Chapter Ten

Hermione withdrew her head from the Floo, ending her call to her advisor. Thankfully, working diligently for the last two and a half years had paid off. Not only was her degree being conferred during the December commencement, but she'd accumulated enough clinical hours to complete the required internship working part-time at both her magical and non-magical sites. With that kind of schedule, and Severus' office hours even more flexible, then...

The thought stumbled and died when she found her husband snuggled into the corner of the sofa feeding their daughter. Yet it wasn't the gentle way he cradled the well-bundled infant in the crook of his arm that stole her breath. Nor was it his mumbled words, meant only for tiny ears. Or the way two sets of dark eyes focused so intently on each other, both countenances filled with such overwhelming calm Hermione doubted the chaos of Voldemort's Dark magic would cause the slightest ripple. It was, as always, Severus' hands that held her attention.

His hands had fascinated her from the very first time his long, elegant fingers had curled around the edges of his teaching robes, cocooning the wool around him like a dark moth's chrysalis. The way they'd seemed to caress the ingredients as he'd slowly added them to a steaming cauldron. The graceful movements they had made as he lectured. Every single thing about them had endlessly fascinated her.

And still did.

But in this moment...with one of their daughter's tiny hands wrapped around his pinky as he held the bottle steady so she could eat her fill...it was the quiet confidence in the sinewy appendages that completely ensnared her. A confidence which was at once familiar yet completely foreign to the kind exuded as he clutched a stirring rod or guided a knife through a fleshy root. A confidence that seemed to shout 'I am absolutely sure about this'. Just as they had the day he proposed.

Hermione tilted her head and studied the terraced house. Its white stucco facade seemed no different than the neighboring buildings around Belgrave Square. "This doesn't look much like The Grenadier."

"Or will be. If the witch who lives inside his soul agrees to spend the rest of her life with him." He drew her hand into his. The fingers that had tapped a tarantella against her hand not five minutes before were still and strong against it now. "Marry me, Hermione."

The greedy grunts of her daughter lured Hermione from her thoughts. Even from across the room, it was easy to see the irritation on the tiny face as her father pulled the rubber nipple from between those perfect cupid's bow lips to inspect the contents of the bottle. "Better watch out, dearest," Hermione chuckled. "Looks like an explosion is looming."

"Explosion or not," Severus crooned softly, "she's finished." He deftly re-capped the baby bottle with one hand, his gaze never leaving that of his daughter's. "And you, little one." He smiled at the scowl creeping across her tiny features. "You heard what Poppy said as clearly as I did. Two ounces at a time and not a smidgen more." He carefully maneuvered the complaining bundle to his burp cloth covered shoulder and began a pattern of efficient, but gentle, thumps to her back. "The sooner you learn to follow her orders to the letter, the less likely you are to encounter her anything-but-sweet bedside manner."

"Says the man who never takes his own advice," Hermione sniggered.

One elegant, dark eyebrow arched in unison with a healthy burp from their little girl as he swung his attention to his wife. "Is that not what parenting is, my darling girl? Passing on the lessons learned so that the next generation does not repeat the mistakes?"

A sadness lurked beneath his teasing tone and tugged at her heart. Would he ever forgive himself for the past? "Indeed, darling." She moved to the sofa and settled beside him, her hand coming to join his on their little one's back. "And between you, me, Poppy, and her self-appointed grandmother and namesake, our little one will be well educated in those kinds of lessons."

Severus released his tension in a long, slow breath that stirred tendrils of her hair. She could almost feel his lips twitch into a slight smile as he moved his hand to partially cover hers. "Indeed she will be, love." Another soft breath, this one a sigh of contentment, escaped his lips. "She most assuredly will be."

SSHGSSHG

Gobsmacked. Hermione hid her smile behind the rim of her china cup as she noticed Lucius Malfoy gaping at her husband. Positively gobsmacked. So was Narcissa for that matter, though she did manage to rein in her surprise with more aplomb than the lord of the manor.

"Let me see if I have this sorted," Lucius managed to drawl. He sat, a little inelegantly, on the footstool in front of his wife's chair. "You want us..."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Narcissa huffed. She swatted Lucius on the shoulder. "I swear there is a troll hidden somewhere in the Malfoy family tree given how thick you and Draco can be. How much clearer do they need to make it?"

"Obviously, I left a little too much to the imagination while explaining my dear wife's plan." Severus leaned forward and settled his cup into the saucer on the low table in front of the sofa. "Perhaps a little more bluntness is in order." He winked at Hermione, then reclined into the corner of the couch. "Go ahead, love." A smile wrestled with the bored neutrality of his lips. "Perhaps you might try it in Trollish this time."

Laughter echoed around the chamber. Even Lucius, after a brief pout, joined in, displaying the changes he'd undergone since Voldemort's demise. Hermione was even more convinced she'd been right to suggest they stand as godparents to the little girl sleeping in her surrogate grandmother's arms, for the former Death Eater and his wife, along with the headmistress and the school matron, were her family. She glanced at her husband. They were their family. And there was no doubt each would embrace the newest addition just as fiercely. "She's your goddaughter, Lucius. What more do you need to know?"

The man shook his head, his regal blond hair cascading over his shoulders. He still seemed quite dumbfounded. Until the mischief sparked in his gray eyes. "A name, perhaps?"

"Gladly."

Hermione smiled at the pride in her husband's voice as he stood and strode across the small space between the sofa and where Minerva sat. Carefully, he took his daughter from the headmistress' arms and settled their treasure against his chest. "May I present Rose Gwyneth Snape. Named for the loveliest flower to spring from a dung heap and in honor of her grandmother, Minerva Gwyneth McGonagall." Tears coated his words and glistened, unshed, in his dark eyes, making Hermione's throat constrict in shared emotion. "The grandest lady in the entire British Isles."