Born on an Island

Born on an Island

On the seventh of August, a little girl was born at six forty-nine in the morning, precisely one week after her mother had arrived on the island. The previous night, Tessa hadn't eaten too much and had gone to bed early, but around eleven, she got sick. Sneaking to the toilet, she threw up what was in her stomach and was just about to go back to bed when she realised she still felt awful. In order not to wake Carlos, she settled in the living room, lit a candle, and began reading the book she had found in his collection – Rosemary's Baby, morbidly enough.

Time ticked by, the book didn't make too much sense, and she continued to be sick. There was nothing she could spit out anymore, but her stomach insisted on staying upset, and reading, to be honest, became hard to concentrate on.

At ten to two, she finally came to the conclusion that she would have a baby soon. "You seem to be different, dear," she whispered and placed a hand on her now visible belly. "Neither your brother nor your sister left any doubts in me that they wanted to be born. Whereas you... well. Your father is a Slytherin, so why am I surprised that you try to hide your true intentions?"

Silently, she went into the bedroom and woke the father in question, which wasn't easy as he had worked hard all day – a new field had to be prepared for young vines, and he had been knackered when he had come in for dinner. Snoring slightly, he refused to as much as move his head at her attempts to wake him.

"Carlos!" After the third attempt, she nearly shouted and shook his shoulder until he finally opened one sleepy eye.

"Hmm?"

"Go and get Carmen, would you?"

"What for? She's asleep. So am I."

"Well, I can try to give birth to your daughter on my own if you want to go back to dreamland, but I doubt you'd be too happy about it if something went wrong." Chuckling, she pecked a kiss on his stubbly cheek when the first hard contraction made her hiss with pain.

That was all it needed. He was awake in an instant and helped her to get into bed. Pulling on shorts, he was out of the bedroom and the house in no time, getting Carmen, who slept in the guesthouse since her arrival two days ago.

Strange how time meddled with the brain during birth. The thought of hours of pain once more had been horrifying when Tessa had been thinking about it beforehand. Both Rose and Hugo had been born at St. Mungo's, with lots of Healers at hand, and there hadn't been pain. Her daughter, Carlos's daughter, would have to be born without magical help besides a very small monitoring charm to make sure the heartbeat didn't go down. Otherwise, Carmen would become suspicious if she didn't scream at least a bit. But now the child was on the way, it seemed as if a second took hours and hours only lasted a heartbeat. Screaming came as naturally as blinking her eyes, sound and light took on an eerie, unnatural quality, and it was actually absolutely ridiculous that new life came into the world in such a messy way.

This new life took its time to come into the world, and she clung to Carlos's hands as if they were a lifeline, nearly breaking some bones. Screaming like a banshee and wishing this night would never end at the same time, Tessa gave birth to her daughter shortly after sunrise. The baby was tiny and dirty, covered in blood, and owned a shock of raven black hair. Ugly, red, screaming like her mum had screamed, the baby became quiet the moment Carmen put her on Tessa's belly, the moment she heard her mother's heartbeat again.

Severus Snape, who was called Carlos by everyone including the woman who loved him, knelt down next to mother and baby. With one fingertip, he brushed over the child's wet hair, along the tiny shoulder down towards the hand when she moved her arm and grabbed her father's finger, holding on tightly. "Hello, Luca," he whispered.

Hermione Granger-Weasley, who preferred to be called Tessa by everyone who didn't know who she really was and especially by the man she loved, smiled at the sight. Carlos though, who had been silent all night long, had held his love's hand, and had made sure mother and baby were safe during the birth, couldn't help the tears that were streaming down his face.

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

The months before hadn't been easy for Hermione. In spring when she had told Carlos, happiness had washed through her like a tide at his idea to leave their child in his care. "Are you certain?" she had asked, repeatedly, because she needed him to say it again and again that yes, he would raise their daughter, and no, he wouldn't allow strangers to take care of her.

"It will be hard for you, Tessa. You won't see her for months after she's born, and I won't even try to imagine how you will feel. If you want, I will come back to England so you can see her more often. If you wish, I will even come out of hiding, move back to Spinner's End, so you can visit us openly."

Lying in his arms, she was deeply moved by this offer as she knew how much it had cost him to make it. But she shook her head. "Impossible, love. The moment the world learns you are still alive, you will be in danger. There are Death Eaters still on the run, and I think many of them would try to kill you for your betrayal. Besides, what would be the reason for me visiting you? As a student, I disliked you, we never had a personal relationship, and it would cause suspicions and rumours if I were to be seen in your house. Questions would appear whether I am Luca's mother, especially because I couldn't keep my fingers off her." Comfortably, she edged a little closer. His hand was resting on her belly, and their daughter kicked happily at the gentle weight. "I need you here," she continued. "I need to know you are safe, and I need to be able to come home to you and her at least every now and then until Rose and Hugo are at school."

He wasn't convinced. "You think you will be able to leave her here with me and go back home a week or two after she's been born?" Doubt rang in his voice, and she had to swallow once or twice before she could answer.

"Don't make me cry," she managed, breathing in the fragrance of his skin. He smelled of soap and shampoo, with a more earthy smell of herbs, autumn leaves, and honey beneath. She loved how he smelled, even when he came fresh from the vineyard, sweaty and covered in dirt. "To leave our daughter with you is not the perfect solution, but one I can live with. I thought I had to give her up, to see her raised by strangers, to never witness how she grows." Placing a kiss at the sunflower tattoo, she subtly wiped off a tear that threatened to run down her cheek. For some reason, the last conversation with Ron jumped into her mind, shortly before she had left to see Carlos.

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

Ron had been at home for a long weekend, which had surprised her as much as him, apparently. She hadn't seen him for nearly three weeks – he had been playing in Hungary – and he had obviously been uncomfortable of spending time in his house, with his wife and children. In the mornings, he had slept in until noon, then had got up and gone to the pub for a quick pint. In the afternoons, he had often taken Rose and Hugo to his parents' house where he had shown them moves on the broom or chased Pixies in the garden with their help. He was fond of them, that much was obvious, but he wasn't even a weekend-dad. He was like an eccentric uncle who popped in every now and then, heaps of presents in his luggage, turning the household and the daily routing upside down until he was gone again. Both children loved him with all their might, and he loved them... Still, she wished their relationship were as uncomplicated as it had been before they had married. She missed the easy friendship with him, especially as their unhappy marriage had affected her friendship with Harry as well. She knew the two men talked about her, she was certain Harry was very aware of the fact that his two best friends didn't share a bed anymore, and when she met him for a coffee somewhere in town, talk didn't come easily.

The morning when she had been preparing to leave, knowing Ron would be at home for another week, looking after the children, had been odd. She had been so happy from the moment she had woken up, the morning sickness had finally ceased for good, and she had looked forward to breakfast with Rose and Hugo.

"You're looking different, 'Mione," Ron had munched when he had spotted her on the staircase. "Sort of... No. Can't put my finger on it. You ok?"

Rose had looked up and eyed her mum suspiciously. "You are looking beautiful, Mummy," she had said with dignity, a spoonful of cornflakes halfway to her mouth.

Hermione had smiled, but her stomach had coiled at the fact that both her husband and her daughter had looked at her so eagerly. She had known the glamour was perfect – Carlos had helped her adjust it, and she had used it on a daily basis for more than two months. Still, with two pairs of eyes focussed on her, she had felt naked and exposed and had wondered if Ron could just see through the glamour that had made her look nearly as slender as usual. Hopefully, he wouldn't try to hug her – that would have been a problem. But then, he never did. "Thank you, honey," she had said towards her daughter, who had luckily concentrated on her cornflakes again. "What do you mean with 'different', Ron? When I looked into the mirror this morning, I saw nothing out of the ordinary."

Ron had smiled weakly and tipped his head. "You look... Damn. Sorry, didn't want to freak you out. Is it your haircut? Or... No! That's it. You look a bit podgy, Hermione. Better think about a diet, dear." With a grin, he had shoved the last bite of his heavily buttered toast into his mouth and got up.

Speechless, Hermione had stared after him, frowning and wondering why his careless words hurt that much. She knew of his occasional affairs with big girls with lots of bum and bosom. His mocking hint of her going on a diet, although she must look, in his eyes, as scrawny as a scarecrow, had been more of an insult than anything else.

Rose had looked up once more and seen her mother still standing in the doorway. "I can make you tea, Mummy," she had said quietly and got up to snuggle against her. "You are not podgy. You are warm and soft and Daddy is not nice. I will slap him."

"Do that, honey," she had answered with a sigh and kissed her daughter's bushy hair. Truly, sometimes she wished she could just tell them, could tell everybody that she loved another man, that she was pregnant with that man's child, that she would leave her husband and this house and England altogether.

Well. Molly, if no one else, would slaughter her on the spot. Not worth risking it.

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

"I wish I could tell them," she now murmured and turned in Carlos's arms, pressing her forehead against his. "I wish I could walk into Diagon Alley, and everyone knew that I am pregnant and whose child I am carrying. I don't want to hide this, Carlos. I want this child, and I love you."

She felt him suppressing a sigh and knew he had hoped she would say this, just once more. "Idle wishes, beloved," he grumbled, and she smiled at his attempt to make her discomfort cease. "And besides, no one would believe you anyway. You would end up at St. Mungo's, locked away for claiming you've seen me alive. Claiming the fearful bat of the dungeons to be your lover, although I've been officially dead for a decade would do the trick quite nicely."

"Quite a few claim to have seen you, love," she murmured, sleep tiptoeing closer and making her eyelids heavy. In his arms, in this house in the mountains, she never had problems to sleep. "I even heard rumours that you are working as a fry cook in a diner in Arizona. Being a winegrower on a tiny island, brown as an apple seed and with spiky short hair is just as likely."

"I prefer the winegrower-story," he whispered and pulled the blanket over her body.

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

After she'd come back from her visit, she saw Ron only occasionally and was glad about it. Thankfully, Molly wasn't a guest in her house often, either since the children were at school in the morning, and therefore there was no reason for her mother-in-law to check if she treated Rose and Hugo properly. Only George came by on a regular basis, sometimes with his new-born daughter Roxanne, trying to persuade her to seek out the "ancient Muggle" again as he put it.

"I'd love to, but I can't take the children out of school, George," she replied, temptation building up in her. Seeing Carlos sooner than planned... "Sorry. Can't do it, and you know it. How do you manage to sell those bottles so quickly, George? I mean, it's just wine!"

George grinned most evilly. "It's pure magic, and the French Ministre de Magie just asked me for a bottle. I told him maybe in September, and he nearly fainted with anticipation. Additionally, I had a customer this morning, one with curiously long fangs. He growled a bit and then told me he would consider ordering the Wolfsbane potion ingredients solely from my shop if I managed to sell his alpha wolf this wine. I agreed, and now I'm in grave need for not one but two bottles as you see."

Chuckling, Hermione managed not to brush her hand across her belly. Her daughter was awake and in the mood for sports, it seemed, as she danced around with a vengeance. "I'll see what I can do. I will be back in the middle of August, and unless Carlos has decided he doesn't want to sell me another bottle, I will bring you what you crave."

"Carlos, eh? What happened to "the old goat" you called him last time we talked about him?"

Hermione couldn't help it – she blushed furiously, which made George completely suspicious. "Red as a tomato," he stated mischievously. "Don't tell me Carlos isn't really ninety." He leaned in closer, looking at her directly. "You have an affair with him, don't you?"

"You said I should sleep with him if he weren't willing to part with a bottle of his wine," Hermione replied weakly. "I just followed your advice. Sort of." Suddenly, she needed to sit down. "Shit. I didn't want to tell you that. No one knows, no one must know, and please, George, if Ron finds out, he'll divorce me, and I'll lose the children!"

For a moment, George seemed to be speechless, but then he reached out and brushed his palm over her cheek in a tender, understanding gesture. "Your secret is safe with me," he said earnestly. "I know Ron cheats on you repeatedly. Actually, I am surprised it took you so long to find at least some happiness with someone else. I won't tell a thing, Hermione, I promise. And besides, if I did, my mum as well as my stupid little brother would tear me to pieces for having known something they didn't."

Hermione closed her eyes for a brief second. She had known George was a friend, but she hadn't expected that much support. "It's not what you think," she explained, desperate to make at least one person understand why she had done what she had done. "It is not just an affair. It is more. Much more. Ron had his flings. They don't mean anything to him, I know that. In a way, he still loves me, I guess. He loves the children, too. But I... I just fell in love with someone else!"

"With Carlos, the winegrower," George mocked. "So that's how you stumbled across the wine – you met the one who makes it."

"During the summer hols a couple of years ago." With a sigh, Hermione put her chin into her hand, staring into the distance. "I didn't plan this, George. It just happened. Being your partner allows me to see him every now and then. I would divorce Ron, if I could. But you know your mother better than I do. She wouldn't let me keep Rose and Hugo, she would bribe the judge if she had to, and I couldn't live without them."

George got up and poured himself a large glass of water. "No need to tell me that. I couldn't live without Fred and Roxanne. So what's the plan then – you wait until the little ones are at Hogwarts and then drop the bomb?"

Hermione grinned somewhat sadly. "Something along those lines, yes. I will never tell anyone that there is another man in my life, not even after I am divorced. Carlos prefers to stay... hidden. Not only because otherwise, the whole world would run to his island, pestering him for his wine, but because he wants to live in peace, as well. His past has been tumultuous, to say the least. He won't be seen in Diagon Alley, and I think that's for the best."

"He's a wizard?" George asked casually.

For a small moment, Hermione considered to tell him the truth, the full truth of who Carlos really was. Only in the last second, she decided that it would be massively unfair to put such a burden on his shoulders. Maybe he could accept that she loved a man other than Ron; that she loved Severus Snape was a completely different matter. "His skills are limited," she therefore answered, not exactly lying, but not telling the truth, either. "He can use magic on a basic level, but he hates doing it and prefers the Muggle way."

"And he can make wine," George said, a slightly dreamlike expression on his face. "He's the man who can give you two bottles or two crates, if you asked him nicely, and that at any given day of the year. No need to bargain with him. Just send him an owl and... Oh." A thought had struck him. "Ah. I mean, no, of course not. You need to bargain. Long and complicated bargains. In person."

"Exactly," Hermione replied, relieved that now George knew at least a small bit of her secret. Absently, she put a hand on her belly. "I can promise you the two bottles for the werewolf and that other bloke, though. No worries that you wake up with your head bitten off or something equally nasty."

George gave her a quick hug. "Who cares about wine? It's just wonderful to see you happy," he whispered in her ear.

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

Months later and back on the island, the lovely mid-summer evening had wiped wine and bottles and George Weasley or anyone else back in England entirely out of her mind. Right now, she didn't worry about Ron or Molly finding out, or whether she would eventually tell her mother that she had three, not only two, grandchildren. Right now, she couldn't get enough of the sight in front of her.

She sat on the veranda, a glass of ice-cold lemonade in one hand and a book in the other. The content of the novel was not what occupied her presently, though. It was the fact that her baby daughter had just fallen asleep in the crook of her father's arms, after he had fed her and hummed to her, one of her hands safely clutched around his index finger.

From the moment she had been born, Luca had searched for her father's hand, wanted to be held by him, opened her eyes when he came into the room. As she was still weakened from the birth, Tessa was more than glad that she didn't have to get up to change nappies, to prepare the bottle, to make sure her daughter was sleeping safely in her cradle. All she had to do was to watch the two of them getting closer by the minute.

When Rose had been born, Ron had been thrilled and had bought Hermione the biggest diamond ring he could find. He had stayed at home for a week and had visited her in St. Mungo's every day. When she had come home, he had decorated the child's room, had bought a cradle, and had gone to France to play a Quidditch game.

Same with Hugo.

Carlos was different – well, as if she hadn't known that before. But that he was so very obviously totally entranced with his daughter surprised her. She had never seen a man tending to a newborn baby, had somehow thought they were frightened to drop the little, fragile body. Ron had played with Rose and Hugo since they had been old enough to walk and talk but not before. He had eyed them suspiciously, had barely touched them, had never offered to push the pram of either his son or daughter.

Carlos had taken Luca from Carmen's arms and had washed her himself, had put a nappy on her and then carried her through the house right after the birth. His grip on her was firm and strong, and she so very obviously liked being with her dad that Tessa could only smile when she saw them together.

"Don't you want to put her to bed?" she now asked and wasn't surprised when he shook his head.

"Not yet," he said quietly, rocking the girl gently in his arms. "I like her being here with us."

"You spoil her. As soon as I'm gone, you won't find the time to carry her around all day." A hint of sadness laced her words as she knew they were true. Both Rose and Hugo had spent a considerable time of the day in their cradles, simply because she hadn't been able to take them with her once Ron had left the house to play Quidditch again.

But Carlos just shot her one of his lovely, challenging smiles and kissed the baby in his arms right on the nose. "Vines are patient," he said. "I will find the time. A child that small can't be spoiled. All she wants is to be near us. Nothing wrong with this in my opinion." Getting up slowly so as not to wake Luca, he pushed his chair next to Tessa's and sat close enough to put his arms round her shoulder.

With a sigh, she leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, wishing this day would never end, wishing she could stay, wishing with all her might she wouldn't have to go back to England. A certain amount of guilt came with this thought – Rose and Hugo waited for her, and although she missed them terribly, she wondered sometimes if she really could see this through, or if it wouldn't be the better decision to divorce Ron now, thus allowing him to let Molly raise her children. Her husband would never give up playing Quidditch, she knew that. Hugo and Rose would grow up at The Burrow, raised by their grandparents.

Impossible. The thought itself was unbearable.

Luca struggled in her sleep. Carlos bent and kissed her forehead, brushing his lips across the soft, feathery black hair. She smiled. Her little fists opened a bit, just long enough for her father to reach out a finger so she could grab it. "Did I tell you recently that I love you?" he asked, looking down at the woman in his arms.

"No, not that I remember." He had, of course, repeatedly. Still, she couldn't get enough of him saying it.

"I love you, Tessa." He slipped down a bit, legs stretched out. Luca in his right arm, Tessa snuggled up to his left side, he let his head drop back to the back of the chair and closed his eyes. "I never expected that amount of happiness," he confessed. "I would have never believed a child – especially not a child I fathered – would make me feel so... complete."

"Wait until she's able to walk, and you have to run after her," Tessa mocked, trying to keep her voice in check. Why, oh why did this man always find words that made her heart ache with love? Why, oh why had she not found him earlier? He had taught her, for Merlin's sake, taught her for six long years several times a week, and still she hadn't managed to see further than his crooked nose and his greasy hair and his nasty snarl.

But then, he'd been another man back then, and she'd been only a schoolgirl, heavily in love with her best friend. Snape the teacher, Snape the spy, Snape the traitor – the simple thought of him being more than that would have been revolting during her school days. She knew that she loved Carlos as surely as she'd known back then that she'd love Ron forever.

Strange, how life could change one's opinions in just a few years.

Gently, she kissed Carlos's cheek, then the tiny fist of her sleeping daughter. He would be the perfect father: loving, caring, devoted to his daughter. In her mind she could see him carrying her around, singing her to sleep, feeding her, and teaching her to walk and to talk and how to use a wand. He would take her to his vineyards, showing her how to pick the grapes, and how to avoid snakes. If she fell ill, he would make her better; if she hurt herself, he would make sure she healed as quickly as possible.

Luca would be safe with him. No one would know who she was; no one would as much as suspect that she was the daughter of one of the most skilled men in the wizarding world. "Eventually, I will have to tell my parents about her," she said quietly.

"Eventually, you will have to tell Rose and Hugo that they have a little sister," he countered equally quietly. "And I think you should bring your parents to the house at the beach sooner rather than later. Invite them."

"They would want to meet you, too," she pointed out and watched her little daughter smile in her sleep. Apparently, the little girl had a nice dream.

Tessa had to suppress some tears at the thought that she would have to leave soon. Carlos would raise her daughter – their daughter, she had to remind herself – whilst she would be caught in a marriage she didn't want but couldn't end, either. Ron would never consider a divorce no matter how many Quidditch groupies he shagged. Being married to her was convenient, it was easy, and it guaranteed him a home whenever he needed one.

Carlos turned to her. He must have sensed her inner turmoil as he got up and put Luca into her cradle. With a swift move, he pulled Tessa up and into his arms. "All will be well in the end," he assured her. "Luca is safe with me. Tell George that I will need more persuasion to part with my wine, so you can come here more often. He'll understand. Bring your parents. Bring Rose and Hugo whenever possible. I like them very much, you know that. We can spend a weekend in the hut at the beach every now and then, so they won't forget how I look."

Just talking about the future eased the pain in her heart. It sounded so easy when he said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world that a mother left her newborn child with the father not to see it again for several weeks, if not months.

Maybe, she should pop round her parents' place before she went back home. A chat with her mum seemed to be due.

And so, she left another ten days later, left the island, the man she loved, and the daughter she had just borne, to pick up her other life again. Pretending she had done nothing more than talk another two bottles of the most expensive wine in the wizarding world out of an old Muggle.

The reference to Snape being a fry cook in a diner in Arizona is taken out of the story "Snape: The Home Fries Nazi" by pir8fancier, featuring Severus Snape and Harry Potter. It can be found at OWL under this link:

http://owl.tauri.org/stories.php?psid=2818