Surprises

Chapter Three

Surprises

Hermione's left shoulder was aching dreadfully. She had discovered early on that she had to keep Carly within eyesight, but Stephen refused to stay put. Her solution to this problem had been to buy a baby sling for Carly; that way, she could carry the little girl everywhere as she chased her son all over the house.

In the three months since his adoption, Stephen had become a toddler. A month ago, he'd learned to pull up to standing and soon after began taking hesitant steps. Now he was walking confidently all over the small cottage that they called home. He was barely a year old, but walking like a champ--and chattering like a chimp!

There was only one way, really, to get her son to stay in one spot: she could read to him. And so she did, as often as possible. It was the only time she could take Carly out of the sling.

"Capir book, Mum," announced Stephen, thrusting a picture book into her hands.

Hermione rolled her eyes; she had to read this particular volume several times a day. However, she knew that disobeying a request was liable to result in a tantrum, and she didn't think she could deal with that right now.

"Okay, okay. In the light of the..."

"Moom!" interjected Stephen.

"A little..."

"Egg!"

"Lay on a..."

"Yeaf!"

They had read this book together so many times that the little guy had it almost memorized. Hermione ran her finger under the words as she read, hoping he would make the connection between the familiar sounds and the black shapes on the page.

"One Sunday morning, the warm sun came up, and..."

Pop!

Hermione frowned. That had not been Stephen. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure that she had actually heard the voice.

"Out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry..."

"Capir!" shrieked Stephen gleefully.

Caterpillar, said the strange voice quietly.

Well, that was definitely not Stephen; he couldn't pronounce the word properly, though she had often tried to get him to do so. Where was that voice coming from? Who was speaking?

He started to look for some food, said the strange voice. Except the room was deathly quiet.

Comprehension struck suddenly. Hermione turned the little girl in her lap and looked into her eyes. "Carly?"

It's about time you noticed me, the voice said.

"Oh, Carly! I'm so sorry. I would have thought Professor Snape would have told me..."

You mean you would have told. He doesn't tell anything.

"Very true," said Hermione wistfully.

"Mama, more book!" ordered Stephen imperiously.

And so Hermione returned to the story.

***

She knows, Carly said to her father as he fed her a spoonful of mashed food. It was easy for her to carry on a conversation while eating, since she didn't have to use her mouth to speak.

"Who knows?" Snape replied, refilling the spoon. "And what?"

Hermione. I talked to her today.

"Oh, great. Now the news will be all over Britain."

I don't think so. She doesn't talk to anyone really. She is rather lonely.

"How would you know? You're only there six hours a day."

She doesn't know Occlumency.

Severus Snape sighed, "Well, tell her not to speak of it, please."

I will. Next time I see her.

"Thank you, Carly." The Potions master carefully scraped up the last bits of mashed potato and spooned it into her mouth. He would never let his students see him like this, holding his tiny daughter on his lap and feeding her. But he enjoyed it nonetheless.

Carly was good company. Severus had been surprised to learn that she was not two or three, but just past six years old; her ailment had stunted her physical growth considerably. But her mind seemed far older than that. If he had not seen her birth certificate for himself, he would have sworn that she was at least ten or eleven years of age.

It all made sense when he thought about it, though. She'd been reading the thoughts of those around her for the last four years, at least, so adult concepts and vocabulary came naturally to her.

Of course, she wasn't an adult, or even at an adult level. Still, he could show her his potions ingredients, and tell her about what he was doing; he could explain why he added each ingredient as he created elixirs for Poppy Pomfrey; and he could point out some of life little ironies and share a laugh with her.

Carly had not yet done any accidental magic, but her Legilimency was strong and her mind was sharp. Severus had no doubt that his daughter was brilliant, worthy of the Snape name. He just wished that she could jump up and perch on the workbench next to him, instead of having to be strapped into a restraining chair.

***

Ron had once told Hermione that she should charge Snape extra for (as he put it) "delivering the brat to his door." Hermione disagreed. Her twice-daily walks to Hogwarts--once to pick up her charge, and the other to bring her home--were the highlight of her day. She was an introvert, but she still enjoyed watching people.

There were so many interesting people in Hogsmeade; then, too, there was the chance to see some of the students at Hogwarts. She'd counseled many of the younger students during her days as Head Girl, and, although they weren't really her friends, she enjoyed seeing them again.

She did not recognize the young girl who was currently standing on the steps with the Headmistress, however. Probably she was a first year.

"Well, sure, I've agreed to call you Mum. But that doesn't mean I've agreed to obey you!" the small blond witch snapped.

Hermione grinned as she watched her former Head of House straighten up to her full height. So, this was another "staff kid?" Snape had it easy; he didn't have to teach his daughter in class.

"Nonetheless, I insist that you apologize to Miss Zabini," McGonagall said clearly.

"But Mum! She's a Slytherin!"

"Well, yes. So she is. But you know as well as I that the Zabini family supported our side during the war. Patrice's brother, Blaise, was a spy for..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But still..."

"Apologize or I will take house points and give you a detention."

"Yes, Mum." The words were obedient, but the tone was anything but. As Hermione watched the girl stomp away, she noticed the look on her face: the same scheming look that she'd often seen on Fred and George's countenances.

Professor McGonagall looked up, suddenly noticing her former student. "Hello, Hermione," she sighed heavily. "Aren't you lucky. You have one who won't talk back."

Hermione winked, grinning evilly. "He's learning to run. Want to swap?"

"Oh!" McGonagall's face hovered somewhere between a frown and a pout. "Perhaps I should just stick with Sarah, then... Well, good day, Miss Granger, I have some paperwork to deal with."

***

Hermione spent several days snickering about McGonagall's new daughter. She had no doubt that the poor headmistress had picked the worst orphan possible--until Friday morning, as she walked through Hogsmeade. She was just passing Madam Puddifoot's, with Stephen and Carly both securely strapped into the double pram, when a tremendous scream rent the brisk November air.

"Help! Help me!"

Down the street, the source of the noise was immediately obvious. A small boy was clinging tightly to a light post, screaming at the top of his lungs as a red-haired man tried to pick him up.

"Help! Don't let him take me away! I need to go home to my Daddy!"

By now, a number of curious onlookers were starting to approach the scene.

"Don't let him kidnap me! I want my Mummy!"

A young, burly man approached the redhead, who was desperately trying to pry the boy's hands loose from the post. "'Ere now, what's all this? Leave the boy be! Where's your parents, kid?"

"I... I dunno," the boy sobbed, "I haven't seen them for a while."

"I am his parent," said the gangly redhead, straightening up to his full height. "His only parent. And he will come home now and have a nap whether he likes it or not."

The muscular wizard frowned at this request. Hermione, edging closer, saw him look back and forth between the boy and his supposed father: dark hair... red hair; dark eyes... blue eyes; olive skin... pale, freckled skin. "Why do I not believe this?" he said slowly.

The redhead, who Hermione now saw was Percy Weasley, snorted in disgust. "Oh, please. Am I the only one here who had to adopt a child? I thought the law applied to everyone!"

There were murmurs and nods among the crowd, which started to disperse. "But my missus said that you had to choose one what looked like you," said the not-so-bright wizard, still looking back and forth between Percy and his adoptive son.

"There were no redheads left," said the other man curtly. Seeing that the boy had loosened his grip on the pole somewhat, Percy leaned down, grabbed his child by the waist and swung him over his shoulder. As he marched down the street, Hermione heard the little boy piteously wailing: "Isn't anyone going to help me?"

***

That afternoon, after Stephen went to bed for his nap, Hermione collapsed into the rocking chair, still holding Carly. They often spent this time together chatting--or, rather, communicating, since Carly still could not speak.

He noticed you.

"Who?"

That red-haired man with the brat. Percy, I think?

"You mean that he recognized me?"

Well, yes. But more than that. He saw that you were there without a man. And he looked at your hand to see if you wore a wedding ring. He was thinking that you were probably the only woman in the world who could handle the kid, and you wouldn't be a bad wife, either.

Hermione found the situation terribly funny and started to laugh. But then, to her surprise, she found a tear trickling down her cheek. "Sorry," she whispered softly.

But there was no need to explain her conflicted feelings to Carly. Someday maybe you'll find a man who really loves you. Wait for a good one. You deserve one.