Desperate Measures

A good father…

It had been days, but the words still rang in Severus’shead, and he pondered them as he packed his trunk.

Hermione actually thought he was a good father.

Severus still had difficulty believing it, yet he couldn’t imagine why she would have lied. He’d replayed their conversation in his mind again and again, had considered it from every angle, and he’d been forced to conclude that there was no ulterior motive; she must have actually meant what she’d said.

He didn’t feel like a particularly good father. He still took most of his direction from Hermione, bumbling his way through tasks that she and Winky handled with ease. He was the back-up parent, the one Curt settled for when Hermione wasn’t around.

And yet he had grown more comfortable with the child. He’d probably never be as good with Curt as Hermione was, but he wasn’t quite as devoid of paternal instinct as he’d originally supposed. He’d expected fatherhood to be like babysitting, only more so, and instead it was a mosaic of tiny, seemingly inconsequential moments that somehow came together to form something significant. Something life-changing. Only that morning, Curt had successfully swallowed his first bite of baby rice and then opened his mouth for more. Severus had been there; his hand had held the spoon, and he’d been able to appreciate the moment because he’d seen – and worn – the previous failures. Fatherhood was not always comfortable, but neither was it something he’d choose to miss.

He could not be insensible of the fact that Hermione had made it possible. Her suggestion that they marry – a suggestion that had seemed like sheer insanity when she’d made it – had allowed him to ease into fatherhood, and he believed that even if their marriage only lasted the year, he would have learned enough to be a decent father to Curt in the future.

He had to admit that at this point, the initial idea of their marriage seemed more inspired than insane. It was still a bit uncomfortable at times, but those times were growing few and far between. For the most part, Hermione was a tolerable companion and a considerate flat-mate, and she was utterly and completely devoted to his son. There was still plenty of time for their experiment to fail, but so far it had wildly exceeded his expectations.

Still, it had surprised him when Hermione had alluded to the possibility of extending their arrangement. His thoughts had tended in that direction once or twice, but he had swiftly brought himself back to reality. Hermione would never want…

And yet it seemed as though she might, or that at least the idea wasn’t as repugnant to her as he’d imagined it would be. He’d dwelt on that possibility almost as often as he’d thought of her comment about him being a good father. It actually seemed as though she…liked him a little bit. He couldn’t imagine why. Practically no oneelse liked him, and he hadn’t made any particular effort to be agreeable…but then, looking back over the last few weeks he realized that perhaps he had been more agreeable than usual without even meaning to. He began to consider that, but he kept hearing Albus asking him if he was happy - in that earnest, concerned way that maade Severus want to poison the man’s tea - and he decided that his agreeability was better left unexamined and probably hadn’t been that profound anyway.

But now, when his thoughts tended toward the end of his first year with Hermione and Curt, he allowed himself to imagine the possibility that there might not be another upheaval at that time…that they might continue together in their Hogwarts flat. It all got a bit vague at that point, but there was some comfort in the thought.

Black robes, black trousers, black coat, black socks, black shoes…He did a quick inventory of the trunk’s monochromatic contents and then snapped it shut.

§ § § §

“Was it something I said?” Hermione asked, watching as his trunk floated past her desk.

“I told you I was leaving today,” he answered, surprised.

“I was teasing.”

“Oh.” He gave her a disapproving look. “In that case, I’m not in the mood.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“You’d be out of humour as well if Albus was making you go to this thing. I can’t imagine anything more tedious.” This ‘thing’ was the annual International Confederation of Wizards meeting, which Minerva had historically attended in her capacity as Deputy Headmistress. This year, Albus had told Severus that he was expected to attend.

Hermione laughed and rose from her desk. “Frankly, neither can I. You have my sympathy.”

“I have research to do,” he fumed, “and very little time left this summer in which to do it. The owls go out to the first-years this week, and when I return, I’ll have to begin making the arrangements for next term. I’d like to strangle Albus with his own beard for making me take this infernal position.”

“He can be very convincing.”

“He can be a bloody pain in the arse.”

She chuckled. “That, too.”

He settled his trunk at the door, moved towards it, and then stopped. Even though they were only parting for a few days, it was their longest separation since they’d moved in together, and a farewell seemed in order – something more substantial than their usual “I’ll be back later.”

“Winky’s playing with Curt in his room so that I could get some work done,” Hermione said. “I’ll go get him so you can say goodbye.”

He started to protest and then stopped himself. He actually did want to see Curt before he left, and perhaps the baby’s presence would make the parting from Hermione less awkward. He waited while she stepped into the nursery and then quickly returned with Curt, who was happy and smiling, his fist tangled in Hermione’s hair. She disentangled him gently and then handed him to Severus. “He’ll miss you.”

Severus didn’t answer, but he held his son close for a moment and she thought she saw his lips pass briefly over the baby’s head.

“She’ll miss you, too,” Hermione added with a laugh, pointing to the owl, who glared at them from a new perch near the window. “Sure you don’t want to take her with you?”

“Quite sure.” The owl had gradually settled in to her new home, but she showed a marked preference for Severus and would allow no one else near her. Even Charlie, who had been consulted as to her health, couldn’t get near her without his heaviest dragon hide gloves. He had recommended exchanging her, but Severus, who twice had been allowed to stroke her soft feathers, said no, they would give it more time.

“Well…have a good trip.”

“Thank you.” He handed Curt back to her. “You know where to find me if you need me.”  With a quick nod he was gone, and Hermione and Curt were alone in the flat.

§ § § §

It wasn’t until Curt woke up from his nap that Hermione made the impulsive decision to visit her parents. She hadn’t been given a specific invitation, but her parents had said they were willing to see her and to meet Curt. She’d grown used to Severus’s presence in the evenings – she wouldn’t quite call it companionship, but almost – and in his absence, the flat seemed quiet and rather dull. So to her parents she would go.

The decision was bravely made, but her nervousness increased as she changed into Muggle shorts and a top and shook her hair out of its clip. Her mother hated to see her hair piled on her head; she always accused her of not making the most of her assets, or something along those lines. While Hermione normally ignored her, she decided that on this particular visit she would do everything in her power to avoid antagonizing her parents, even about her hair. So she arranged her hair as best she could and added a little makeup, but when she heard Curt squawk she decided that would have to be enough. Curt would be the center of attention anyway, and as far as Hermione was concerned, he was irresistible.

She dressed Curt in one of her favorite sun suits and combed his hair carefully. “You’re going to meet your grandparents,” she said, “and it’s important that you be on your very best behavior this first time.” Curt’s only response was to try to grab the comb. She laughed. “Oh never mind. They’ll be in love with you from the first second they see you.”

And yet they weren’t. Or not exactly, anyway.

She and Curt Apparated into a secluded section of the back yard she had played in as a child. She expected that her parents were still at the office, but as she came around the shrubbery, she saw her mother on her knees, planting a flat of flowers. Hermione paused for a moment and watched her mother in the afternoon sun. Marjorie Granger’s hair, once several shades darker than Hermione’s, was now nearly silver, and in the slight breeze the short curls seemed to dance about her head. Her glasses hung on a chain around her neck, and Hermione remembered how much she’d enjoyed trying them on as a child, pretending she was a grown-up.

She cleared her throat softly. “Hi Mum.”

Her mother gasped, badly startled, and Hermione instantly apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” she added.

“In that case, you might have used the front door,” her mother said, rising and wincing slightly as her knees popped.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said again. “I assumed you’d still be at work.”

“I haven’t worked on Mondays in years.” Marjorie squinted slightly and shielded her eyes from the sun, trying to get a better look at her daughter and the baby in her arms.

“Oh. That’s right. I suppose I just forgot.” Hermione stepped closer to her mother and held Curt up for inspection. “Um, this is Curt.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” her mother said coolly, and then she softened slightly. “He’s darling. How old is he now?”

“Six months.”

“Hmm. Well, you should probably get him out of this afternoon sun. Would you like to come in and have a cool drink?”

“Sure. That sounds nice. Do you want me to finish the flowers for you first?” Hermione held up her wand.

Her mother smiled slightly for the first time. “I’ll finish them later.”

“All right.” Hermione followed her mother into the house and was immediately, as always, accosted by the sight and scent and feel of the place that had been her home until she was eleven. It was still technically her home after that, of course, but the memories the place evoked were the memories of childhood, not adolescence. Most of those later memories belonged to Hogwarts and the Burrow and Diagon Alley – a world that felt as distant from her childhood home as if they’d been on the other side of the world.

It was a comfortable home, not grand but certainly more elegant than it had been when she was young and her parents were still establishing their practice. Despite the changes in specific décor, however, the place still had the stamp of her mother’s taste upon it, still beckoned to her across the years and whispered reminders of a simpler time. Back then,  no problem was so great that it couldn’t be solved by putting her head into her mum’s lap and pouring out her heart whilst her mother’s fingers wove gently through her hair.

“Is lemonade all right? I’m afraid we’re fresh out of pumpkin juice.”

Hermione snapped out of her reverie. “Lemonade sounds wonderful,” she said, ignoring the pumpkin juice reference. “Can I help you?”

“No, thanks. It’ll just take a second.” Her mum disappeared into the kitchen, and Hermione put Curt down in the middle of the lounge and then pulled several toys from her bag and placed them within reach. He hadn’t been sitting up on his own very long, so she took several pillows from the sofa and arranged them behind him in case he fell. Her mother reappeared then with the lemonade and a tray of biscuits, and Hermione curled into her father’s favorite chair.

“So,” her mother said, settling across from her. “What brings you here?”

“I just wanted to see you and Dad,” Hermione said. “Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right. Just surprising.”

“Mum, I told you I was sorry about being so out of touch. I don’t know what else to say.”

Her mother nodded and sipped her drink. “So where’s this husband of yours?”

“He’s traveling just now – on business for Professor Dumbledore.” She smiled. “He’s not very happy about it.”

Her mother arched her eyebrows. “And yet I’d wager he’d rather be wherever he is than here.”

Hermione laughed out loud, causing Curt to glance up from his toys and grin in response. “You’re probably right about that,” she said. “I have to admit, it’s rather funny thinking of Severus Snape being afraid of a pair of Muggle dentists. I’ll have to tell Harry and Ron someday.”

“Harry and Ron. What do they think?”

“Well…I haven’t actually talked to either of them, but I gather they think I’ve lost my mind.”

Her mother made a sound of disapproval. “You’ve really given up a lot for this.”

“Mum, look at him,” Hermione said, gesturing toward Curt. “Can’t you see how perfect he is?”

“I can see that you think he is, Hermione, and believe it or not, I understand how powerful those feelings are. I’m a mother, too, you know.”

Hermione didn’t respond, insulted by her mother’s lackluster response to her child.

As far as she was concerned, anything less than complete adoration of Curt was inadequate.

“Hermione.”

“Don’t you even want to hold him?” Hermione burst out. “Aren’t you just a little curious about him? His other grandmother couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. Everyone at Hogwarts adores him.”

“And perhaps I shall too, in time,” her mother said calmly. “As I said before, he’s a darling baby. I’ll add that you seem to be doing a wonderful job with him. He’s happy and content and obviously well-cared-for. But I’ve never been one to turn to mush over babies, and I’m still getting used to the idea that I’m expected to be a ‘grandmother’ to this one. You’ll have to give me a little time, Hermione.”

“Did you like me when I was a baby?”

“Of course I did. What a silly question. But I admit that I enjoyed you even better as you got older. The hardest thing I ever did was send you to Hogwarts. I enjoyed you so much by that time – you were so bright, so interesting, so curious about the world. I felt like I lost you just at the time we’d have enjoyed one another the most.”

“You didn’t lose me, Mum,” Hermione said, but even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

Her mother just smiled slightly and set her glass to one side. She surprised Hermione by going over to Curt and sitting down in front of him. Hermione heard the knees pop again. “Hello there young man,” Marjorie Granger said softly, and something about her mother’s way of talking to Curt reminded Hermione of Severus before Curt’s illness. It was an awkwardness, a shyness almost, with fear of rejection somewhere at the root. Curt leaned forward and reached for the glasses that swung so tantalisingly in front of him. Hermione’s mother laughed and removed the glasses, placing them in the baby’s chubby hand. “You may hold these,” she said, “but I’ll need them back.” Curt shook them vigorously and then stuck them in his mouth.

“Oh, Mum, I’m afraid he may break them.”

“I trust you’ll be able to fix them if he does,” her mother pointed out.

“Oh, yeah,” Hermione giggled.

Marjorie Granger rolled her eyes. “All that money for your education…”

§ § § §

When her father walked in from work, Curt was sitting in Hermione’s old high chair, summoned from the attic, and Hermione and her mother were busy in the kitchen.

“Hi, Daddy,” Hermione said softly, when her father appeared in the doorway.

Her father answered by opening his arms, and Hermione went straight into them. “It’s good to see you,” she said, her voice muffled in his neck.

“You, too,” he said gruffly.

Just then a toy hit the floor and Curt gave a cranky cry. “Dad, this is Curt,” Hermione said, stooping to pick up the toy. “He’s getting hungry, I’m afraid.”

“Go feed him, Hermione,” her mother said. “We won’t eat for another half-hour.”

“He looks like a fine boy,” her dad said, offering the baby his finger after Hermione had lifted him from the chair. “I hope I’ll get to hold him.”

“Of course you will.” Hermione beamed. “Just give me fifteen minutes and he’s all yours.”

She retreated to the lounge, shy for some reason of nursing in front of her parents and needing a few minutes to herself to consider the past two hours. It hadn’t been the love-at-first-sight that she’d hoped for, but neither had it been a total disaster, and her father’s response to Curt seemed promising. She still couldn’t quite imagine showing up to dinner with Severus, but she had the feeling that Curt would eventually be accepted by her parents. She glanced down at Curt. He stared back at her with his father’s dark eyes and briefly she saw his dimple flash as he smiled at her while he nursed. He’d somehow got the best of both his parents, she thought, and though what he was getting from her was less obvious to the naked eye, she didn’t doubt that it was there. She hoped her parents would see that in time.

“It seems rather incredible – to see you doing that,” her mother said softly from the doorway.

“It still amazes me, too,” she admitted, looking up from Curt and smiling at her mum.

Her mother smiled back at her. “We’re glad you came tonight, Hermione.”

§ § § §
 

She wound up spending the night at her parents’ house, and it was nearly lunchtime the next day before she Apparated back to Hogwarts. Over breakfast, she’d been invited to join her parents on their vacation in August, and she’d given them a tentative yes, saying that she’d have to discuss it with Severus before she could make the commitment firm. She couldn’t imagine that Severus would have any objection, however, and she was excited both at the thought of spending two weeks on the beach and at the opportunity it would afford for her parents to get to know Curt better. Her father had taken to him right away, and Hermione had felt tears spring to her eyes the night before at the sight of her baby drifting off to sleep on her dad’s shoulder. She wasn’t sure her parents felt like ‘grandparents’ yet, but she believed they would eventually, given the opportunity.

They hadn’t had the promised conversation about her marriage to Severus. She still planned to tell them, and she knew they’d eventually ask, but last night and that morning had been about healing some of the old wounds, and they’d all taken great care to steer clear of conversations that might open new ones. It was a start, at least, and she practically floated up the steps to the castle, so happy was she with the way the visit had turned out. After a brief stop in her rooms, she headed straight to lunch in the staff room, feeling her good mood was wasted on the empty flat.

It was an unusually small group in the staff room that day, even for the summer. The Headmaster had left for the meeting already, and Poppy had apparently arranged her storage room to her satisfaction and left for her holiday. Rosa and Irma were there, however, and Hermione settled across from them after handing Curt to Irma. They were nearly finished eating when Charlie came in, his clothes filthy and torn and his person generally looking as if it had been dragged across the grounds by some stampeding beast. He probably had, Hermione thought with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. He was almost as likely to get himself into trouble as little Jack.

He greeted them with a grin. “Afternoon ladies. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Lovely,” Rosa agreed, forbearing to comment on his appearance. Hermione suspected it took an effort.

“What have you been up to?” she asked mildly.

“Getting ready for next term’s classes,” Charlie said. “I have some great stuff planned for the third years.”

Hermione snorted. “Apparently so.”

“What about you?”

She gave him a blank look. “My third years will be doing what they always have.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “What have you been doing today?” he asked, with exaggerated patience.

She giggled. “Oh. I just got back from spending the night at my parents’ house. Severus has gone to the conference with Albus.”

“Under duress, I should imagine,” Rosa said dryly.

“Oh yes,” Hermione agreed. “He was furious about it.”

“How long is the conference?” Charlie asked.

“Three days.”

“Ouch.” Charlie shuddered slightly. “Can’t say that I blame Snape for being furious. I’m glad I don’t have a job that requires conferences.”

“Apparently Albus hasn’t told you about the annual planning retreat for the Heads of House,” Rosa said with a smile.

“No…” Charlie looked horrified.

“Oh yes. It’s very cosy. You’ll fit right in.” Rosa laughed outright at the look on Charlie’s face.

“But I have a child,” Charlie argued. “I can’t just leave whenever I want.”

“That child has grandparents and more aunts and uncles than I can count,” Irma laughed. “You’ll not sell that excuse easily, I’m afraid.”

“Well then I’ll just have to work at finding a better one then, won’t I?”

“You’re hopeless,” Irma said, shaking her head, and Rosa just said one word: “Weasleys.”

“So how’s the owl?” Charlie asked Hermione, changing the subject.

“Bitchy as ever. What was I thinking?”

“Can’t imagine. Does Snape still want to keep her?”

“He says he does,” Hermione sighed. “She seems to like him better than anyone else - which isn’t saying much.”

“Birds of a feather…” Charlie muttered under his breath.

Hermione laughed. “Maybe so.”

“Does she at least carry your mail for you?” Rosa asked.

“Not yet,” Hermione admitted. “I haven’t had the nerve to give her any yet. She goes out to hunt at night now, though, and always comes back in the morning. I hope that means she’s getting used to us.”

“Maybe,” Charlie said doubtfully. “I still say you should exchange her.”

“I can’t. She was a gift to Severus. He says he wants to keep her.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Irma suggested.

“Severus?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, well, I suppose I see your point,” Irma conceded.

Rosa was jiggling Curt and gave Hermione a reproachful look. “So what if this creature…”

“Lucretia,” Hermione supplied.

Irma choked briefly on a mouthful of tea. “Lucretia?” she repeated, when she could again speak.

“Severus named her.”

“That sounds like him,” Irma said, but she looked amused.

“It does, rather,” Hermione agreed, and then she turned to Rosa. “So what were you saying?”

“I was just hoping that this Lucretia wouldn’t pose any threat to Curt.”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “She ignores him completely. And us, too, for that matter. She just doesn’t seem to want much to do with us.”

“I’d exchange her,” Charlie said again, around a mouthful of food.

“You mentioned that.” Hermione pushed back her chair and stood up, preparing to leave. “I should get back to the flat. It’s soon Curt’s naptime, and I need to get some things done while he sleeps.”

The others offered goodbyes as Hermione reclaimed Curt.

“Say, Hermione,” Charlie said, stopping her as she turned to go. “Would I be interrupting Curt’s nap if I stopped by your rooms in a few minutes?”

“I shouldn’t think so – not if you’re quiet. Why?”

“Well, Poppy’s gone, you know, and some of these scrapes could use some attention before I go back to work. D’you mind?” He gestured at his torn shirt, and she winced as she saw an expanse of raw flesh on one bicep.

“Of course not,” she said sympathetically. “Come as soon as you’re finished. I’ve got some practice with my healing charms lately thanks to Lucretia.”

He chuckled. “All right then. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Rosa and Irma exchanged glances, but neither Charlie nor Hermione noticed.

§ § § §

She’d just got Curt down for his nap when Charlie tapped lightly at the door.

She opened the door and gestured him in. “Thanks,” he said, stepping into the living area. “So, it’s just you and Curt these next few days, eh?” Charlie glanced around as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“And Winky, of course,” Hermione said, “though in truth there hasn’t been too much for her to do lately. I like taking care of Curt myself, and whenever I can’t for some reason, Severus usually can. But when term starts, she’ll keep him here while Severus and I teach.”

“That’ll be a big change for you.”

“Yes. Even knowing he’s just down the hall, it’ll still be hard. And Severus will be very busy, I’m sure, with his teaching job plus the deputy headmaster’s duties.”

“Hmm. S’pose so,” Charlie agreed. “I’m beginning to wonder whether I was off my head to agree to serve as head of Gryffindor. With Jack and teaching…I’ve a feeling I’m going to regret it.”

“Makes you appreciate Minerva a bit more, doesn’t it?” Hermione said.

“That it does.” Charlie shrugged out of his shirt and pointed to the worst of his abrasions, one which extended from shoulder to elbow. “This one first.”

Hermione hissed in sympathy. “Ouch. Dare I ask?”

“Got dragged a bit is all. If I’d had the use of both arms, he’d have never got the best of me.”

“He who?”

“The Graphorn.”

“The Graphorn!” she repeated. “What on earth are you doing with a Graphorn?”

“Getting dragged across the paddock, mostly,” Charlie said dryly. “It’s a baby – mother was killed by poachers for her horn and hide. Dumbledore gave me permission to keep it until Christmas.”

“And you’re going to let your third years work with it?”

“’Course not,” Charlie scoffed. “I was working on something else for them. You worry about the Charms and let me teach Magical Creatures.”

“Well, I’ll certainly get to practice my healing charms, won’t I?”

“Today, preferably,” Charlie said, pointing to his shoulder.

“Be still and let me work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, with exaggerated meekness.

In addition to the extensive abrasion, Hermione noted the heavy scarring from his previous injury. “No wonder you were able to get through lunch. Can you even feel this?”

“A little. I can feel the shoulder, but not much below.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that a man with the use of only one arm had no business working with a Graphorn, but she stifled the impulse. Charlie would not like being reminded of his limitations, and besides, she knew it would do no good. Instead, she took up her wand and healed the fresh wounds, and then she finished by repairing and cleaning his shirt.

“Good as new,” she said, handing it back to him.

He threaded his useless arm into the sleeve and Hermione helped him into the other.

“Thanks,” he said. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m glad I could help.” His shirt was hanging open and she reached for the first button to close it for him.

“It’s been a while since anyone’s helped with that.”

She stepped back, uncertain. Had she offended him? She’d only been trying to help, but of  course he could manage his own buttons… “Oh,” she said, “I’m sure you don’t need…I didn’t mean…”

“Hermione,” he said softly, “it’s fine.” He caught her hand in his and brought it back to his chest, and then his face was slanting toward hers, his breath soft across her cheek. By the time she registered his movement he was already there, and as his lips met hers, he released her hand and his good arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest. There was a moment of sheer unreality – this just couldn’t be happening – before it dawned on her that what was happening was rather nice. It had been ages since she’d been kissed, since she’d been close enough to a man to feel the scrape of whiskers against her skin and broad shoulders beneath her hands. Charlie’s kiss felt sweet and right, felt like warmth and sunshine and home, and she leaned into it, wanting more.

Wanting everything...