Complications and Solutions

Complications and Solutions

I can't be pregnant! The thought shot through her head like a thunderbolt. She hadn't slept with Ron in years; they didn't even share the same bedroom anymore. How the hell could she be pregnant without having slept...

Oh.

Damn.

The glass in her hand fell and shattered on the floor; the orange juice seeped into the carpet and left ugly stains on the wooden planks. Yet, Hermione was unaware of it. With her mouth hanging open, she stared at her hands, turned them in the morning light that shone in through the kitchen window, and wondered how she could have been so stupid.

Not Ron's child. Of course not. The marriage with Ron only existed on parchment, and even if she had still slept with him, she would have never risked a new pregnancy.

This was not her husband's child.

"Carlos," she rasped and sunk onto one of the chairs that stood round the table. "I'm pregnant with your child and now what? Damn!"

This would not just complicate things, it would completely destroy her secret life. It very possibly would destroy their love as it would bring him into focus. The world would learn that he was still alive, he whom she called Carlos, but whose real name was Severus Snape. They would drag him away from his island; they would question him, and he would be on the front page of every newspaper... His life would be over. A life he loved and didn't want to give up.

She didn't want him to suffer. She wanted him where he was, she wanted to be with him without anyone knowing, she wanted...

She wanted him. Which meant she couldn't have the child.

Without a second thought, she vanished the Portkey – an old magazine – from the kitchen counter. She wouldn't go. Not today. She needed to find out first what to do, and she needed to find a way to tell him afterwards.

*********************

It was evening when Hermione finally thought of the most obvious question. The day had been nauseatingly long, she felt unwell, was sweating with every movement, and in the back of her head the thought 'Tell him' nagged constantly.

She wouldn't, though. She would solve the problem so they could continue their lives. A potion, a few days in bed, and that tiny little seed would never have the chance to become a baby. At the moment, it was not bigger than a wheat grain; at the moment, it was absolutely ridiculous to call it a child.

For the first time since she lived here, the house was too small for her. Pacing like a caged animal, she fled into the park only to find it impossible to be near other people, to hear them talk, to witness them laugh. Running seemed a sensible thing to do, but then she got sick again, threw up the orange she had eaten earlier, and finally found a bench under a huge birch, the branches hiding her from curious eyes.

"I can't be pregnant," she told the bench. "I use a long-term contraception spell. It is impossible that I carry his child. Anyone's child. How the hell could this be happening anyway?"

There it was, the main question; along with it came the realisation that she couldn't abort his child. About a year ago, after a long day with Hugo and Rose, he had admitted to her that one of his biggest regrets was the fact that he would never have children of his own. So how could she even think of killing this one, this little seed inside her that was about to become Carlos's son or daughter?

Wiping the tears off her face, she got up, her mind clear and determined for the first time since the morning. It was mandatory to find out why she was pregnant. Afterwards she could think of a way to solve the problem. Until then, it was impossible to leave, to see him, or even to write to him.

Thinking of him made her legs wobbly. He would be waiting at the beach as he always did. The bus would have been long gone, the sun would be already setting, and by now he would fear something was wrong.

He would fear she wouldn't come. She knew him well by now, and was certain that he would not think she had abandoned him. Instead, he would wonder if an accident had hindered her from coming, if something was wrong with the children, or if Ron might have found out. Worrying, waiting, thinking – she gave him two days, maybe three, before he would come looking for her despite the danger of being recognised.

"Well, I have to hurry, then," she said and left to go to the library. She needed some books about contraception spells and what could prevent them from working.

********************

In the end, the answer was so easy she would have laughed hadn't the subject been so grave. It was the tattoo, his sunflower, which had caused the pregnancy. Designed to outbalance the negative effects from Nagini's bite, it guaranteed Carlos a life without pain. Unfortunately, the magic that was woven into the flower was strong enough to influence the magic of her contraception spell as well, at least when she was close enough to it. Which was nearly always the case when she was on the island, even when they didn't make love. They kissed, they cuddled, they slept front to back – the only surprise was that it had taken so long for her to become pregnant.

Fine. That clarified the 'how' but not the 'now what'. The answer to her question didn't help her to make a decision, it didn't support her initial plan to abort the child, it only made it clear that she had to leave the library, now, immediately. She needed to go as it was late, more than twenty hours after she should have left.

Leaving the library was not easy, though. She had copies of the pages where the magic of the tattoo was described, she had her notebook where she had written down a few dates, she had the result of a test that showed that she was a bit over four months pregnant. It had happened last year in November, she had proof of it.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder how to tell him. Or what he was going to say, once she did.

**********************

Gods, how much he hated to wait, although waiting had been something he had done on a regular basis whilst spying for Dumbledore. He had waited for people to make mistakes, he had waited for deaths to happen and catastrophes to appear. He had waited for students, for the Dark Lord, and for the day he would have to kill Hogwarts' Headmaster. For years, he had awaited his own death; still, waiting wasn't something he did easily or with a calm heart.

Once, he had waited for Lily, and when she had come, she had told him she didn't want to see him again.

Now he waited for Tessa and feared she would tell him the same. She was so young and beautiful, and if she stayed with him it might end in tears for her. Eventually, someone would find out where she was by following her when she claimed to be on a business trip. Then they would find him; they would realise she had been having an affair with a former Death Eater, with someone who was supposed to have been dead for over a decade, with a murderer, a spy.

No surprise she didn't come, he mused, managing not to put too much bitterness in the thought.

On the other hand... Her letters, the letters she sent on a weekly, sometimes even a daily basis, spoke of love and longing. I miss you, she wrote, always. I love you, and I miss you, and I wish I could come and see you. Never had there been a reason for him to believe she didn't mean what she said, never the slightest doubt that she would leave him.

Until today. The time when she usually arrived had come and gone, noon passed by, and the evening as well. The moon rose above the ocean, and still no sign of her. The one time she had been late so far she had sent him an owl to tell him she wouldn't be able to leave in time.

Not so today. Not a word, no owl in sight, and now he sat at the beach, his beach, hands dug deep in the sand, and stared out into the night, wondering what had gone wrong.

It took him a while to think of an accident as a reason or a problem with Rose or Hugo. The idea that the children could be ill caused cold fear to creep up his spine. If the children were ill, really ill, it meant that she was fine. It meant she had not planned to be late.

He was disgusted with himself for the hope that bubbled up inside him. To hell with love; to hell with these emotions he couldn't control and which messed up his life. To hell with her and his fear that it could be her who was ill, her who was unconscious at St. Mungo's, her who could be dead.

Around midnight, he decided he would check on her in the morning. She would never stay away without a reason, and whatever that reason was, he needed to find out. If she had given her marriage a new chance, he wanted to know. If she was ill or even dead, he needed to know. If she had left him, she would have to tell him in person.

Whilst he was there he could have a look at his house at Spinner's End and pick up a few books he had forgotten when he had fled the country. Yes. Good plan. First her, and then home. Someone would probably recognise him and blame him for a father's or brother's death, for the murder of a friend, for not saving a sister or a cousin. That was all fine as well. He had had a few good years. This was as good a time as any to face his past.

He was just about to get up and go inside when the small hairs at the back of his neck stood up: magic was at work. Someone had just Apparated.

****************************

She couldn't see in the darkness, but she didn't cast a Lumos. Carlos, her love, her life, rarely used magic if he could help it, and she accepted his wish to remain as Muggle as everyone else on the island. When Apparating or Disapparating, he always made sure no one was around who could see her, and she only hoped that he didn't have company by now as she was so very late.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, and only because the moon was so bright that it cast grey shadows on the sand, did she see him standing a few feet away, tall and silent, and apparently not at all surprised to see her at this time of night. In one hand was her wand; she vanished it with a flick to the safe place where she always kept it when she was here. In her other hand she held a bundle of parchment and her notebook. She hadn't bothered to bring her bag; she hadn't thought to put a jacket on. She had left London without going home, had left straight from the library, and she shivered in the cold.

Two steps, and she stood in front of him. One thrust, and he had no other choice but to take the bundle she held out to him. "You need to read that," she said. "And then we need to talk."

"Tessa."

Why did he sound so... small? Why did she have the sudden feeling that he had been close to doing something stupid? All right, she was late, but that certainly was no reason...

How would she have reacted if she had had to wait for him, and he would have been late for nearly a day?

It was a horrible thought. She knew he loved her, but if he'd let her wait for so long without explanation, she would have possibly imagined he'd found a nice dark-haired girl with proper curves. "Carlos, love," she began, then just embraced him.

His arms around her – she hadn't known how much she had missed him until the moment when she felt his lean, wiry body pressed against hers, when she smelled his fragrance of earth, wine, and wood. She felt him shiver, and his embrace became stronger, pressed the air out of her lungs, took her breath away. A moment later, he lifted her up and swung her around, her parchments and notes landing in the sand. On her lips she tasted the salt that was in the air, on her cheek she felt his stubbles, and then she got dizzy with happiness, fatigue, and fear of what she had to tell him.

Carefully, he put her back on her feet as if fearing to break her, or that she'd fly away with the cold spring wind. "Where have you been?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear. "I was worried; I wondered if..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence. She understood without him spelling it out that she had been wrong in her assumption that he was entirely sure of her. He had wondered if she had left him, if she had decided not to come back at all. Even two small months could be a long time, letters shared or not. Two months without seeing each other, without talking, without waking up next to him. Hadn't she feared for herself that he would meet someone else, that he would get tired of waiting for her?

She took his hand and pulled him towards the dark house. One candle burned in the kitchen window, and suddenly, she longed for something to eat, for a sandwich and a mug of milk. "Let's go inside, Carlos. I have to tell you some news, and I can't do it whilst my feet are freezing."

They went inside, and he lit some more candles. In the golden light she couldn't see too much of his expression, especially not because he was busying himself preparing a late-night snack for her. The milk simmered in a pot on the stove, she wore a blanket round her shoulders, and she definitely couldn't stop staring at him. Would he be happy at her news or angry? Would he want her to abort his child, or would he consider an adoption perhaps? Obviously, she couldn't raise the child as she couldn't answer the question about the circumstances of the child's conception. This child, if it would be born, would never know its natural father or mother.

Horrible thought.

Carlos turned, placed a mug and a tuna sandwich in front of her. He watched her eat in silence, didn't disturb her thoughts, waited patiently until the last bite had vanished into her mouth. Then he said, "You look different. There is a glow on you I haven't seen before. Even in this light it is obvious. Will you tell me what happened, and why you were late?"

No use playing games here. No use trying to tell him anything slowly and bit by bit. "I'm pregnant, Carlos. And I need to know what you think about it. I considered an abortion..." Her voice faltered when she saw his face, the hurt in his eyes, the way he clenched his teeth. Admittedly, she had hoped he would show a little joy at least.

"Rose and Hugo will be thrilled to have another sister or brother," he said sternly. "So will your husband and the rest of your family. Another pillar for your marriage, Hermione. I am grateful, though, that you came to tell me in person."

For a moment, she was dumbstruck. The coldness in his words as well as the fact that he called her by her real name was terrifying. Then she understood and wondered how a man so intelligent as him could be so totally, completely nuts. "It's yours, Carlos," she said, placing a hand on her still flat belly. "This child is your child. I'm pregnant from you. I haven't slept with Ron in years. We had stopped sleeping in the same bedroom even before I met you. Rose and Hugo will never know that they have a sister, if we decide that I should indeed give birth to her. Nor will Ron or Molly or anyone else."

Funny to see how he opened and closed his mouth for several times without getting a single word out. Steadying himself against the counter, he stared at her as if she were a ghost. "But... you..." he finally stammered, then sat heavily on one of the chairs.

She laughed tightly. "Of course I used a contraception spell. But the magic of your tattoo interfered with it. It took me all day and half the evening to confirm it, which is the reason why I am late – I was in the library. Evidence is outside, covered by sand. I copied everything so you wouldn't think I made it up."

"Pregnant? You... really?" Wide-eyed, he stared at her as if he was seeing her for the very first time. There was no coldness left in his voice – only hope.

Now she dared to smile. He looked like a man who had just learned his deepest wish had come true. Both his hands were grabbing the table, and he didn't seem to be breathing.

"Really. With your daughter. She will be born at the end of July or early August if everything goes well. I... I assume you don't want me to have an... abortion?"

He just shook his head, obviously unable to speak.

"Then we need to find foster parents for her. I will put a glamour on me so no one will realise that I'm pregnant. Everything else I haven't thought about yet."

Again, he shook his head. "No foster parents. No adoption," he croaked. "I want... I couldn't..."

It nearly broke her heart to see him struggle for words, to hear him try to say "my daughter" or "my child". It was no surprise, though, to find out that the thought of giving their child away to strangers was a thought unbearable to him.

The chair clattered to the floor when he got up too quickly, rounding the table to pull her to her feet. Hesitantly, he put one of his big hands on her belly, tenderly as if he could already feel the life growing inside her. "You... want this child? My child?"

Had she really considered an abortion? Had she really doubted his joy at the news? Because now she couldn't believe it anymore, hearing the hope in his voice when he asked those questions. "Yes," she said. "I can't imagine not having her. But there is no way..."

"A glamour is a perfect idea." His words were fast and determined. "You will come here for the birth. Conchita's daughter Carmen is a midwife, she delivers most babies on the island, and with a bit of magic, I will be able to make sure nothing goes wrong without Carmen realising it. Hugo and Rose will be at your parents' house this summer?"

Now it was her turn to just nod. "But... I can't take her back home. And someone has to raise her. Someone..."

For the first time in more than an hour, he smiled. "This is the twenty-first century, Tessa. Have you never heard of single fathers, beloved?"