk. She wasn’t sure where his rooms were, however, so she checked the staff room to see if they had breakfasted there or if anyone was there who might be able to point her in the right direction. She didn’t find Charlie, but Albus was still there, chatting with Poppy over a cup of tea.

“Good morning,” she said, handing Curt to Poppy, who had reached for him on sight.

“Good morning,” Albus replied, and though his tone was as pleasant as always, he seemed to be examining her closely. She’d thought that she’d covered all signs of her tears, but she should have remembered that it took more than a bit of makeup to fool Albus Dumbledore. She gave him a determined smile, hoping to forestall any questions.

“How are you, dear?” Poppy asked, “and how is this little fellow?”

“We’re both fine, Poppy, thank you. We were about to go for a walk.”

“How nice,” Albus said. “I saw you two out walking yesterday, as a matter of fact. You had young Jack with you, I believe.”

“I did. I hadn’t realized he and Charlie were going to be living at the castle until he came running up. He wanted to go with us.”

“I fear this may be a lonely summer for him,” Albus said. “And I’ve told Charlie that I’m a bit concerned about him roaming the castle. He’s a wonderful boy, of course, but a bit…mischievous.”

“He’s a Weasley,” Poppy said, as if that explained everything - and of course, it did.

Hermione laughed. “Well, I know it’s asking for trouble, but I thought I’d ask Jack if he wanted to walk with us again. I wasn’t sure where I might find him though.”

“You shouldn’t have too much difficulty finding him,” Albus said, smiling. “I’ve put Charlie and Jack in Minerva’s old rooms. It seemed only fitting, as Charlie has agreed to serve as Head of Gryffindor.”

“Really?” Hermione exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! I’ve felt so guilty about that and hoped you’d find a suitable replacement. Have you filled the Transfiguration position?”

“Not yet,” the Headmaster said, shaking his head. “It will be easier now, however, since I won’t have to limit my search to former Gryffindors. I’ll be speaking with several candidates in the next month or so and hope to find someone among them.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting her – or him. In the meantime, I’d better get going. I’d like to get back before Curt’s naptime today.”

“Before you go,” Albus said, “may I have a brief word with you – privately?”

“I’ll go,” Poppy said, standing and handing Curt to Hermione. “I need to get back to my storage room anyway. I’m determined to get it organized before I go on holiday. Enjoy your walk, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” she answered, but most of her attention was on the Headmaster. She wondered what he could possibly want to discuss with her that couldn’t be discussed in front of someone else.

 “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn,” Albus said once the door had closed behind Poppy and they were alone. “It may be that you’ve already made plans, but I wasn’t sure you knew…”

“Knew what?”

“Severus’s birthday is next Sunday. As you might suspect, he doesn’t like anyone to make a fuss over him, but I thought that under the circumstances, you would want to know.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, and then words failed her. What was she supposed to do about Severus’s birthday? “Well, er, what do you think he would like?”

Albus twinkled at her cheerfully. “As to that, I have no idea. I’m sure you’ll come up with something lovely, however.”

Drat the man! He was enjoying this. She refused to beg him for suggestions. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I’m sure I will,” she lied.

“There’s one other thing,” Albus said, and he looked more serious now.

“Yes?” She couldn’t quite imagine how he could hit her with anything worse than Severus’s birthday.

“I let the Fletcher family know about your marriage and made it clear that any attempts to try and gain custody of Curt would be futile. I would be being less than truthful if I said they took the news well, but they do seem to have accepted it and I don’t anticipate any further difficulties for you from that quarter. I’ve received an owl from Sylvia Fletcher, however, and she would like very much to see her grandson, to have some role in his life.”

“Oh,” Hermione said softly. “Yes, I suppose that’s…well…”

“I ask you to consider it,” Albus said. “She’s a lovely woman who has lost a great deal, and it would mean so much to her. I also think that meeting you would reassure her that Curt is in good hands. And it can’t hurt Curt to have one more person who loves him.”

“I’ll go see her this week, if that’s agreeable to her,” Hermione promised, feeling almost sick with nervousness at the thought of it. The prospect of meeting Diana’s mother was terrifying, but she was still feeling bitter about the fact that her own parents hadn’t expressed any interest in the child. He might as well have one grandmother who cared for him.

Albus nodded his approval. “I don’t think you’ll regret it,” he said. “And now, I’ve kept you from your walk long enough. Enjoy your day, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she said, walking with him to the doorway. He made his way toward his office while she headed in the opposite direction, toward Charlie’s new rooms. On sudden impulse, however, she changed her course and went outside instead. She knew she really should offer to take Jack with her, but her conversation with Albus had left her feeling unequal to all that Weasley energy. She wanted some quiet time to think and promised herself that she’d make it up to Jack later.

It was slightly cooler than it had been the day before, and heavy grey clouds were gathering overhead, obscuring the sun. The prospect of rain kept her from wandering too far from the castle, and she was doubly glad she hadn’t brought Jack. She doubted he would have been satisfied with her tour of the various courtyards and gardens, but as long as the pram was moving, Curt was happy.

As she walked, her thoughts bounced from her miserable parting with her parents the night before to the prospect of meeting Sylvia Fletcher until she was thoroughly depressed. She knew that Albus was right – she should take Curt to meet his only living grandmother – but however nice Mrs Fletcher might be, Hermione had little hope that the woman would like her or be at all pleased that a stranger was raising her grandchild. Mrs Fletcher was certain to despise Severus, so the fact that Hermione was Severus’s wife would win no points in her favour. She would do it – for Albus and because it was the right thing to do – but she couldn’t look forward to it.

And then there was Severus’s upcoming birthday. What was she supposed to do about that? She felt ridiculous even imagining herself giving him a gift. For a while, she amused herself thinking of all the “gifts” she and Harry and Ron would have given him, had the opportunity presented itself when they were students; Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes would have made a fortune off them. She giggled at the thought of Severus Snape dripping with canary feathers and then resigned herself to doing something respectable. Things were tenuous enough between them without her deliberately provoking him, and he had been awfully decent at breakfast.

So a “real” birthday present for Severus… As Curt drifted off in his pram, she wracked her brain for something appropriate. A book would be the obvious thing. He liked books - she liked books. She should be able to select something he would like. She could even consult with Irma about it – perhaps find something unusual. She remembered his bookshelves, however, and that all he seemed to be interested in were books on potions making and the Dark Arts. She supposed she could select something in one of those areas, but for it to be anything other than coals to Newcastle, it would have to be a special book indeed. Well, she’d keep that as a back-up plan, in the likely event that she couldn’t think of anything else.

She continued to turn the problem over in her mind as she walked, but every idea was quickly discarded. Clothing? She had no idea where one bought 19^th century frock coats, but he seemed to have an endless supply and to be disinclined to wear anything else. She’d never noticed him wearing a scent; she had occasionally caught a whiff of some potions ingredient or other, sometimes pleasant, sometimes not, but she’d never noticed anything else and had difficulty imagining it somehow. Jewellery was simply out of the question. He’d worn his wedding ring home from Hogsmeade, but she’d never seen it on him since, nor had she seen him wear any other jewellery. She had no idea if he enjoyed art, or music, or the theatre, and she felt depressed suddenly as she realized that she was living with a man she didn’t know at all. She perked up a bit as she remembered their conversation that morning and toyed with the idea of giving him a Playstation, but the absence of electricity at Hogwarts made that plan impractical.

As she walked by the greenhouses, she noticed Rosa working within and waved. Rosa waved back and then beckoned to her, so she pushed the pram in that direction, carefully giving the more dangerous plants a wide berth.

Rosa greeted her without stopping what she was doing, and Hermione pulled up a stool nearby so that they could talk.

 “I’m trying to come up with something for Severus’s birthday,” she said, jiggling the pram a bit as Curt became restless. “Albus told me that his birthday is Sunday, and I’m not sure what to get him.”

“Hmm.” Rosa looked at her shrewdly, seemed about to say something, and then appeared to change her mind. “Sunday, you say? I’d forgotten he had a birthday coming up.”

“Yes, and I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do about it,” Hermione said glumly. “Albus sprang it on me this morning.”

“You’d have felt worse if you’d let it go by, not knowing,” Rosa pointed out.

“I suppose.” She sighed. “So what do you suggest?”

“Hmm…Severus. Well, there’s always a book.”

“I thought of that, but he has hundreds of books already and they’re all on Potions or Dark Arts and catalogued in some bizarre way so that only he knows what’s where. I’d be certain to get him something he already has.”

“Well, what about potions ingredients? Something hard to find.”

Hermione shrugged. “Hogwarts will provide him with whatever he needs.”

“True enough, I suppose.” Rosa slapped at a recalcitrant tendril that was trying to wrap itself around her wrist. “Behave or be pruned,” she muttered, and the vine cringed away. “I wonder,” she exclaimed suddenly. “What about an owl?”

“An owl?”

“Certainly. He’s never had one that I can recall. It would be an added convenience for you as well, you know.”

“He’s never had an owl?”

“Why are you repeating everything I say?” Rosa asked testily, swatting the vine again. “He’s never had an owl that I can remember anything about, and it would be a nice gift.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Hermione mused. “They’re rather expensive, but it’s not like I have much else to spend my money on, living here.”

Rosa reached for her shears. “Take that, you,” she said to the vine, which ducked just out of the way of the shears and shrank back among its fellows. “

“I have to go to London this week,” Hermione said. “I’ll stop by Diagon Alley then. You know, the last time I went to buy an owl, I came home with Crookshanks, instead.”

“What’s a Crookshanks?”

“He was my cat! He died right before I started teaching here,” Hermione kicked her foot, her ankle now ensnared by the pesky vine. “Oh, drat – it’s after me now.”

“That does it!” Rosa’s hand flashed out and snipped the vine, and it released its grip and fell to the ground. “Sorry. I do remember you having a cat, now that you mention it. Ugly orange brute, wasn’t it?”

“He was a darling,” Hermione said, affronted.

“Well, I wouldn’t come home with a cat for Severus, if I were you. Stick with an owl – the smartest and most dependable you can find. Nothing flashy and certainly nothing cute.”

Hermione giggled. “No, I can’t quite imagine that, somehow.”

“When are you going to London?”

“Er, I’m not sure. Sometime this week, I think.” She told Rosa then about her promise to visit Sylvia Fletcher and about her parents’ dismal reaction the night before.

For the first time since Hermione had entered the greenhouse, Rosa stopped working and gave her friend her full attention. “I’m sorry about your parents, Hermione. I’d tell you to try to see things from their perspective, but I think you’re probably already doing that. Just give them a little time, and I’ll bet they’ll want to meet Curt, at least, and Severus too, if he’ll agree to it. You asked them to accept a lot in one night.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “And I don’t blame them for being hurt – and angry. I just wish they’d been at least a little excited about Curt.”

“They will be when they meet him. He’ll charm them,” Rosa said with a reassuring smile. “And as for Sylvia Fletcher, I don’t know her, but from everything I’ve heard, she’s a wonderful woman. She’s certainly smart enough to know that if she alienates you, she’ll be less likely to see her grandson. I wouldn’t worry too much about your meeting with her. Just be yourself and let her see how much you love Curt. None of what happened all those years ago was your fault, and she’ll know that.”

“What about Severus?” Hermione said. “Shouldn’t he go with me?”

Rosa pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, you can’t stop him if he wants to, but I don’t know that I’d encourage it – not this first time, anyway. I doubt he’ll want to go.”

“I agree,” Hermione said. “Though he did offer to meet my parents.”

“Really?” Rosa looked surprised. “I’m not sure he’ll offer to meet Sylvia Fletcher, however. Has he told you much about Diana?”

“No. Almost nothing. Albus told me a bit, and Minerva, but Severus hasn’t said much at all. He did mention once that she had a dimple like Curt’s, but I’ve never asked him for any details.”

“Maybe you should,” Rosa suggested. “It might do him good to talk about it.”

Privately, Hermione couldn’t imagine initiating that conversation, but she didn’t say so aloud. “Maybe,” she said.

They both looked up as the first drops of rain began to beat on the greenhouse roof, and Hermione jumped off her stool. “I’d better get back to the castle.”

“Yes, you had,” Rosa agreed. “I’m glad you stopped by though. I actually called you over to invite you to tea – Irma’s quarters, this afternoon.”

“Sure,” Hermione said, and then she smiled. “I’m surprised you still wanted to ask me, after getting such an earful of my problems.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rosa said. “What else are friends for? You can tell it all again this afternoon, for that matter. Maybe Irma will have some ideas.”

As Hermione dashed toward the castle, she was comforted by the thought of getting together with her friends that afternoon, but she knew she’d feel Minerva’s absence strongly. What she wouldn’t give to have Minerva go with her to visit Sylvia Fletcher!

She’d barely made it through the front doors when she heard childish shouts ringing through the Entrance Hall. She looked up and saw Jack sliding down the banister with Peeves cackling and calling encouragements to him. Nowthere was a combination that spelled trouble.

“Jack Weasley,” she said sternly, “stop that! Peeves!” She’d never had the slightest influence over Peeves and had little hope that he’d respond to the threat in her voice, but perhaps Jack would.

Or not.

The little boy continued as if he hadn’t heard her, and she was about to call out to him again when she heard Charlie calling down from above. “Jack!” he bellowed. “Stop that this instant!” Jack continued for a few seconds and then quickly dismounted the banister when he heard his father’s footsteps approaching. Peeves cackled and swooped away down the hall, away from the trouble.

Jack had been repentant in the face of Charlie’s anger the day before, but this time he was defiant, simply gritting his teeth while his father lectured and threatened him. It ended with him giving Charlie a baleful look and stomping back up the stairs.

Charlie turned to Hermione, looking embarrassed. “It’s been a bad morning,” he said, unnecessarily. “Jack’s miserable about being here and he’s determined to make me miserable as well. I think I’m going to take him to Mum and Dad today…see if they’ll keep him for a while. He’ll have more fun there.”

Hermione wasn’t sure that was the proper answer to Jack’s problem, but she decided to hold her tongue. It wasn’t her business, after all, and she’d never had an unruly five- year-old. “It’s a hard time for him,” she said, hoping that was non-committal enough.

“Yeah. I don’t think I realized just how hard it was going to be. Stupid of me, huh?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s only been a few days.”

“Yeah,” he said again, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Listen, I should be back from dropping Jack at The Burrow tonight. Would you want to…I don’t know, get together for a bit?”

He’s not used to being alone, Hermione thought sympathetically. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll come by after I get Curt into bed. Would that be OK?”

“Sounds good,” Charlie agreed. “Now, I’d better get back upstairs and see to Jack…get him ready to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight,” she echoed, lifting Curt from the pram. She felt better suddenly. She’d felt quite friendless when she’d gotten up that morning, but she could see now that that wasn’t the case.  Severus had been quite civil at breakfast, and now she had tea with Irma and Rosa that afternoon and a visit with Charlie to look forward to that night.

She was humming slightly as she and Curt climbed the stairs.