Chapter Three

Hermione had left England almost immediately after seeing Snape, sending her regrets, for the invitations she'd accepted, with a few quick owls. He'd been informed he was a father and as far as she was concerned, her obligation had been fulfilled. What he chose to do about the information was entirely up to him. She wasn't going to wait around to find out if he believed her. Hermione rather hoped he didn't, and that would be the end of it.

Her homecoming could have been taken straight out of her dreams. Andrew's chubby little face beamed when he saw his mother. The squeal that came out of his mouth when his hands rose in the air brought tears to her eyes. As she buried her nose in the fragrant black curls on his head, Hermione knew she loved him enough for both of them.

Later that day, hovering over his crib watching him sleep, Hermione was struck by how much he resembled that bitter wizard she'd left behind in London. Andrew had her curly hair, brown eyes and skin tone, but he owed the color of that hair to his sire. His fingers and toes, currently covered in baby fat, were long and tapered, not at all like hers. She worried the most over his baby nose. One day, she would be positive there was a slight but discernible hook evident. The next, she'd be just as positive that it had been a mere figment of her imagination.

Her mother's discreet questions regarding her "mission" were answered to the best of Hermione's ability. She didn't tell her everything, of course; merely that she'd told Andrew's father he existed and had given him some photos. She still refused to "name names."

Their days soon settled back into the comfortable routine they'd established before her wild trip to London. Andrew's birthday, celebrated with a few friends, came and went without any missives from his father finding their way to Australia, and Hermione's eyes no longer searched the sky at the slightest hint of the sound of wings fluttering on air.

"Mum?" Hermione ventured one night after several more weeks had passed. She and her mother were sitting in the kitchen having a last cup of tea before bed, and Hermione'd been doing a lot of soul searching. Some of the understanding smiles on her friend's faces had come back to haunt her. What had she done with her life? She wasn't qualified to find a career, and unless she did something about it now, she might never be.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm thinking about going to a university. I've got plenty of money left from Grandmother's estate, but I hate to think of Andrew being in child care the whole while. I was wondering if you'd consider watching him at least part of the time?"

Hermione's mother smiled and put down her cup. "Of course your father and I will mind him for you, there's no need for a crèche."

"Yes, there is, Mum. What if you or Dad want to have lunch just by yourselves or take off to Sydney for a few days like you did before I found you again? I don't expect you two to give up your retirement and raise my son for me. I just need a little more of your time to get myself established in some type of career," Hermione explained while holding one of her mother's hands.

"It's bad enough that we've basically lived off you and Dad all this time. I want... I want to be able to build a home of my own... for my son. There are small flats available, close to the university that will be ideal to start us out," Hermione added softly. She watched her mother's chin tremble slightly before she gave Hermione a watery smile and a nod.

"I've always known the day would come when you'd decide something that would take the both of you away, but I'd hoped..." Monica took a sip of tea and gave her daughter's hand a squeeze. "When do classes start?"

"Late February, so I've got a bit more than two months to get myself enrolled, find a flat and get moved," Hermione replied.

Monica frowned slightly and turned a worried expression toward her daughter. "I've been assuming that you're talking about a Muggle university; are you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied easily. "Why?"

"I'm positive you're not going to qualify. You don't have the necessary GCSEs or A Levels, or whatever the equivalent is down here, Hermione. The last Muggle school you attended was when you were ten."

"I've thought about that, and I can tell a tiny little lie, say I was home-schooled, and take the tests, Mum," Hermione advised. She was nothing if not thorough and had taken everything she could into consideration.

The worried look didn't leave Monica's face. "Don't misunderstand, Hermione. I think it's wonderful that you want to further your education, but depending on what you decide to major in, you won't have the background for those university classes. In order to succeed, you'd have to study years worth of subjects you would have taken if you hadn't gone to Hogwarts."

"I'm a quick study, Mum. It won't take me long to play catch up," Hermione commented confidently.

"I'm well aware you're quite brilliant, young lady," her mother advised with a warm smile before she sobered and added, "but are you willing to short-change Andrew to do it? In order to do what you want, you're going to have to spend all your free time studying. There won't be a moment to spare for years.

"Andrew's just started walking; soon he'll be running, and you'll have to run to keep up with him, Hermione. He'll want to play, have his mummy read to him, spend time with him, and not have her nose stuck in a book. If you try to stay awake and study when he's asleep, you're going to suffer and become ill." Monica paused and asked quietly, "Have you considered anything in the magical world?"

"No, that's not an option," Hermione said stubbornly.

"What are you going to do when he turns eleven, Hermione? Tell him he can't go? That you forbid him to learn about who and what he is and can do? You told me that Harry was raised without the knowledge he was a wizard. Are you going to do the same to Andrew?"

"No! I don't know," Hermione said as she rose and took her cup to the sink. "He might turn out to be a squib, and then there'll be no problem, will there?"

"No, I don't suppose there would be, but do you really think he won't be magical?" her mother asked as she put her own cup in the sink.

"So, what it comes down to," Hermione said angrily while turning away from her mother, "is that you don't think I have what it takes to be a success in your world."

"Hermione, no! That's not it at all!" Monica exclaimed.

"Well, it sure sounds like it to me," Hermione muttered while heading toward the back door. She grabbed a light jacket and stopped when her hand hit the knob. "I need to take a walk and think this over. Would you listen for Andrew?"

"Of course," her mother said, and to Hermione's ears, she sounded defeated.

Hermione paused after opening the door and turned her head back in her mother's direction. "I know you're only trying to help, Mum. I just... I need to think." She closed the door quietly behind her and headed toward the front of the lot. Their neighborhood was quiet, secluded and perfect for a "walkabout," even if it was for minutes instead of days. Intent on putting one foot in front of the other, Hermione didn't notice a distant shadow in a neighbor's yard that moved to follow her.

As she walked, Hermione replayed the scene in the kitchen with her mother, trying to find some way to make her plans work the way she wanted them to. Deep down, she knew her mother had put her fingers on the many flaws Hermione had tried to gloss over. Her steps had taken her in a familiar direction, and Hermione found herself in the playground she'd started taking Andrew to. He wasn't old enough to do a lot on his own, of course, but Hermione slid down the slides with him and pushed him in the baby swings. Occasionally she sat in the larger swings with him on her lap, but she never swung very high, always afraid she'd lose her grip on him.

She headed toward one, and after taking the middle swing, pushed off, pumping as hard as she could. There wasn't much thinking done, but as she expended her energy, Hermione realized she was crying. Not loud sobbing tears, but a sad sorrow that needed release. The arc of the swing lessened and almost stopped while she cried. The lights in surrounding houses went out one by one, and the stars shone down that much brighter on Hermione's head and thoughts.

Her mother was right. She had to go back. There was no other way if Hermione was going to find a life for herself and her son. If she stubbornly pushed forward with her plans to attend a Muggle university, she would either end up killing herself while failing miserably – or resenting Andrew for the time he would consume, interfering with those plans, and still failing miserably.

The dusty tips of her sneakers, and the patterns the soles left, were contemplated while she flirted with the idea of heading to America, or even France, instead of England to garner a magical career. She didn't know anyone in either of those two other countries, and her "notoriety" might actually help in this instance. Wiping the last of the tears off her face, Hermione stood and started heading back home. "Better the devil you know than the one you don't, I suppose," she muttered softly.

"I do hope you're not referring to me, Miss Granger," a dark, rusty voice stated briskly.

For the first time in a long while, Hermione spun and grabbed – the empty sleeve where there should have been a wand. "I don't need any of your crap right now, Snape!" she stated hotly after seeing who it was. "What in the hell are you even doing here?"

Snape, who'd been leaning against a tree, straightened and smirked before replying, "Doing one of those things that Dumbledore prized. Spying."

"On me?" Hermione asked in astonishment and then added sourly, "or on my son?"

"A little of both actually," he stated before walking toward a bench and taking a seat. "Would you care to join me so we can discuss this situation rationally?"

"When horses – pigs – fly!" Hermione retorted before she turned and resumed her walk home.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to adjourn to your family's home. I would be delighted to finally meet your parents," Snape returned smoothly and stood up to follow.

"You wouldn't!" Hermione stated after spinning back around.

"I most assuredly would, Miss Granger. Either here or there, but this... issue... will be settled tonight, make no mistake," he stated firmly.

"The issue you're talking about is my son, you son-of-a-bitch! There's nothing to settle!" Hermione hissed after stalking back toward Snape and glaring him in the eye.

"I'm going to quote you here, Miss Granger. 'Do you think you might be able to can the insults long enough to let me tell you what I need to tell you, so I can leave and never bother you again?' or do you think that would be too difficult?" he sneered softly in reply.

Hermione sat down and crossed her arms, refusing to look at him. "Fine. What do you want?"

Giving a light snort, Severus sat down and looked at his former pupil. "Funnily enough, that was to be my first question to you."

Hermione turned her head, a quizzical look on her face and asked, "Are you mental? What could I possibly want from you?"

"That is precisely what I'm here to determine," Snape advised while pulling a sheet of parchment from his jacket pocket. "According to the dates involved, there is the possibility that I am indeed Andrew Matthew Granger's father, assuming you didn't involve yourself with anyone else during the period in question. The photos of him, you so thoughtfully provided, do prove that Weasley couldn't have been the sperm donor, which leaves Potter. The hair color could have been his contribution; however, since he and Miss Weasley are in love, and apparently have been for quite some time, it's unlikely. He appears to have my mother's eyes; therefore, I have concluded that I am indeed his father."

Hermione's mouth had dropped open during his discourse, and when he folded the parchment and put it back in his pocket, it closed, and her lips became a thin line. She stood, hands on hips, and glared at him. "You're a right bastard, you know that? And for your information he has my eyes."

"I should have known you'd be overly emotional. I only stated the facts, Miss Granger, nothing more," he said with an exaggerated sigh before he looked her in the eyes. "You are incorrect. His eyes, like my mother's, are hazel, not a true brown like yours. I don't have a great deal of money to contribute to Andrew's upbringing, but I can send along a small amount each month, hence my question; what do you want?"

"Nothing!" Hermione hissed again. "Not one blasted Sickle, Snape!"

Snape turned a puzzled expression toward her and asked, "Why in the bloody hell did you bother to tell me about him then, if you wanted nothing from me?"

"For him," Hermione said and sat back down wearily. "For the future him, really."

She turned her head and gazed at her son's father. "That's why you're still alive, you know. I couldn't face the idea of telling my child that I'd let his – or her – father die without at least trying."

Enlightenment dawned on Snape's visage, and he slowly nodded his head. "It suddenly makes much more sense now. You didn't save my life because of any benefit in it for me, you did it for yourself."

"What? No!" Hermione sputtered and then frowned. "Maybe. I don't know any more. It's hard to separate the feelings I had toward you before we learned about the memories you gave Harry."

"At least you're honest, Miss Granger. That's a great deal more than most of your colleagues are," Snape stated calmly.

"Is that why you were so cruel when I came to see you?" she asked.

"Partly," he admitted grudgingly.

Hermione frowned while trying to remember exactly what he'd said that night in Diagon Alley. Something about her being in such a hurry to leave... No! He said he thought I was disgusted! That it was him and not some random... I hurt his pride, feelings, or both.

Hermione smirked as she looked in Snape's direction. Did he expect me to kiss him and tell him what a great lover he was?

The smirk disappeared and she shrugged slightly, still holding that silent conversation with herself, Although, thinking back, he wasn't half-bad.

Better than Gavin at least.

A frown returned to her face and the glance at the quiet man sitting beside her was a great deal less hostile than it had been earlier. It couldn't have been easy. Carving out a life, existence, after being... his... servant and the people left not believing you'd been on Dumbledore's side all along until Harry – who he probably still hates – stood up for you and whitewashed your name.

"Bugger it all," she muttered softly. I'm feeling sorry for Snape.

"Bugger what, Miss Granger?" her companion asked.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," she explained and then shook her head. "I can't believe I'm going to suggest this, and I doubt very much that you'll agree, but do you think you could call me Hermione instead of Miss Granger?"

"Why were you in London that night?" he asked.

His sudden change of subject threw Hermione off balance and she shot him a questioning glance. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just answer the question. Please," he added belatedly.

It was the please, more than anything else, that made Hermione respond. It was a shock to hear the word fall from the dour man's lips after all the years she'd known him. "I was going to try and nick a wand for Harry. I'd broken his when we made our escape from Godric's Hollow."

"And another piece of the puzzle finally makes sense," Snape muttered. "That's what woke me, your attempt to take my wand from under the pillow, and I startled you into leaving."

Hermione gave a gentle snort and said, "Yeah. Yeah, you did."

She stood and contemplated the man who'd come all the way from England. He hadn't had to, of course. An owl could have relayed all the information he'd told her.

And he wanted to contribute to Andrew's "upbringing," so he's trying to be decent.

Running a hand over her face, Hermione wondered if she was making a huge mistake when she asked, "Would you like to see him? He's sleeping, but if you're quiet, he won't wake."

Snape raised his face toward hers, and for one tiny moment Hermione could have sworn she'd seen a small smile lift the corners of his mouth.

Not possible. Is it? He's going to refuse, isn't he?

"I would," the infuriating man in front of her answered.

The rather long distance back to the Wilkins' home wasn't spent in silence.

"What have you told your parents about me?" Snape asked.

She should have know it was going to get sticky. "I haven't."

"Haven't what?"

"Haven't told them anything, really," Hermione replied and belatedly realized she was walking alone. She turned around and raised her eyebrows at him. "What? Did you expect me to tell them the father of my child was a former professor that I'd fallen madly in love with? That we waited until I was of age to consummate our grand love affair? That after the war was over we broke up?"

"Gods, no!" Snape said with a look of horror on his face. "They'd have thought I was pervert, lusting after students!"

"Exactly," Hermione said, quite pleased that she'd made her point. "Are you coming along or not?"

"They need to be told something," Snape insisted, "or that is exactly what they'll believe."

"What does it matter to you what they think?" Hermione asked, slightly bewildered.

Snape drew himself up and glared at her. "I am a lot of things, Miss Granger, but I have never been a molester of children, nor have I lusted after the students in my care."

"Really," Hermione shot back deadpan. "No one who knows you or knows of you would ever believe that you would, Professor."

"Your parents don't know me, now do they?" he asked with a raised brow. "I do not care to have the grandparents of... of Andrew think so little of his father."

Hermione laughed for the first time that evening and pointed a finger in his direction. "You were going to call him your son, weren't you?" She sobered suddenly when she acknowledged she didn't quite know how she felt about that. Andrew had been hers his whole little life, and by extension her parents, but this man – technically – had as much right to him as she did.

Turning around, Hermione waved her arm forward and started walking, "Come along, master spy, and you can tell me what you've decided to tell them that will save your honor."

"The truth, of course," he stated, quickly catching up with her.

"What?" Hermione said in surprise, halting in her tracks. "You want to tell them you were out to get laid, and I was going to try and steal someone's wand?"

"Of course not," Snape retorted, turning to look at her. "During the... hostilities... we ran into each other in London and – both being somewhat in our cups – the inevitable happened."

"It doesn't sound half-bad put that way," Hermione said while moving forward. "I mean, it's not good, but it's believable, and considering what we were all facing, quite understandable." She paused again, her thoughts about why he had been where he had been coming back to taunt her, and waited for him to stop and turn around. "I'm sorry I left so abruptly."

The expressions on his face changed too quickly for Hermione to try and read what he was thinking, and the light from the street lamp behind him didn't illuminate it all that well. "It matters not in the long run, Miss Granger. There are a lot of things I'd do differently if I could – but I can't – so we'll leave it at that, shall we?"

"Again with the Miss Granger bit? If we're going to try and pull the wool over my parents' eyes, you're going to have call me Hermione, Severus. It's not like I'm asking you to call me dear or sweetheart or any of those other stupid lovey dovey names."

Both of Snape's eyebrows rose, and he slowly nodded, "I believe you're probably correct, Hermione. You know your parents better than I." He frowned and said it again, "Hermione. It doesn't exactly roll pleasantly off the tongue, does it?"

"Yeah, well, Severus isn't exactly a picnic either," she stated grumpily as they approached her house. The light was still on in the kitchen, and Hermione knew her mother had probably waited up.

"Let me go in first. I can't just spring you on them without any warning," she pleaded, unsure if he would understand.

"Where would you have me wait?" was the surprisingly calm response. "I'm assuming one of your neighbors would find it slightly suspicious for a stranger to be hanging around your front stoop this late at night, and I have no desire to make the acquaintance of your local constables."

"Uhm, in the back. We have a table and some chairs on the patio," she advised while leading the way. "Over there," she said while gesturing toward the small grouping. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"Take your time, Miss... Hermione. I'm in no hurry to be anywhere else."

That comment, more than anything else she'd learned or thought about Snape, saddened her the most. Apparently there was no one waiting for his return other than the clerks in his store, and no one who would miss him if he dropped off the face of the earth.

Hermione wiped a hand over her face and opened the kitchen door. Quit feeling sorry for the sarcastic bastard, and get the smelling salts ready for your mum.

********

She hadn't actually needed to haul out the smelling salts, but her mother had proved to be a little more stubborn than Hermione had anticipated. Monica had wanted to meet the father of her grandchild and was persuaded that it would be better, "Tomorrow, Mum. When Dad's already awake. You know how he gets when he's tired."

After making sure that her mother had really retired for the night, Hermione fetched Snape from the patio. It was quite strange to have him visit their home, especially after the fiasco in his shop. She really looked at him and noted almost absently the Muggle clothing he wore. His hair was a trifle long for an average middle-aged man, but there were exceptions to every rule. It occurred to Hermione that it probably wasn't all that amazing. He'd been a spy and would have had to blend in wherever he went.

She led him upstairs and to the door of Andrew's room. Hermione leaned against the jamb and allowed him to approach the crib by himself. She didn't want to see any expressions that might cross Snape's face. A tiny bit of her was also quite afraid there wouldn't be any there to see. His hands, so like Andrew's, grasped the top railing of the crib, and the small lamp that was always lit allowed Hermione to note the whitened knuckles. She wondered if he was fighting the urge to touch Andrew or if he was angry again when she had to smother a yawn. Snape must have heard it, for he turned slightly before returning to contemplate the sleeping child. His hands gradually loosened their grasp, and he stepped back before turning and retreating out of the room and back down the stairs.

"You're welcome," Hermione whispered before she closed the bedroom door and followed. She saw him slipping out the rear door and hurried to catch up, grabbing the baby monitor from the kitchen counter as she did.

"Wait!" she called as he started around the end of the house. He stopped and waited for her with one eyebrow raised.

"I told my mother you'd come to lunch tomorrow," she said in explanation. "You can meet my parents – and Andrew – properly at the same time, if that's all right with you."

"It is, Miss... Hermione."

She laughed a little and shook her head. "You're going to end up sounding like a house elf if you don't completely drop the Miss."

"It could be worse," he replied with a small smirk. "I could get into the habit of calling you 'Mione like Weasely does."

"You do, and you'll die," she threatened lightly, not quite sure where this man had hidden her former Potions professor.

Severus frowned and then asked, "Why were you crying? On the playground."

Hermione ducked her head before shaking it and meeting his eyes again. "It's been a strange evening. One that has taken my emotions from the heights to the depths and back again. I've had to make some decisions, and it's not always easy to reconcile what I want... with what is possible."

"Ah," he said with both eyebrows raised. "You and I may have something besides Andrew in common after all. Good night, Hermione."

"Good night." She watched him walk to the side of the house with the most trees between their house and the neighbors. The soft pop of his Apparition was a sound she hadn't heard for a long time. Suddenly weary, Hermione went to bed, quite pleased to be so exhausted she didn't toss and turn at all.

"Tomorrow's going to be a corker," she muttered before dozing off.

-~*~-