About A Potions Master - In the Family Way

By Pigwidgeon37

“Dear Cassandra, I think that Hermione needs her mother in this difficult moment.”

“Dear Helen, this is the moment when a woman needs her husband.”

“He looks like a spectator at Wimbledon,” Harry whispered in Ginny’s ear, and both giggled, looking at their former Potions teacher who was standing between the chairs his mother and mother-in-law were currently occupying. His hands were balled into fists, so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, and his head was turning from left to right and back again, while he followed the discussion between the two women. Or rather, it could still be called a discussion provided one disregarded the opponents’ facial expressions, but the exaggerated politeness the two women were displaying strongly suggested that the knives were out.

“No woman with a modicum of self-esteem should let her husband near her while in labour, my dear.”

“I daresay I have more than just a modicum of self esteem. But when I gave birth to Severus, my husband was at my side from the first to the last minute.”

“You seem to be forgetting, dearest Cassandra, that your son is not my daughter's husband.”

Good point, Mrs. Granger, Severus thought. Although I have to say that, had it not been for you, we would have been married months ago.

“If,” Mrs. Snape countered pointedly, “we had not had to consider the crammed schedules of Hermione's relatives, not to mention your unwillingness to deprive some nonentities, about whom I could not care less, of the privilege of having their teeth drilled by you and your husband, Severus and Hermione would be married by now.”

Thank you mother. I think that equalled the score. Although it does not cancel out the fact that my almost-wife has gone into labour in the middle of the ceremony. And that we will have to go through this once again, Merlin only knows when.

“Have you ever heard of the subconscious, dearest Cassandra?”

“My dear Helen, I am not so bigoted as to ignore all things Muggle. What exactly would your point be?”

“My point is that the subconscious has very cunning strategies of expressing what the conscious part of the human mind does not want or dare to admit. Maybe it is no coincidence that Hermione went into labour before she was bound to your son for the rest of her life.”

There. She said it. Considering we are in the infirmary, I might just as well hex her. A wee Furnunculus Curse, maybe?

Courtesy of Sirius Black, Helen Granger was spared the terrible fate of being covered in pustules for the next few hours. He entered the Hospital Wing like the Angel of Revenge, with two fiery-headed, bemused-looking and, above all, petrified cherubs floating in his wake. “Here they are, Severus,” he said, “Tried to hide in the locker rooms down at the Quidditch pitch. Have your way with them,” he added with a malicious grin.

Fred and George Weasley, whose latest invention—the Wacky Wildlife Wheezers—was responsible for Hermione's untimely confinement, visibly tried to look guilty but failed. To do them justice, this was due to their present state of petrification rather than to a lack of contrition.

The Wacky Wildlife Wheezers were an entirely new kind of firework which, once set off, produced an extremely realistic illusion of the fiercest creatures the magical fauna had ever produced, stampeding towards the beholder, roaring, screeching or howling, before they dissolved into a myriad of sparkling flowers. Unfortunately, one of the Hogwarts House Elves, scuttling back and forth across the lawn in the throes of buffet-building, had unintentionally operated the triggering device. And so the bride, who was just being guided down the aisle between the two blocks of cheerful-wedding-guests-filled seats by her father, had been greeted by the sight of two Acromantulae, one Chimaera, and several assorted dragons rushing towards the assembly and herself, at top speed and with seemingly sinister intentions. Sure, she hadn’t been the only one to get a good fright, and she had even proceeded towards her soon-to-be husband and Albus Dumbledore once the chaos had subsided. But she was more than eight months pregnant, and the shock had clearly been too much for her. Dumbledore had just finished his opening speech, when the bride had given a piercing wail, clutched her protruding belly and crumpled against the groom.

Snape had conjured a stretcher and transported his beloved to the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible, followed by Madam Pomfrey, the two mothers, and Harry and Ginny, without whose help the happy couple might never have become happy, nor a couple, let alone united in marriage with a baby on its way. This and the tangible animosity between Mrs. Snape and Mrs. Granger had led them to believe it might be a good idea to be present, just in case the prospective father or one of the in-laws did something inconsiderate.

“I shall deal with them later on,” Snape replied, clearly exasperated. “What about the guests?”

“Don’t worry. Albus has channelled their energies towards the buffet. Last thing I saw was your father-in-law, raising his glass to your father’s portrait.”

Snape nodded. At least those two get along well. Something that cannot be said about their spouses. Well, that didn’t exactly come as a surprise. We both knew that they were going to hate each other, that much was clear after our horrible, horrible engagement party.

“Severus, are you sure you’re all right?”

Snape glared. “Yes, Black, I’m perfectly all right, given the circumstances.”

Black grinned knowingly. “Happens to the best among us.” He turned towards Cassandra Snape and Helen Granger, flashing them his best charming smile. “And the two venerable grandmothers?”

If he weren’t such an idiot, I’d bow to him for those diversionary tactics. Considering he’s Sirius Black, the Quintessential Gryffindor, I’ll just be deeply satisfied at his appalling lack of tact. Now the Granger Harpy has found another prey to feast on. Where the hell is Poppy? Hermione has been in there for more than an hour… What’s the matter with her? Could anything have gone wrong? Could Hermione be in danger? Or the child? Merlin’s bloody—

“Severus?” Madam Pomfrey poked her head through the half-open door of the Hospital Wing’s private ward. Obviously she had cast sound-muffling charms; now, however, Hermione’s voice, hoarse with pain and exertion, resounded clearly through the main ward and caused the ‘venerable grandmothers’, Harry, Ginny and Black to stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the man who obediently trotted towards the mediwitch, following his almost-wife’s siren call, “You… bastard! You… oh, God, that hurts! You fucking bastard, move that lazy arse and—” A prolonged moan, followed by sobs, then “Come to me this instant, you bloody, overgrown bat!”

“Who would have thought that a quick shag against the dungeon wall would result in this?” Black said, grinning at Snape’s retreating back.

The Potions Master whirled round and shot him a Very Dark Look. “I heard that, Black. Once this child is born, you’ll get your punishment, abominable mongrel, together with those redheaded delinquents.”

O~O~O

“Don’t worry,” Madam Pomfrey said, “Labour pains bring out the worst in every woman.”

“If this assessment is correct,” Snape retorted, shedding his dress robes, “I have to conclude that all this has been lurking in some recess of her mind all the time. So I have every reason to be worried.”

Hermione’s bed was shielded from view by floor-to-ceiling-length curtains. Snape drew a deep breath and parted them. Oh, holy… Gods, she’s looking awful! Poor, poor Hermione. No wonder she’s swearing like a fishwife… So pale and sweaty. “Poppy,” he said, turning towards the mediwitch who had followed him, “Are you sure she is all right?”

“Right as rain,” Madam Pomfrey said cheerily, “Just go and sit with her, hold her hand, the usual, you know?”

“How in bloody hell would I know what ‘the usual’ is?” he muttered, but proceeded nonetheless to the other side of the bed and perched on its edge.

Feeling the mattress shift under his weight, Hermione opened her eyes and attempted a smile. “Severus…” Her voice was small, and hoarse.

“My love,” he said, grabbing her hand with his right and stroking it with the fingertips of his left. “I am aware that the question is slightly redundant, but how are you?”

“Tired. And very, very angry. I swear that I’ll kill Fred and Geo—oh, no!” Her grip tightened, and Snape wondered whether he’d ever again be able to hold a wand or a ladle. Well, it’s only just if I have to endure my share of pain as well. How come I wasn’t aware that her hands are so strong?

The spasm was over, and Hermione closed her eyes again, panting heavily. “How are our mothers?”

“Alive,” he responded dryly, trying to move his fingers without her noticing it. “And the guests are currently devastating the buffet. Nothing to worry about, my darling.”

When her grip became vice-like once again, Madam Pomfrey nodded in apparent satisfaction. “Nothing like a good labour-enhancing potion. The contractions are coming every two minutes now, so you won’t have to suffer for much longer, dear.”

This consolation was entirely lost on Hermione, who, face flushed and streaming with perspiration, tried to cope with the pain. “Severus!”

He bent forward. “Yes, my love?”

“Provided I survive this, I swear—aaaaah! I swear that I’ll cut off your cock and have it… have it as sausage for breakfast if… if you ever touch me again.”

Madam Pomfrey giggled. “Now that’s a new one!”

The contractions continued, the intervals between them becoming shorter and shorter, and Snape was threatened with castration (twice), the Cruciatus Curse (once), being fed to various magical beasts (four times, three beasts), having his teeth kicked in (once) and having every single bone broken (twice) in case he attempted to resume physical relations with Hermione, before the mediwitch exclaimed, “Almost there, dear! I can already see the head! One more good squeeze, or two, and it’s over!”

Snape, torn between laughter, tears and an irrational anger against the laws of nature, especially as far as the mammals’ fashion of giving birth was concerned, alternately resisted Hermione’s death grip on his right hand and cooled her face with a wet cloth. I really can’t blame her. This must be worse than Cruciatus. How bloody unfair! Why do women have to go through this? Ouch! Oh, I definitely heard a bone crack! To think that everything used to be so peaceful… That evening when the baby moved for the first time… I think that was the moment I really began to look forward to having this child. A miracle—yes, it’s a cliché, but there simply is no other word for it. A human being growing in there, in the belly of the woman I—damn you, Hermione! This is my hand, for Merlin’s sake, and I still need it!

“Aaaand here we are!” Madam Pomfrey announced, holding up the newborn by its feet and giving its rear end a sound clap. Unsurprisingly, it answered with an angry scream. “Severus, Hermione, you have a daughter. How are you going to call her?” she asked, while deftly cutting the umbilical cord and cleaning the newest Snape with a flick of her wand.

“Iphigenia!”

“Octavia!”

Hermione glared at her not-quite husband’s pale face. “We agreed on Iphigenia!”

“No, we didn’t! And considering the not exactly friendly climate between the ladies Cassandra and Helen, I don’t need another mythological troublemaker in the family!”

“My name is Hermione, just in case you forgot. It’s mythological, too, and if that means you don’t want me in the family, you are free to—”

“Ahem!” The matron cleared her throat. “Maybe we should ask the godparents?”

The couple cast each other nonplussed looks. “To say the truth—”

“We haven’t thought—” Hermione continued.

“About godparents yet,” Snape finished.

“You haven’t…” Madam Pomfrey looked at the tiny bundle in her arms. “Listen to that. A fine couple of parents you’ve got yourself, little one! They quarrel about your name, and they haven’t chosen your godparents! Maybe you’d rather stay with me, huh? I would take better care of you than those thoughtless—”

“Margaret!” Snape and Hermione exclaimed in unison.

The matron raised her eyebrows and clucked her tongue. “I’m glad to see that my intimidation techniques are still working. No, no!” she said to Snape, who had reached out to take his daughter, “I’m holding her hostage until you name the godparents!”

“Er…” said Snape.

“We-ell,” said Hermione.

A long silence ensued. “What about you, Poppy?” Snape asked the mediwitch, sending her a Very Nice Smile indeed.

“With the greatest pleasure. Who else?”

“The first person to enter this room,” Hermione snapped impatiently. “And now give me my daughter, for heaven’s sake!”

While they were sitting, black hair mingling with brown, eyeing little Margaret and talking to her, Madam Pomfrey cleaned up her patient and changed the sheets. She had only just finished when somebody knocked at the door. “Come in!” she called.

And into the room, a smile on his face, blue eyes gleaming with anticipation, stepped… Sirius Black.

THE END