Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note: I apologize for the delay: Real life, a promptfest piece, and a bit of writer's block all combined to cause this slight hiatus. Hopefully, this story will be finished without any more delays.

Chapter Fourteen

Hermione smiled as she smoothed the cream-colored satin skirt of the antique christening gown. While most thread, lace and cloth would have started a slow disintegration by a century and a half on, this looked as pristine as the day it left the dressmaker's. Stasis spells certainly had more staying power than Muggle forms of preservation. "Must be magic," she giggled, her apprehensiveness abating for just a moment only to return with a renewed heaviness in her chest a heartbeat later. "God knows we need all the magic we can get. And perhaps a little divine intervention."

"I thought divine intervention was inherent at such events."

Hermione flinched at the unexpected intrusion of her husband's velvety baritone upon her monologue. Simultaneously, the familiar shiver that lazily caressed her spine as her soul responded to its mate’s presence soothed her frayed nerves. Turning, she couldn't resist the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Severus stood in the doorway, bare feet poking from beneath the hem of his midnight blue sleep pants. Their precious rosebud was curled against his chest, her tiny fist clutching the soft cotton of his white t-shirt. The naturalness of the scene made it hard to believe the baby girl had only been in their lives almost three weeks—in their home for a little over two. "Indeed it is, dearest," she sighed, "but there isn't any harm in making an additional request for benevolence as well." She trailed her fingers down the silken skirt again. "We may need all the help we can get."

"Oh, my darling girl," he exhaled. "Will you ever cease your needless worrying?"

Moving with the same grace he used when he strode the halls of Hogwarts, Severus moved to the ornate cradle Lucius and Narcissa had gifted them. It was a perfect counterpoint to the other, more adult furnishings in the master suite of the Snapes' Belgravian home. Carefully, he disentangled the minute digits from his shirt and laid the precious bundle on the downy softness of the bedding.

"Perhaps one of these days there will be no evil left in the world to worry over. Until then…" She shrugged and abandoned the Ross family christening gown to help put their little angel to bed.

Still too small to trust to the massive cot—another present from the overly indulgent godparents—installed in the nursery across the hall, Rose seemed perfectly content to share her parents' quarters. Which was for the best since they both refused to let her out of their sight… despite Severus' blusterings to the contrary. Her hands shook a little as she smoothed a tiny, rebellious ebony curl against her daughter's head, then pulled the coverlet over the newborn. Warmth infused her fingers from bottom to top when Severus covered them with his own.

"Hermione." She looked up and into the calm fierceness of his kohl eyes. "I will not let anything happen to either of you." He curled his fingers around hers and lifted them to his lips. "I swear to you."

While her heart trusted he would never betray his promise, her brain was all too aware of the risks not even a wizard of her beloved's strength could defend against. "If we could only be sure the Parkinsons—"

The calloused pad of his index finger pressed against her lips. Deep in the dark depths of his eyes, the light of assurance flamed brighter. "The Parkinsons relinquished any rights they had the moment they entered into contract with Molly Weasley." Tightly controlled fury flared in his voice. "They sold her, Hermione. As surely as they sold their youngest daughter to that… fiend. They have no claim to her." She could feel the tension spiraling through him, constricting his muscles and accelerating his pulse. "If they so much as darken the churchyard—"

It was her turn to offer comfort. Turning, she embraced him. "Her death isn't your fault, Severus." She rubbed her hands along his back until he reluctantly relaxed and brought his arms around her. "None of this is your fault," she murmured. Then, like mist across a lake, the memory of Lucius' disclosure from nearly three weeks ago pressed upon her consciousness.

Despite a Calming Draught and two glass of Ogden's Old, Lucius still looked decidedly unsteady as he related the information to the group gathered in the Potions master's sitting room. "The girl—Rose's biological mother—is Periwinkle Parkinson."

He relaxed against the back of the sofa and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, attempting to pull her against him. And for the first time since they'd exited the bedroom, she went willingly—any lingering irritation dissipated by the compassionate grief that darkened Severus' eyes. After all, his sense of honor was one of the admirable traits that had first sparked her interest in him back when she'd only seen him as a teacher to impress. And since it was that sense of honor that bound him to Dumbledore's vow, how could she remain angry with him? "It's not your fault, dearest," she whispered as she rested her head against his shoulder. "None of this is your fault."

Hermione burrowed deeper into Severus' embrace and released her greatest fear against his chest with a soft sigh. "The Parkinsons aren't the only ones with a claim to Rose, Severus. And if Molly ever suspects the connection…" She drew a shuddering breath, her tears warm and wet against her cheeks before his t-shirt absorbed them one by one. Once again, she was living her nightmare.