About A Potions Master - Meet The Parents

By Pigwidgeon37

It’s the middle of the night... where the hell am I? Ouf, the duvet his heavy. The duvet… Oh. Oh, my God. This is no duvet, it’s Severus Snape. My Potions Master. My… lover? How clichéd that sounds. Better than boyfriend; that would sound ridiculous. I’m lying in Ginny and Harry’s bed, with a Potions Master between my legs. My mouth has sprouted something like fuzz… Eurgh, I hate it when my teeth aren’t clean. My right leg is fast asleep. Let’s test the left one… ouch, my muscles! My inner thigh is completely sore. My neck… oooh, my neck! Shit, that hurts! Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck… where did that come from? Now, come on, Hermione, try and remember. You had dinner, you had wine. Too much wine, obviously. You went for a walk, you returned to the house, you were carried into the bedroom… Er, yes. Yes, I remember, very distinctly. Is it normal to become aroused again, immediately after waking up? But he’s still… oh, yes, he’s still inside me… mmmh, that feels good. The whole thing felt incredibly good. I thought my brain was going to be blown right through my skull… what a mess that would have been. He’s completely relaxed, what a pity I can’t see his face right now. Should I wake him up? Then again, maybe he regrets it already… I guess I’d better not wake him. But I have to move or I’ll die. Well, perhaps it’s enough if I just move my left leg… Argh, those muscles! And the skin is sticky… to say the truth , I’m feeling sticky all over. I wonder whether there is a way to prevent the stuff from seeping out. But that’d probably mean I’d have to stand on my head… Then again, I suppose that everybody has that problem. It’s the law of gravity, the stuff simply has to come out ag—No! Oh, no! I knew there was something wrong. The charm, we forgot the charm! Oh, holy, holy shit! Wait, Hermione, don’t panic. Think. Today is the fifth… well, maybe it’s already the sixth, but let’s say it’s the fifth. August has thirty-one days, plus five is thirty-six. My last period was… Oh, no. Twenty-third. Today is the thirteenth day. I’m only twenty-one, I’ve never taken contraceptives, I’m healthy… Please, God, don’t let it have happened! And if it happened, make it unhappen. What if I’m… I can’t even think the word. We joked about children, yes, but… That means that he’ll leave me. No way he’ll stay with me. Maybe out of decency, but I don’t need that. This is unfair! This is fucking unfair! We just got together and now… Oh, Hermione. You’ve made a bloody mess of your life. You finally found the right man, but he’ll be gone before you can say pregnant. There, I said it. Thought it. Oh, shit. No, I don’t want to cry. Don’t cry, Granger, for God’s sake, you’ll wake him! Damn those tears, they are just flowing… I hate that feeling, when they first tickle and then are cold on my skin. Maybe I can wipe them away without waking him… Oh, no. He’s moving! Continue sleeping, Severus, just go on… Shit.

**°°**°°**

Severus opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His body… all in one piece. He was lying in bed. Good. But beneath him—that was no sheet. Oh, of course. Hermione. Delicious, passionate, fragrant Hermione. His. But he had fallen asleep on top of her—poor girl, she had to be completely crushed. He slowly raised his upper body, propped up on his elbows. She was awake. And… crying?

“Hermione?”

She merely sobbed.

“Hermione, look at me. Please. That’s better. Why are you crying? Do you regret what happened?”

She bit her lower lip and tried to turn away her head, but he firmly cupped her cheek.

“Tell me. I would not be happy, but it would be better if you told me. Do you want me to leave?”

Definitely the wrong thing to say. But at least she shook her head.

“You don’t want me to leave? I am glad to hear it. What is it, then? Do you feel ashamed? Humiliated? Do you think I despise you now? Let me assure you—”

“No!” she blurted out, “No, I would be perfectly happy if…” New onslaught of tears.

“If?” he prompted.

“We forgot the charm, you stupid, stupid… It’s my thirteenth day, and it’s more than likely that I might… Oh, God!” she wailed, covering her eyes with her left hand, “Maybe it would really be better if you left. Just leave me alone, you don’t have to put up with all this!”

“I think,” he said, prying her hand from her face, “that what we need now is a bath. It always helps me think, and I would be delighted if you shared it with me.”

She gave him a very small smile. “Maybe it would help… and I desperately want to clean my teeth…”

“Very well,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose before rolling off her, “Let us proceed to the ablutions, then. The rest can wait till afterwards. After all, if you are pregnant, you will still be pregnant in an hour, so there’s no need to worry right now. Anything wrong?” he asked when he saw her gingerly touch her right leg and pull a face.

“No, just my leg. It’s completely numb.”

“Then we should rub it back to life,” he said, sitting down again and grabbing her right foot. He kneaded each toe, then the sole, and finally, seeing the expression on her face, her half-closed eyes and her tongue darting over her lips, he took the big toe between his lips and gave it a gentle lick. It was rewarded by a soft moan. In slow, firm circles, he massaged his way up her ankle, her calf and towards the hollow of her knee. Her eyelids fluttered, and her hands clenched the sheets. The view was enticing. Her left leg, slightly bent towards the outside, was resting on the mattress, the right one resting on his thigh, the curls between them not quite able to hide that she was swollen and becoming wet again; the soft swell of her belly…His hand roamed up her thigh, and her breath quickened. There was no need for him too look down to know that he was hard yet again.

“Maybe the bath should wait a little?” he asked, trailing his finger through her pubic hair, delving slightly between her folds.

“You can’t ask me like this,” she said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “That’s improper influence…”

“Unpleasant as well?” he asked, probing a little deeper.

“No, but… Severus, wouldn’t it be better to perform the charm at least now?”

“The problem is,” he said, abandoning her leg and holding her firmly in place with his left hand, while his right continued to play, “that the charm must not be applied unless you are absolutely sure that you aren’t pregnant. Otherwise it might damage the…well, child seems a bit exaggerated, the fecundated ovum.”

“Oh…” she said—whether it was a sound of pleasure or of comprehension, he wasn’t quite sure. “But what does that mean… for us?”

“It means,” he answered in his best professorial tone, gently sliding a finger into her, “that either we settle for heavy petting until you are sure, or—” he inserted a second finger, making her gasp “—that we have a look right now. After the orgasm,” he added dryly.

“I think I’d rather have a look now. After—oh, God,” she said weakly, for he had quickly changed his position, without even retrieving his fingers, and was now lying with his head between her legs, his tongue describing slow circles around her nub.

“You were saying?” he asked, pausing for a moment.

“I was… oh God, just… just continue.”

“With the greatest pleasure.”

His head went down again, and his tongue continued to stroke and lick and caress, now and again alternating with a gentle suck that made jolts of almost-too-intense pleasure run through her body, while his fingers continued their steady movement. He felt her grope blindly for his hand, took hers and entwined his fingers with hers. Her sighs and moans and the increasing pressure of her fingers made him intensify the movements of his tongue until he felt her muscles contract around his fingers, in strong, rhythmic spasms, and another one, and another, until she went limp with a last murmured “Severus!”

He nuzzled her curls for some moments, smiling when she gave small shrieks because the stimulation was becoming too much, and then scooted upwards to pull her close and kiss her. “You taste heavenly, Miss Granger,” he purred into her ear. “Do you want me to perform the revealing charm now?”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “What if…” She swallowed, and her eyes were flooded again. “What if I’m… I mean, you don’t want…”

Severus sighed goodbye to his erection, pulled the duvet over both of them and said, “It seems that we have to clear a few matters. First, I would never have slept with you unless I wanted this to be something more than a one-night stand. I’m falling in love with you faster than I would ever have thought, and I want this to be a long-term relationship. Second, I am the last scion of an old family. Which means that, unless I want the Snapes to become extinct, I have to have an heir sooner or later. Combine number one and two, and the result is that, sooner or later, the question of children would have arisen. To own the truth, I would have preferred for it to arise a little later. But I think I can handle it now. The question is: does Hermione Granger want children? My children, to be exact.”

“Well,” she said, snuggling close, “I’m quite good with Crookshanks—Oh, don’t laugh!”

“Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes, “But it was a little funny, you can’t deny it.”

“Maybe a little,” she conceded. “What I wanted to say is that I’m able to take care of living creatures. I don’t have anything against children in general, and certainly not against yours in particular… It isn’t as if I would have to stay home for the rest of my life… Let me formulate it like this: if I’m not pregnant now, I’d like to wait a year or two. If I am, and if you’re not going to run away screaming, I’d say let’s face it.”

“A decision worthy of King Solomon at his best. Which means—” he let go of her to grab his wand from the folds of his shirt “—that we should have a look. Pay attention, Miss Granger. I have only seen it once, but it looks quite nice.”

Hermione sat up against the pillows and watched as he pointed his wand to her belly and pronounced “Contentutero!” A golden light, in the form of a somewhat flattened sphere, began to consolidate itself above her belly, quivering slightly. When it had reached the size of a melon, it stopped expanding. Both held their breaths and stared at it, while it was slowly taking on a pinkish hue. Towards the centre, the light seemed to solidify and pulsate, almost like a human heart.

Severus nodded and ended the spell. “No more alcohol, lots of fresh air and healthy food, Mrs. Snape,” he said, pressing a kiss on her belly.

It took her a while to process all the information contained in his words. “Hermione Snape sounds awful,” she said indignantly.

“Your acceptance is even more romantic than my proposal. Severus Granger sounds worse, though, and that decides the matter. I can’t believe it,” he said, putting away his wand and embracing her again, “In less than twenty-four hours I got myself a wife and a child. This must be a new record. What is this expression of mischief on your face?”

“Oh,” she said nonchalantly, “I just thought that this means you have to meet my parents.”

With a groan, Severus fell back into the pillows.

**°°**°°**

“I really don’t think I am up to this,” he said, eyeing the plaques on the front gates with increasing horror. They were currently at number 8; their destination was 26.

Hermione giggled. “Severus, you fought Voldemort and told your mother that you have got me pregnant. In theory, you should by now be beyond fear.”

“I knew that my mother would be ecstatic. And Voldemort… well, I knew him. I suppose that is what makes the difference. Besides, they are dentists!

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“There is a sadist lurking inside every dentist.”

“Really, Severus… I told you they are nice. And it’s just us and the two of them. Besides, it’s my birthday, and they would never do anything that might hurt me on my birthday. Mum will be immediately won over by the ring. And dad… well, I guess male bonding will do the job.”

“I am not the kind of man who bonds. With a dentist, to boot…”

“Oh, shut up Severus. Here we are. Take a deep breath. One, two, three…”

She rang the bell. The door opened so promptly that she strongly suspected her mother had been waiting with her fingers on the handle. The garden gate buzzed open, and the couple entered.

While walking the few yards up to the entrance door, Severus assessed the woman standing in the doorframe. Helen Granger was in her early fifties—only eight years older than he, and the thought made him cringe anew—tall, slim, and stylish. Tanned skin, platinum blonde hair swept back in an elegant bun, pristine white blouse, pearl necklace, dark blue woollen trousers, Cartier foulard nonchalantly knotted over her chest, elegant flat pumps. The epitome of understated and very, very expensive elegance. Certainly the type who appreciated to have her hand kissed. Which he did, after politely introducing himself. It was a lucky decision, because thus he didn’t see the alarmed look Mrs. Granger shot her daughter. When he came up again, she dashed him a radiant smile, before swooping down on her daughter.

“Happy birthday, my darling. How wonderful of you to come. Well, what are you waiting for? Come in!” she said, with an elegant gesture of her be-Rolex-ed wrist. “Everybody is waiting!”

Hermione almost stumbled over the threshold. “Everybody? Mum, we had agreed—”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Granger cut her off. “You said you would bring your boyfriend and so I invited the Caldwells and their daughter. And, of course, your cousins.—The Caldwells are our neighbours,” she explained to Severus, who by now was more worried for his fiancée than for himself, “And Hermione has been best friends with their daughter forever. The cousins,” she continued, ignoring Hermione’s mutinous look and preceding them towards a closed door from behind which he could hear the ominous sounds of animated conversation, “are my sister’s children. William is Hermione’s senior by two years, and Heather is one year younger.”

To judge by the tone of her voice, the Grangers had clearly hoped that romance might blossom between William and Hermione.

“I didn’t want them to come, mum,” Hermione said, face flushed red and eyes very watery, “I just wanted to have a quiet afternoon with you and dad, so you could get to know Severus.”

“Well, I am sure that the others might want to meet your boyfriend, too,” Mrs. Granger said pointedly.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” was Hermione’s stubborn reply, “He’s my fiancé.” And the first tear rolled down her cheek.

Oh, no! Severus thought, Two weeks pregnant and already a bundle of hormones and nerves. Why can’t the stupid cow just abide by her daughter’s wishes? On her birthday, to boot? Wonderful. If I take the mother’s side, Hermione will reproach it to me for the next two weeks, and if I take Hermione’s side, her parents will hate me forever. Aloud he said, “Mrs. Granger—”

“Helen,” she interrupted him.

“Helen. Do you think I might talk to Hermione alone, just for a moment?”

Two perfectly groomed eyebrows shot up. “If you think it is necessary…” Clearly daring him to have a quick shag with her daughter in the wardrobe.

Giving her his best Longbottom-You-Shall-Roast-On-The-Devil’s-Barbecue glare, he replied, “Yes. I think it is necessary.”

With a short nod, she opened a door to their right and ushered them in. “Don’t take to long,” she said and left them alone.

“Stop it, Hermione,” he said laughing, “You cannot crawl into me. It makes me feel incredibly strong and male, but it’s essentially useless. Now listen.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Or rather tell me. How many books on pregnancy have you already devoured?”

“Wizarding or Muggle?” she muttered.

“Both, of course.”

“Seven?”

“I feared as much. However. You read them all, and therefore you know that this reaction is merely hormonal. You are the woman who broke Ron Weasley’s nose, darling. The woman who wrote the most brilliant thesis I ever read—apart from my own, of course,” he added, and she giggled. “You can face them. All of them. Cousins and parents and so-called friends. Right?”

She nodded, smiling up at him. “Right. You are good at playing the strong male protector, you know?”

“I know. I was designed especially for that purpose. Now—” he drew his wand “—let’s perform a wee deflating charm on your eyes and nose. And then, ready to face the enemy.”

That urge to protect her. I knew it was going to have a disastrous effect on my life. I knew it the moment I first felt it. And this is only the beginning…

When they stepped out of the room, Mrs. Granger was waiting for them, arms crossed, right foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the floor. “May I?” she said and preceded them towards the door of doom.

He felt Hermione’s hand creep into his and took it in a firm grip. Ridiculous. This is absolutely preposterous. I am entering a room, holding hands with my girlfriend, fiancée…whatever. I am Severus Snape, the feared Potions Master, the bane of hundreds of students’ lives, and… oh, bugger. You’re in love, Severus, admit it, and love makes fools of the best among us.

Six people were sitting around a table already set for tea, eyeing them—though more him than Hermione—curiously. A grey-haired man in his mid-fifties, whom Severus immediately identified as Hermione’s father, because their eyes were exactly the same. To his right, a blonde youth, the epitome of the snotty upper-crust bastard. He reminded Severus a little of Draco Malfoy, without the coldness but sadly also without the brilliant mind. The girl to Mr. Granger’s left bore a strong resemblance to the young man, so Severus deduced that they were probably William and Heather. He didn’t find Heather more sympathetic than her brother; she was quite pretty, but had a shrewd, calculating expression he didn’t like. The Caldwells were the kind of couple that had become more similar to each other in many years of marriage, so much that by now they almost looked like brother and sister. They had to be a good deal older than the Grangers, which made their daughter a late, only child. And she looked it, every inch. An overprotected only daughter who had resigned to her fate. Severus mentally pledged that he would not become this kind of father.

The assembly held their breath for a moment—probably in shock at his age, Severus thought grimly—and then stood up as one to plunge upon them like a flock of vultures on a zebra’s carcass. The two girls were insufferable, he noted out of the corner of his eye, while shaking Mr. Granger’s hand. They were firing questions at Hermione, without waiting for her to answer them, looking her up and down all the time, and clearly envious because she had beaten them effortlessly in the race for the altar. Hermione’s reluctant right hand was grabbed, and the engagement ring was duly shrieked at. With a half-smile and a wink at Severus, Mr. Granger released his hand and turned towards the harpies.

“Wait a moment, ladies,” he said, good-naturedly but with a hint of annoyance, “Don’t tear my girl limb from limb before I can give her a birthday hug.”

Glad to see that Hermione was now in good hands, quite literally and, to go by her smile, very much to her liking, he introduced himself to the Caldwells and then, smiling sardonically, kissed the harpies’ claws. The harpies were delighted. In fact, they eyed him so appreciatively that he mentally removed them to another mythological category. They were clearly Maenads. Heather very openly, and the other girl, whose name was Delia—Severus found that the initials D.C. were very appropriate, considering that they might also be the abbreviation for dumb cow—in a very surreptitious, subdued way that reminded him of Malfoy’s House Elves. Drooling after a whip-cracking master. Disgusting. He could not fathom how on earth she might have been best friends with Hermione. At last, he shook William’s hand. It was limp, just as he had expected.

When the salutations had been duly performed, Mrs. Granger herded them towards the table. Gritting his teeth, he accepted to be separated from Hermione; fortunately, she had been placed between her father and snotty William, so that she was sheltered at least on one side. They were sitting opposite each other, though, which was not so bad after all. To his left and right, the Maenads coiled into their chairs, briefly baring their fangs and poised to strike. Mrs. Caldwell sat at Mr. Granger’s right, and Mrs. Granger and Mr. Caldwell were placed opposite them. The happy circle was complete. The slaughter could begin.

**°°**°°**

While Severus was bravely standing his ground at the tea table, Mrs. Granger took advantage of having to brew more coffee and dragged her reluctant daughter into the kitchen, to ‘make herself useful’, as she smilingly announced.

“Who is that man?” she asked, immediately after the kitchen door had closed behind them.

“Severus Snape, a former teacher of mine, I told you,” Hermione said, trying to remain calm and reasonable.

“You conveniently forgot to tell me that he could be your father!”

I won’t cry. Not again. This time, I won’t. “Why, mum?” she asked sweetly, “Would you like to marry him?”

Her mother frowned and went to fill the coffee pot with water. “You know exactly what I mean, Hermione. How many years is the age difference?”

She swallowed, but replied valiantly. “Twenty-two. The coffee pot, mum. It’s, uh, overflowing.”

Mrs. Granger closed the tap with a grip that was probably meant to strangle Severus Snape. “That makes him only eight years younger than me!”

“Yes, mum. I know. In fact I had already figured it out. Is it a problem for you?”

“Of course.” The hand measuring the ground coffee into the filter was trembling slightly. “It is a problem for me, because sooner or later it will become one for you. Are you aware—”

I can’t resist it. She’ll want to kill me, but there are too many witnesses. “I am aware that once the child will start at Hogwarts, he will be fifty-four. Yes.”

“The—”

Ground coffee had an amazing way of covering the whole floor. Hermione whipped out her wand, muttered two spells, and the jar was sitting beside the coffee machine again, looking like new and, above all, very innocent.

“Are you saying that you are pregnant?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, shoving the wand back into her sleeve, “First shot—wham! Just like that.”

“Oh, my poor darling!” Mrs. Granger caught Hermione in her arms. “My poor, poor darling! Did you really think… You don’t have to marry him, sweetheart, you know that we are open-minded. Whether you keep it or not, we’ll always love you. I thought that there had to be a reason for you to marry that horrid man. Now don’t worry, I will break the news to your father—”

“Mum!”

“And we will find a way. Oh, I can imagine what you must have been through, my poor—”

“Mum, I love him!”

Mrs. Granger’s fond embrace loosened perceptibly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I love him. The pregnancy was…well, an accident. But we would have remained together in any case.”

“Darling, you are so young, how can you say you love him? Correct me if I’m wrong, but he was your first lover, wasn’t he?”

“Uh, yes,” Hermione said, blushing violently. “But that doesn’t mean—”

Mrs. Granger switched on the coffee machine. “Oh yes, it does, darling, it does. You have to make your own experiences first, you have to live, not remain stuck with the first man you jump into bed with. You have nothing to compare him with—”

“I don’t need to compare him with anything or anybody. And spare me your sixty-eighter’s philosophy, mum. It’s cheap. I don’t have to sleep around or smoke joints or wear tie-dyed cotton rags to know that I love him. So you’d better accept it.”

The coffee machine was burbling away happily. Helen Granger gave her daughter a sceptical look. “Is he able to provide a suitable living standard for you and… the child?”

“Oh, mum! Really, if that is what’s bothering you, there’s no need to worry. He practically reeks of money. Not to mention that the family is older than all the Muggle nobility taken together. Look at this ring!”

He had given it to her only last night, precisely at midnight. It was, of course, a family heirloom. A simple, cabochon-cut sapphire, set into a heavy ring of twenty-four carat gold, clearly Byzantine in style.

“Mmmh, I’ll grant you that it doesn’t look bad,” Mrs. Granger admitted, clearly against her will. “It is not… bewitched?”

“No, mum. I got it yesterday, so there’s no way he could have used it to make me fall in love with him.”

“Does that mean he cannot afford a birthday present and an engagement ring?”

Hermione buried her face in her hands. “Oh, mum…”

**°°**°°**

Meanwhile, the Maenads and their faithful lapdog William did their best to rip Severus’s nerves to shreds. Hermione had only just disappeared in her mother’s wake, when the first arrow whirred his way.

“Since when have you been together?”

Number two buzzed right after it—it was rather like the Robin Hood movie he had watched with Hermione, he thought. “You used to be her teacher, didn’t you?”

“Indeed. And we have been together for about a month.”  Conveniently forgetting the two weeks of horror they had spent apart.

“Oooh! And you marry her after only a month? Aren’t you afraid of the surprises that might be awaiting you?”

That got Delia a furious look from Mr. Granger. “Hardly,” Severus replied silkily, “After all, I have known her from age eleven. Seen her grow up and develop into the gorgeous woman she is now.” Arrow for arrow, my dear, and this one was poisoned.

“Where will you spend your honeymoon?”

In bed, probably. “We have not yet decided. It depends on… various factors.”

“And the wedding? When will the wedding be? Oh, do have a Christmas wedding, it would be so romantic!”

Yes, and you would have holidays and be able to attend. “At Christmas? Probably not. Maybe a little earlier, we were thinking of mid-November.”

This had obviously been William’s clue to start droning about the best dates, locations and arrangements for weddings, about weddings he had recently attended, about the absolutely spiffing bachelor parties his friends had thrown… Severus tried to concentrate on his coffee, memorizing last night—obviously, the hormonal change didn’t only cause mood swings, but also a need for physical contact and sex that he wholeheartedly welcomed. They had been staying at his quarters, at Hogwarts, and her body had looked marvellous on the dark green silk sheets… His musings came to an abrupt end when Heather’s hand crept up his thigh. Although he would have liked to grab her wrist and twist it until he heard the bones crack, he thought it wiser to just turn his head towards her, stare at her so that she shrunk back, and hiss, in his most icy tone of voice, “Don’t!”

To his relief, it worked. To his even greater relief, the Caldwells had tickets for an afternoon matinee at the Aldwych—Delia nearly swooned in anticipation, babbling about an actor called Alan Rickman, so that Severus hoped for the poor man’s sake that he was a wizard and could just Disapparate instead of using the stage door and walking right into the drooling Maenad. They were rising from the table, when Mrs. Granger and a hot-but-triumphant-looking Hermione entered with fresh coffee. The ensuing goodbyes gave Severus the occasion for a brief, but reassuring, whispered exchange of news with his beloved.

He cold hardly believe his luck when, ten minutes after the now diminished party had rearranged themselves around the table, snotty William’s cell phone rang. His mother—the brat had the nerve to address her as ‘mater’!—evidently desired both her children’s presence at home, although Severus honestly could find no plausible reason for such an absurd wish. However, this reduced the company to what it should have been from the beginning. They retired to the couch and armchairs at the other end of the room, and without further ado, Severus settled down on the sofa and pulled Hermione to his side. He had eaten a very small piece of cake, although he hated sweets, and was now grateful for the brandy Mr. Ganger offered him.

The rest of the afternoon passed fare more pleasantly than he would have expected. Mrs. Granger had partly abandoned her hostile attitude, Mr. Granger seemed much more at his ease without the Caldwells and didn’t appear to miss his niece and nephew in the least. He took the news about his daughter’s pregnancy with resigned equanimity.

“In that case,” he said, refilling his own and his soon-to-be son-in-law’s glasses, “you really should get married as soon as possible. There’s nothing worse than a bride whose feet are killing her. Besides, pregnant women have the irritating habit of running to the loo every fifteen minutes. Not very convenient to interrupt the ceremony because the bride has to pee. Although,” he added and winked at Severus, “you might want to avoid the Christmas holidays…”

It was already dark when they left, the air was chilly, and a light drizzle made the pavement shimmer in the light of the streetlamps.

“Well,” Severus said, when the garden gate snapped shut behind them, “That went a lot better than I expected. How was your women’s talk in the kitchen?”

“So-so. I think she’ll accept it in the long run. But I’ll have my revenge. The first word I’ll teach this child is going to be ‘granny’.”

THE END