Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

...

Hearing the sound of her husband investigating the pots and pans in the kitchen, Hermione struggled to control her unsteady breath. It was too cold to stay out here on the patio for long, but she forced herself to stare at the brightly hued leaves of the ornamental maples lining their back yard. To absorb their colours, and inhale nothing but the musty-crisp scents of autumn...but the sliding glass door opened and the scent of cooking sausage wafted out.

She doubled over, gagging and struggling with the convulsive need to vomit. Within moments, he was with her, first clutching her arms in concern, then scooping her hair out of her way as he brought with him the unholy, greasy stench of bangers and mash. Gagging switched to hurling; she had the presence of mind to aim into the grass beyond the wooden steps of the back patio. At least she didn't spew her guts onto the little bronze marker that was Crookshanks' gravestone; that would've added indignity to her misery.

Deft fingers wove her curls into a temporary braid, then she heard the patio door sliding again, and more sounds of pots and lids, and a couple of faint clicks. At least he had the presence of mind to turn off the burners, but that didn't prevent her stomach from heaving again when he came back, still reeking of fatty, half-cooked pork.

The night was cold and crisp, but there was a slight breeze, enough to clear the air after a few more minutes. That allowed the urge to gag to subside. Grateful for his presence, afraid of what he might say, Hermione let Severus guide her over to one of the wrought-iron chairs that comprised their patio furnishings. There weren't any cushions to soften the hard, cold seats, having been put away for the coming winter, but at least the air out here was sausage-free.

Crouching in front of her, he stroked a few wisps of her hair back from her face, his dark gaze studying her in narrow-eyed, calculating silence. Finally, he spoke. "Feeling better?"

She nodded.

"Good. We're going to St. Sincere."

Hermione flushed, upset that she hadn't been able to hide her illness from him.. "I don't need to go to St. Sincere. It's just a little tummy-illness."

"Hermione, you have been off your food for a week. I will not have you wasting away from some undiagnosed complaint," he told her. The tenderness with which he cradled her hands in his contrasted with the steel behind his quiet words. "We may have a marriage of equals, and as such, I do not put my foot down in a didactic manner very often, but I am putting it down for this. Given your condition, taking the Floo is out. We will Apparate there."

"I don't need to go to St. Sincere," she repeated, flushing again with discomfort. "I already..."

He paled. Some of his summer tan had started to fade with the progression of the school year...an easy thing to achieve in this corner of the world, given how the sun only really came out in force during the summer...but he paled further. "You...you have already been to the hospital? The Healers know what is wrong?"

She nodded, arms folded over her tenderized stomach. The wild look in his dark eyes startled her, as did the abrupt way he clutched at the armrests, almost rocking the chair beneath her.

"You're dying! Oh, God...!"

"...What? No! Absolutely not!" Hermione emphatically repeated herself, wanting to get that notion out of his head; she knew he loved her too deeply for such a fear to be allowed to take root. "Severus, I am not going to die. I'm just...I just... I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know how you'd take it."

His fingers tightened on the wrought iron. "Take what? Tell me, Hermione. Tell me."

"I'm... I know we've been putting it off. Content with our careers, happy with our life together...and I know you brewed it yourself, but after so many years, even a high-quality draught can lose its efficacy with overuse..."

He rolled his eyes, impatient with her fumblings. "Get to the point, Mrs. Miller!"

"I'm pregnant!"

There. She had blurted it out. From the way he blinked, the news had taken him aback. She flushed, then paled, feeling about as miserable as if she were still in the kitchen attempting to cook a batch of bangers and mash.

"...I know you're not ready for it. I'm not exactly ready, either. I wasn't even sure if I could come to grips with it," she muttered. "Let alone deal with how you might feel. Which is why I hadn't said anything, yet, because I didn't know how to say it. I mean, we've had several very happy years together, and it just never seemed to be on my mind to even think about having kids, and it certainly was never on your tongue. More like both of us were always complaining about this and that, what with our students being colonial-sized pains half the time..."

She was babbling. She knew that he knew it when he lifted two fingers to her lips, silencing her. Subsiding, Hermione waited for the blow to fall. This was it; he was going to blame her, and rail at her, and...

He didn't. Dark eyes boring into hers, he asked her a question instead. "Hermione...do you want to have this child?"

She blinked at him. "Well... Yes? I think so...I mean, if we're ever going to be ready, now would be as good a time as any..." Daring a little bit more, she asked, "Do you, erm, want it? Because if you don't..."

Releasing the arms of the chair, he picked up her hands again. Both were cold from the iron and the chilly night air, but he cradled them together and lifted them to his lips for a slow, gentle kiss. "What I want is for you to never scare me like that again. And you will go to St. Sincere, to have a midwife Healer check you over. If we are going to have a child, you will take the best care possible...because I do not want to lose you. Not even to childbirth. Your health comes first." He kissed her fingers again. "After that, the health of our child, and in third place, my own health. No arguments. Go get your coat."

"I can't exactly go back in there," she pointed out, deeply relieved he wasn't fussing about her getting knocked up in spite of their on-going precautions. At his frown, she reminded him why. "I don't seem to be getting morning sickness, exactly, but I do suffer from the smell of cooking meat. I can eat it; I just can't be in the same air-space while it's being cooked. Particularly fatty beef and pork. And I told you, I'm fine! I don't need to be rushed off to the hospital, because this isn't an emergency.

"I just can't cook, right now. That's all. It's not an emergency."

A last kiss to her fingers and he straightened from his crouch. "Then I will fetch you your coat, and a blanket. I will finish the cooking, and air out the kitchen...and schedule a check-up for you for tomorrow." Pausing, he dropped to one knee and gently covered her jumper-clad stomach with one strong, scarred hand. "A child... Our child..."

She smiled. "Yes, our child.

Glancing up, he shot her a firm look. "For the record, we are not naming him after any of your friends. I saw that letter from Mrs. Potter nee Weasley...'Albus Severus', my arse! That's the most ungodly mouthful of names ever put upon a baby-name list, let alone the thought of inflicting it upon someone!"

Hermione laughed, amused and relieved. If he was already planning on names, then she had nothing to fear about his acceptance of their offspring. "He just might be a she, love. And we are not naming her 'Hermione'. I'm putting my foot down on that one, right now."

"Nor 'Severus'," he agreed. "I'll check the gift-shop while you're visiting the Healers, and see if they have any baby-name books. We will draw up a list, pick out several choices, and come to a mutual agreement...and we are not naming them after anyone we know. And you will take better care of yourself."

She grinned. "And you say you never put your foot down."

"Being logical and methodical is not putting my foot down. Now, wait here while I fetch you something warmer to wear," he ordered her.

Deeply relieved her awkward news had gone over so well, Hermione just chuckled to herself.

...

"Muuuuum! Daddy's being a big meanie! He's ruining everything!"

Setting down the pan she was drying, Hermione eyed the whinging, pouting girl storming into the kitchen.

"Ruining?" he challenged. "I caught you kissing a boy! You aren't allowed to kiss any boy until you are eighteen! As you will be grounded until you are eighteen..."

"...David Severus Miller!" That pulled him up short, as she intended. Tossing down the dishtowel, Hermione planted her hands on her hips. "I caught Hugo kissing a girl, earlier today."

"...You did? At the age of five?" His brows lifted, but not in outrage, more like in speculation. And maybe a hint of admiration for their son's precociousness.

She saw red. "Actually, I did not. I lied just now, purely to test a theorem...a test which you have just failed."

He flinched, then scowled, defending himself. "I was merely surprised that a boy of his age would even be interested in such things, but as he is only five, it is only natural that he is too young to know that such behavior is inappropriate. Rose, on the other hand, is old enough to know better!"

"I do not put my foot down very often in this marriage," she stated firmly, only to earn a snort of disbelief. Setting her jaw, Hermione continued. "Be that as it may, I will not tolerate sexist nonsense in this family! She will not be grounded until she is eighteen."

"Yesss!" Rose hissed, throwing her arms around Hermione's hips in a hug. Dropping her gaze, Hermione gave her daughter a firm look.

"But as she is old enough to know better, she will be grounded for a full week. No telly, no phone, no computer, and no going out of the house without our permission."

"Aww!" Stomping her foot, Rose glared at her mother.

"You heard your mother," Severus asserted. "You are grounded for a full week. To the minute."

He released the handle of the pan and pointed at the clock on the kitchen wall.

"...Of to your room, Rose. Go do your homework," Hermione ordered. She aimed a gentle swat at Rose's backside when the girl dawdled.

Rose growled and folded her arms across her slim, flat chest, stomping out of the room. The pan on the counter went flying; Severus snatched it out of the air before it could bash into anything. Holding the copper-bottomed pan, he exchanged a silent, deep look with his wife.

Keeping silent until he was sure their eldest was out of earshot, Severus joined Hermione at the sink, picking up the dishtowel she had dropped. "...We'll have to register her for school. At least I'll be able to keep a firm eye on her each day, so she will not be getting into further trouble with unsuitable young boys."

"Severus...I meant it." Hands resting on the counter, she glanced up at her husband and lover of nearly twenty years. "You are a wonderful, caring, loving man...but you are too protective."

"Too protective!" he scoffed.

"Oh, really? What will happen if she gets into trouble, and doesn't have the knowledge and the confidence to handle it?"

"She will not get into trouble, because she will be grounded until she's eighteen! Secretly grounded," he muttered at her exasperated sigh. "I told you, I'll keep an eye on her!"

"I'm talking about when she's twenty-five, not fifteen! And that is my very point. Learning how to care for yourself is something that has to be learnt when one is young. She will not learn how to take care of herself if her dad is constantly hovering her over her shoulder, staving off even the smallest, slightest danger," she told him. "Yes, we can tell her all about the dangers she'll face, from boys who have just one thing on their minds to the rise of some new Dark-Lord-wanna-be, but unless she learns to handle trouble through personal experience, all the theory in the world will not help her."

"Hermione..."

"...Dolores Umbridge!" Hermione hissed, struggling to keep her words quiet so as not to alarm their children. "Case in point, and a very damning one! Theory is fine and good, but it must be coupled with actual practice. You are a very protective father. You're too passionate to be otherwise. Good intentions or not, you know you would end up interfering with her social development. You're still the most intimidating of professors, wherever and whatever you teach. I will not have you stalking around, looming all over, and interfering with her maturation. Or with Hugo's."

Gritting his teeth, Severus dried the pan, and its lid. With careful, deliberate movements, he dried the rest of the pans and utensils she had just watched, placing each one in its assigned cabinet or drawer. When the task was done and the drainer tucked below the counter again, he folded the drying cloth and hung it on the oven rail.

"...How do I not watch over my children? How do I not worry over them? You saw what she did! She's bound for Sasquatch High, with that little display. She cannot stay in a Muggle school."

"Not a Muggle school, no," Hermione agreed quietly. "But not at Sasquatch High, either. And not just because of you. I'd be tempted to lurk too close to her as she grows up...and I dread the day she comes home in tears from some broken heart, because I just know I'd hex the boy who was responsible six ways from Sunday, and get into trouble with the Department of Magic...just because we defeated one very Dark Lord doesn't mean another won't attempt to rise up in the future...and if one does, our children need to grow up strong, confident, and experienced enough at dealing with the smaller troubles in life to be able to handle the bigger ones.

"There's only one place either of them can do that, a place that we can trust as parents, and that's Hogwarts," she said. "We turned out well...and now that the Defence position isn't cursed, they've a very good curriculum going these days under that Norwegian witch Minerva told me about in her last letter, Professor Frejne. Harry wrote that she's even been guest-lecturing for the Aurors, and impressing everyone. If they go to Hogwarts...they'll have an excellent education, they'll be closer to Mum and Dad, they'll be able to connect to our past and come to appreciate it...and they'll grow up strong, and healthy, and capable of taking on the world. But, most importantly, they will grow up.

"We cannot keep them as our babies forever," she finished, as unhappy with her own logic as a parent could be when forced to face that fact. "They have to grow up."

Sighing roughly, Severus wrapped his arms around her. "I don't want to give up our babies. I don't want to be so far away from them..."

She cuddled him back, comforting him. "Neither do I. But you would smother both of them, and you know it."

He stilled at that, considering her words. "Hermione...do I smother you?"

Hidden by the way she had tucked her face into his chest, beneath his chin, Hermione smiled. Mastering it, she pulled back enough to look up at him without smirking too much. "Yes, you do. But I allow you to because I am strong enough to stand toe to toe with you, when needed."

Snorting, he said, "Like just now? Any more strength, and I'd..." Again, he paused, a thoughtful look pinching his brow. It changed to a sly, calculating one. "If Rose goes to Hogwarts, and Hugo, magic willing, follows her a few years later...that would make five years of just you and I from autumn to spring. Alone again...lonely without them, but we'd be alone together..."

It didn't take her more than a heartbeat or two to follow his line of thought. "Mm, yes. We could do so many of the things that got set aside when we became a mum and a dad."

Severus smirked. "I could dust off my paddle, and remind you just which one of us wears the pants in this family."

"While I could dust off my corset and remind you just who is your mistress," she mock-growled, nipping at his jaw-line.

Pulling their bodies closely together from thigh to chest, he nipped back, taking over so that he could devour her in a kiss.

"Ewww, gross!"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione broke away from her husband. She peered over his shoulder at their daughter, frowning. "I thought I banished you to your bedroom, young lady!"

"Hugo's in there!" Rose whinged. "He's playing with my things, and he won't leave!"

Dropping his head to Hermione's temple, Severus muttered quietly in her ear, "I realize I will have more than three years to get used to the idea of you-know-what...and to get her used to it, too, since I think she'll protest a bit...but somehow, I think I will adjust."

Releasing her with a brief, platonic embrace, he headed for the kitchen door, shooing their daughter ahead of him. Torn between a wistful smile and a smirk, Hermione finished wiping down the counter now that the dishes were done. A moment later, she hurried to the doorway and leaned out of the kitchen.

"Don't forget, we're having the Halversons over for dinner tomorrow night, and they're bringing the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher! Rose, Hugo, I want you both to tidy up downstairs and put all your toys into their bins!"

"Aww, mum!" Rose whinged.

"Is the new teacher bringing a fancy creature for us to pet, mummy?" Hugo called out, skipping down the steps from the upper floor.

"That will depend on how nice and polite you are. Get a start on your toys now, so you'll have less to do tomorrow," she instructed. Hermione corralled him with an arm just long enough to kiss the top of his dark brown head, then nudged him toward the living room.

...

"David Severus Snape Miller!"

Ears ringing from her own roar, Hermione charged up out of the basement. Her knees creaked a bit as she did so, but she didn't stop, just kept going up the steps, through the hall, and up the next set of stairs. Her husband popped out of their bedroom door, soap suds trickling down his naked hide, but he had his wand in his hand, ready to mend or defend. The tiny part of her that wasn't upset with her husband of twenty-two years admired his protective reflexes...which only made her mad all over again.

"...Hermione? What's wrong?" Dark eyes darting down the stairwell, looking for the cause of her alarm, he eyed her askance. "Why are you shouting?"

The words, the accusations, the anger all bottled up inside of her, reddening her face, scrunching her brows into a frown, and choking her with pure, concentrated ire. Somehow, she distilled it into two words, and flung them at his head. "...Wizarding Portrait!"

His eyes widened in shock while his cheeks, framed by his neatly trimmed, grey-streaked beard, paled and flushed, giving him a blotchy look. But he didn't cower; he never cowered. Straightening his shoulders, he looked down the length of his altered nose at her and arched a single, grey-salted brow. "So?"

"You swore you wouldn't interfere in their lives! And now I find you've had a wizarding portrait in the basement all this time? Don't tell me it's not for what I think it is...all wizarding portrait subjects can go and visit themselves in other paintings, no matter how far apart they may be! You have been in contact with your Headmaster portrait! Don't you deny it!"

Folding his arms across his chest, unheeding of the suds still trickling their way down his ribs and thighs, Severus leaned on the door-jamb, the very picture of studied carelessness. "Of course, I did. But my instructions to both portraits were to observe and report, and to remain discreet whilst doing so. They're portraits. They cannot interfere directly."

"But they can be noticed skulking about the castle, lurking in the wrong picture-frames!" Hermione argued.

"My images have a better sense of discretion than that!" he snapped back. "They both know that if they acted up too much, they'd draw attention to the fact that I actually do still exist. Which I am not supposed to. Credit me with some intelligence when directing a spying operation! Headmistress Isolde Marsh-Leighton is the one who is actually keeping tabs on our daughter, not Headmaster Severus Snape. He merely collates her information."

"Headmistress who?" she asked.

"Isolde Marsh-Leighton. She was headmistress from 1828 to 1843. As a female, she can go into the girls' dorms. Dexter Fortescue, 1844 to 1876, is the one keeping an eye on Hugo. As fellow former heads of Hogwarts, they are sworn to cooperate with any headmasters that follow them...even portrait ones. They have been sworn to secrecy on why they are spying, and to whom they report. They're also Ravenclaws," he added tartly. "They have every right to visit their former House and converse with its members.

"I have taken every care to minimize 'interference' in their social lives...but I need the reassurance that they're both alright," he said. "And they are...though I cannot say I approve of our daughter mooning over 'Teddy Lupin, Quidditch Star'. According to Isolde, wizarding photos of him are plastered all over her dorm room...all of the fifth year girls are acting like lunatics over him."

"She's a teenage girl, Severus. She'll moon over anyone who looks cute. I was in fourth year when Viktor Krum was all the rage in the girls' dorms," Hermione reminded him, "and Viktor's poster was all over the place back then. The only difference between them is that Teddy is English, and thus a lot more accessible for daydreaming."

"She can daydream about someone else!" Severus protested.

"Like young Albus?" Hermione asked sweetly. Severus narrowed his eyes. She smiled smugly at him. "I have my own pipeline of information into Hogwarts."

"Hypocrite!" he accused her. "You dare to yell at me, when you're doing it yourself?"

Hands shifting to her hips, Hermione glared at him. "I merely read her latest letter, husband. Her first kiss was with Albus Severus Potter, in the greenhouse, while they were cleaning up some broken pots. She got five points off Ravenclaw for it, too. But she wanted to ask me, her mum, some questions about how to handle boys."

His frown had slid into something closer to a pout. "She could have asked me. I can tell her quite readily what goes through a young man's mind at that age."

No longer angry with her husband, Hermione let her gaze slide down the length of his frame. Most of the soap bubbles had popped, leaving him slightly damp and entirely exposed. Since she was no longer quite so upset, she let other thoughts wander into prominence.

"Believe me, I can guess what goes through a teenaged boy's mind, as can our daughter...but tell me, what goes through a full-grown wizard's mind? Particularly when he's standing naked in front of his wife?"

"Easy," he snorted.

She lifted her gaze, arching a brow in silent enquiry.

His arm shifted, wand slashing through the air. "Sartorlagen. Mobilicorpus."

In just two words, he had her stripped naked and floating at wand-point toward the bathroom door, where water could still be heard splattering in the shower stall. Pausing her mid-air, he cupped her short-cropped curls and kissed her thoroughly, bumping her floating body against his own. It wasn't easy, fighting the pull of the spell keeping her aloft, but she managed to twin her arms and legs around him, reciprocating with enthusiasm.

He allowed her to cling, moving both of them forward. Water splashed down over her right shoulder, dripping off her knee, ankle, and hip. It didn't interfere with their kiss, though she did suck in a sharp breath when he pressed her back into the cool tiles of the shower stall. But his lips and his hands were hot enough to compensate, scattering her wits even as his expert touch focused her senses.

Ever since Hugo had been shipped off for his first year at Hogwarts, joining her sister as she entered her third, the two of them had relearned the joys of living alone together. This was one of them, as was the joy of sleeping in on weekends and not having to worry about tripping over toys underfoot. They still fought occasionally, but their fights always ended quickly, and preferably in favor of lovemaking. Both of them were too passionate by nature, and still too deeply in love with each other, to act any other way.

When he finally did enter her, it wasn't the feel of his hardened flesh that tipped her over the edge of her desire. It wasn't the way he tilted her hips into his, nor the freedom from gravity provided by the levitation charm. It wasn't the way he stroked up into her g-spot, though that did help. Nor was it his lips, his tongue, his teeth, nor even the possessive clutching his fingertips.

It was his voice, quiet but fierce as he growled a single, impassioned word into her ear, echoing her equally impassioned thoughts.

Mine!

{THE END}