Chapter 8-Epilogue

VIII.

The homely, comfortable yard of the Burrow was lit by several colourful globes, magical lanterns that cast a rainbow effect on the party taking place in the warm twilight, when Severus and Hermione Apparated onto the garden path. Instantly, Severus was uncomfortable, seeing so many members of the Order laughing and chatting around the pair of tables covered in half-eaten platters of food, and the chairs scattered around in conversational groups. This wasn't just a graduation party for Ron Weasley and his two best friends, but an apparently impromptu celebration of the end of Voldemort's reign of terror. Well, maybe not so impromptu; just because he hadn't received an invitation didn't automatically mean others hadn't. The other members of the Order of the Phoenix had been his colleagues for a long time, and there was a certain level of respect for that, but aside from maybe the Headmaster, none of them had ever bothered to turn him into a friend.

They had, however, turned Hermione into their friend. Or maybe she had turned them into hers; god knew the young woman was engaging, charming, and naturally friendly. He envied the cheerful greeting called out to her by Minerva McGonagall, and the friendly hand lifted by Remus Lupin, the first two to notice their arrival. That hand faltered at the sight of him, but then he expected little else from the last of the four Gryffindors to plague his school-years. Mindful of how uncomfortable his presence would make the others at this gathering, he touched his wife discreetly at the small of her back.

A dip of his head and he murmured for her ears alone, "...I'll leave you here, to enjoy the party. I'll come back for you in a couple hours, or longer, if you'd like."

She frowned up over her shoulder at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Severus! You're staying for the party, too."

"Hermione, most of these people don't like me," he pointed out bluntly in an undertone as Ginny Weasley yelled a greeting and came bounding their way, strawberry-red hair flying over her shoulders. She slowed a little as she recognized the dark-clad figure behind her friend's white-clad body, but her faltering smile recovered. Harry followed close behind, his expression a bit more grim.

"Er...hello, Professor! Hi, Hermione! Where've you been all this time?" the youngest, freckled Weasley demanded. "The party an started an hour ago!"

"--Getting her house and things sorted out of storage," Harry interjected quickly, giving the Potions Master a dark look. He was clearly suspicious of their long absence. Rightfully so, though he didn't yet know what the two of them had been doing for the last few hours.

"There was something else, wasn't there?" Ginny pressed. "I thought I heard you saying something about a job interview to that horrid aunt of yours?"

"Yes, well, it didn't turn out quite the way any of us had anticipated," asserted the Boy Who Annoyed Severus, taking Hermione by the elbow and guiding her towards the tables. "There's plenty of food left."

"Yeah. Tonks may be a klutz in the kitchen--as well as nearly everywhere else--but she had a ton of really tasty family recipes that she shared with Molly," Ginny agreed.

"Good. I'm starving."

The youngest Weasley almost tripped on the path. Hermione collided with Harry, as he stopped and glanced back sharply at the tall, dark man behind them, the one who had spoken. Severus gave him a small, tight smile. It was one thing for himself to decide whether or not he should stay; it was another thing for the Potter prat to try and exclude him. Especially from the company of his wife.

"Er...you're staying, then?" Ginny asked him with a weak, polite smile.

"Of course, he is! I invited him," Hermione asserted, glancing back at her husband. A tug shook Harry's hand from her elbow, and a step back removed her from the younger man's side. Bringing her firmly close to the tall, lean, hook-nosed man. Eyeing her husband, looking forboding and brooding in his black frock-coat and black trousers, she made up her mind. "...Well? Don't just stand there!" The back of her hand hit him in the stomach. "Take off your coat, and make yourself comfortable! The Weasleys don't exactly stand on formality, you know."

Ginny and Harry weren't the only ones at the party who blinked in shock, as Severus winced and rubbed his wool-covered belly. No one--no one--had ever dared to thump the Potions Master in the stomach before, let alone address him so casually while doing so. Still, it was almost worth enduring her little attack to see the unsettled expressions on the faces of the men and women in the garden, bewildered expressions that continued when he reached up and began unbuttoning his coat, complying readily with her less-than-quiet demand. Removing the jacket, he took her own as she removed it as well, the white cotton a sharp contrast to the dark wool in his hands, and pressed them into Potter's stunned hands. "Put those somewhere safe, will you?"

It was, quite possibly, the politest command he'd ever given the young man. Sliding his hand possessively to the back of his wife's waist, Severus guided her forward, towards the food-laden tables and the wide-eyed celebrants still gaping at them. Maybe this would be amusing after all.

Or maybe not; a large, bushy-bearded figure rose from a seat made out of an overturned barrel as they approached the tables, and used his greater height and mass in trying to give Severus an intimidating, thoroughly displeased look. "'Ere now," Rubeus Hagrid asserted gruffly. "Wot've ye got yer hand on Miss Granger for, P'rfessor Snape? She's a nice girl, an' ye'll treat 'er as such, 'r answer t' me!"

He drew in a breath to speak, but the woman at his side beat him to it, filling the silence following the half-giant's declaration. "Of course, he will, Hagrid! He's been treating me very nicely!"

Severus fervently hoped the coloured lights hovering overhead masked the heat rising in his face, but doubted it.

"--Since when? " demanded George Weasley--or maybe it was Fred, they were so damned alike--with a freckled scowl of disbelief.

"Since we got married, this afternoon!" she retorted firmly, leaning back against the man standing right behind her.

That caused an immediate uproar. Even Severus winced at that open, bald statement. He winced again as Molly Weasley started shrieking at him from one side and Remus Lupin lambasted him from the other. Arthur Weasley shook his fist, Moody growled and rolled his blue-spinning eye, and Minerva McGonagall clutched at her chest. Tonks and Mundungus both had dropped their jaws as far as humanly possible, Ron and Harry were flinching, the other Weasley children were stammering and protesting, Hagrid was roaring, and Albus Dumbledore...well, the Headmaster was laughing, and laughing hard enough that he had to take his spectacles off so he could wipe at his wrinkled, watering blue eyes with a rumpled kerchief, but then the old wizard had always been more than a bit dotty whenever a situation was less than deadly serious. Despite the death-threats the Weasley twins were now shouting at him, Severus knew this moment didn't quite qualify.

But strangely enough, despite the hurricane of outrage and disbelief swirling noisily around them, Severus felt as though he stood in a sea of calm. All because Hermione was leaning against him. Taking a stand against her many friends, and visually stating her rightful place firmly at his side. Or rather, between him and her friends. Tucking his arms around her from behind, he tucked the top of her curly brown head under his chin. When she lifted her hands to his arms, covering them and tilting her head slightly, he dipped his head and rested his cheek against her temple, closing his eyes against the sight of the blustering, outraged half-giant and his equally furious friends.

The furor died down at that unabashed display of tenderness, dipping into a stunned quiet. Only the Headmaster's chuckling still echoed through the lantern-lit clearing. Molly Weasley rounded him, as Severus opened his eyes again to cautious slits.

"What are you laughing at? This is a disaster, not a jest!" the redheaded matron of the Burrow snapped.

"--I would hardly call a compatibility rating of 98% a disaster," Hermione stated coldly, silencing the older woman. "Not when you've said many times that your own was 'a comfortable, cozy 83%'."

Only once before had she been even half this angry at the normally very nice Mrs. Weasley, and that was back when the woman had been so cold and unfriendly to her that time back in her fourth year, when the older woman had thought Hermione was panting after both Harry and Viktor Krum at the same time while ignoring her youngest son. She felt her husband's arms tighten slightly around her, and knew it was in thanks for her staunch defense of their new status.

"We both applied anonymously for marriage," Severus spoke for her, knowing the others were listening as he explained the situation to his Order colleague, "and while I'll admit it was a shock to come face-to-face with one of my former students in the justiciar's office just hours after her final departure from the school, that high of a compatibility rating is extremely rare, and not something a smart wizard or witch would dare ignore."

"As neither Severus nor I are fools," Hermione added lightly, if with a slight frown for the way most of the people around them flinched at the pairing of their names, "we decided to go through with the marriage."

"Well, you can just un-go through with it," Arthur Weasley ordered her, flipping his hand at her in emphasis. "Whatever disreputable Agency you used clearly made a grievous mistake! He's at least twice your age, for starters!"

"I'd hardly call the Yenta's Livery Company disreputable," she retorted, snuggling a little more firmly into Severus' chest. "It's the oldest Geneamorological Agency in the country, and openly acknowledged as the best; if they say we're 98% compatible, then we are ninety-bloody-eight percent compatible! And before any of you say another word, if you continue to make Severus unwelcome here--a man, I remind you, who has served the Order loyally for years, saved Harry's life on innumerable occasions, and who should've had your friendship, your trust, and your respect for all his hard work, despite the way he's had to pretend all this time to have an awful personality, just to allay Voldemort's suspicions--then I am not welcome, either. Since we're clearly so much alike."

Her last six words cut through the warm, lantern-lit night like a frost-edged knife. It certainly made everyone think, as they blinked and looked at each other, visually seeking out each other's opinions of the matter. A tentative voice broke the silence, as Molly Weasley said with a weak smile, "Well...nobody's going to ask you...going to ask either of you to leave, dearie. It's just...it's just been a bit of a shock, that's all."

"A ruddy huge bit of a shock," her redheaded husband muttered audibly, and grunted as his wife elbowed him in the ribs.

"--Behave, Arthur," she muttered audibly, and managed a slightly more convincing smile. "Well! We'll just have to turn this into a triple celebration, won't we? The three of you graduating, the fall of the Dark Lord...and, er, your wedding-supper."

"Hang on, just a minute," Minerva McGonagall asserted. "How do we know they really are married? And for that matter, how do we know they didn't know and plan this while she was still his student?"

Severus stiffened, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he looked over at her. Was the old, bespectacled cat trying to get him fired from his job? To his surprise, a voice answered her enquiry. Glumly, but honestly.

"We witnessed it," Harry told her, raising his hand, his scarred face pinched with a dour look. "Believe me, Hermione had no idea who the YLC had picked out for her, until this afternoon when we arrived in London. Neither did he."

"--We?" Molly asked him sharply, shooting her youngest son a suspicious look. She knew very well how many of them had gone off with Hermione's great-aunt, earlier that afternoon. "Who, exactly, is 'we'?"

Ron raised his own hand sheepishly, as the others all looked at him. "I witnessed it, too."

"...If you don't count the bits where he fainted," Severus muttered sotto voce, for his wife's ears alone. He was gratified to hear her struggle to suppress a snort of laughter, as Molly rounded on her son, drew in sharp breath to blast him, then gritted her teeth into a smile and merely said,

"That's very nice of you to tell us about it...finally. But we'll have a little discussion about that later."

Ron blanched.

Molly turned her smile back to Hermione and Severus, this time with a little more warmth than the toothy tightness she had given her youngest male offspring. "...Come, now; eat, both of you! There's still plenty left to go around! Where have you been, by the way? And when, exactly, did you get married, today?"

"About five fifteen in the justiciar's office, and then we were at my family home afterwards, checking over a few things," Hermione replied calmly. Hoping fervently that the coloured lights hovering overhead hid some of her blush. At least the intervening hours had done quite a lot to banish the urge to look shyly at the ground, which would've definitely given their earlier activities away.

"I'd like to know why you got married," Remus Lupin muttered, giving Severus a hard look.

Severus felt Hermione stiffening under his touch. From her careful phrasing, he figured she didn't want anyone but him and her two best friends to know about her horrid aunt; she clearly wasn't the sort of relative one wanted to talk about, if it could be helped. "For the same reason why anyone wishes to pursue matrimony: to start a family. Now that Voldemort is finally dead, a wife and children of my own cannot be held hostage to his madness...and Hermione wishes to replace the family she's lost with a new one of her own. We are both more than happy to oblige each other, in that respect."

The greying werewolf eyed him, blinked, and shook his head. "...I really didn't need that image in my head."

"Then you shouldn't have bloody well asked." Thump. Severus winced at the elbow digging into his lower ribs. His young wife had clearly studied Mrs. Weasley's technique over the past several years, to be so unerringly accurate, and so swift. Apparently, she wanted him to be more polite towards the bugger. He debated leaving his words stand as stated, versus what she could do with that elbow later, if she was still displeased with him. "...Sorry, that should have been, 'You need not concern yourself with such unseemly details, Lupin'. Is that more polite, my dear?"

"It'll do, for now," she returned serenely, and stepped out of the circle of his arms, heading for the food-laden tables. He let her go, only to have Dumbledore amble up to him and clap him companionably on the back.

"Congratulations, Severus!--Sorry, did I hurt you?" he asked solicitously as Severus grunted audibly in pain, wincing from the older wizards' unwitting attack on the bruises and nail-cuts dotting his hide.

"It's nothing," he grunted. "My back is just a little bruised, at the moment."

"--What, does your back hurt?" Fred--or George--Weasley asked in a mock-hearty voice, smacking him on the other side, making the Potions Master grunt again. "...Oh, sorry!"

"Yeah, sorry!" George--or Fred--added, whacking him from behind, eliciting another tight sound of pain. "...Sorry that we weren't the ones to beat you up," he added in a low growl. "Who got that ruddy honor?"

"My wife, actually." The pain they had inflicted was worth their puzzled frowns. Severus, deciding he was going to enjoy this damned, torturous party one way or another, added blandly, "It turns out she doesn't know her own strength...when in the throes of ecstasy."

Both twins stumbled back, eyes widening. Dumbledore started laughing again, the batty old wizard...and Ron fainted. Again. Something squeaked and squirmed out from under his crumpled body, a potato-headed little garden gnome. His wife's cat, Crookshanks, came darting out of the shadows from under the picnic table with a rraowrring hiss, and the gnome squeaked and ran for the fenceline. The stout orange tabby stopped chasing it after a few yards, then padded smugly over to Severus and rubbed up against his trouser-leg...right before stalking off again in the fickle manner of all felines. Leaving a smear of orange-and-white fur on the stark black wool, just as the Potions Master stooped to pet the beast and make friends with it, for his wife's sake.

...Well, some of the evening would be entertaining. Some of it would clearly just be annoying.

IX.

A distant banging roused Hermione from sleep. The view of the chamber around her was disorienting, when she pried open her eyes. Nothing was familiar, save for the stacks of books. Lots and lots of books. Most of them, however, were not paperbacks; at least, in the stacks she could see under the glow of the high, slanted, cylindrical window-embrasure. The banging continued in the distance, a flurry of cracking blows, a pause, another set of sharp, staccato knocks, a pause...

Ah, yes. Severus' bedchamber. Down at the dungeon-level of the castle. A cramped little suite of rooms that was going to be utterly inadequate for both his book-collection and hers. She yawned as she sat up, remembering mentioning it to her husband last night out at the Burrow, who had in turn brought up the subject with the Headmaster, who had promised to look into getting them a bigger suite. Dumbledore had teased her in turn about trying to start a second library at the school, and continued snickering through half the night over the pairing of his Potions Master with the school's brightest alumni in a hundred years.

She also remembered the two of them--her and Severus--discussing where to retire for the night, either her parents' home, which had no electricity at the moment, or here to the dungeons, and the peace and quiet of an almost unoccupied school. Her husband didn't live anywhere else, actually; it had been determined too dangerous to live beyond the protective wardings that surrounded Hogwarts, early on in his time as a spy for the Order. There had been something in that discussion about picking a honeymoon destination today, but it had been tabled in favor of starting the honeymoon bit early by christening his bed, much as they'd christened hers. That had ended the night in a long, torrid bout of 'research', as he'd slyly called it.

Research that had left him dead to the world, this morning; certainly the only way she could tell her husband was even still alive was from the way his back rose and subsided slightly with each steady breath, and the slight ruffling of Crookshank's fur, curled up as the cat was in the gap between their two pillows, inches from his nose. Dead to the world, both of them, despite the annoying thumping on that distant door. Casting around, Hermione looked for something to wear, but she hadn't even opened her trunk last night after cramming it into a book-cluttered corner, let alone taken out a set of pajamas or a dressing gown.

Spotting his shirt, she slid out of the bed and tossed it over her head, padding barefoot out of the bedroom. It wasn't much, but it did cover her practically to the knees...and all the way to the tips of her fingers, as the sleeves. Pushing those up, she picked her way through the clutter in the front room. There wasn't much to the suite, just a bathroom, bedroom and sitting-room, the latter two of which were crowded with books, papers, and scrolls, plus bottles, caskets, boxes and packets of potions ingredients.

They definitely would need bigger quarters.

Padding up to the door, Hermione hesitated, then called out, "...Who is it?"

"It's Minerva McGonagall. Please open the door, Hermione."

Uncomfortable with her lack of attire--she was short enough that the hem of his shirt fell to the tops of her knees, but she wasn't wearing a stitch otherwise--Hermione grasped the door knob and cracked the door open a tiny, cautious bit. The stern Transfigurations Mistress stood on the far side of the door, one hand braced on her cane, which she had apparently been using to pound on the door from the sharpness of the knocking. The other hand now rested atop it, a small packet of letters clutched in her grip.

"Er...yes, Professor?"

"Minerva, please. You're no longer my student, after all. I wish to discuss something with you. May I come in?"

"Erm...I'm not really dressed for company, at the moment, Minerva," Hermione hedged. "And Severus is still asleep, if you wanted to talk to him."

The older woman's mouth twitched. She looked like she was censoring a few thoughts, before finally saying, "Well, I sincerely doubt you have anything about you that I haven't seen on myself, at a younger age...and though this does concern him, too, you can simply relay it to him once he rises."

She debated that for a moment, then nodded. Hermione didn't think Severus let anyone into his quarters very often, but she was his wife. Cramped and temporary though they now were, these were her quarters, too. Opening the door, she stepped back, letting the Transfigurations Mistress inside. The dark-haired, aging witch handed her the packet of letters, then found a perch on a seat at the table next to the stout iron stove used to heat the chamber in the wintertime.

"Your mail," Minerva informed her, as Hermione flicked through the letters, curious to know what sort of mail her husband received. "I thought I'd bring it down, since neither of you were at breakfast this morning. Er...not that many of our fellow staffmembers bother to rise so early on the morning after sending our students packing, at the end of the school year... "

"Thank you; that was very kind of you--oh my!" Hermione dropped the other letters onto the table, staring at the last one in her hand. "It's addressed to me!"

"Of course it's addressed to you," her former teacher stated dryly. "Four letters to Severus, and one to you. They were all dropped at his place at the head table; apparently the post-owls have already learnt you're now staying here."

"No, not that--it's addressed to me, as Mrs. Hermione Snape!" she corrected her former Head of House. Prising the wax seal from the back, she opened it--and squealed in surprise. "--Oh my god! I've been accepted to apprentice to the Unspeakables!! Oh my god, oh my god! I never thought I'd get in! I mean, I applied and everything, and I've always had the high grades for it but they don't take just anyone, and even then, their judging criteria is sometimes all over the place--I've got to tell Severus!"

She whirled to race for the bedroom, but Minerva cleared her throat sharply. "--If you don't mind, Hermione, I'd like to say what I came down here to say, before you go jumping all over that man in the other room. An image I don't particularly care to contemplate, this early in the morning."

Hermione checked herself. She didn't have to be obedient to the other woman's commands, having graduated, but she did respect the woman. And it would be rude to abandon a guest to go snog her husband, even if this was still part of their honeymoon. "Er...yes?"

Minerva hesitated, then drew in a deep breath and revealed what she had to say. "I've just found out--through Albus--that the others are planning on paying for you and Severus to take the tests again."

"...Come again?" asked the younger witch, confused.

"The Geneamorological tests, for compatibility. Charlie apparently started it last night, passing 'round one of Molly's flour-tins to take up a collection for the retesting fees after the two of you departed." Her mouth compressed into a tight line for a moment. "I do not approve of their actions. Last night, I saw Severus smiling--genuinely smiling--more frequently in two hours than I've seen him smiling in two whole years. And he made more effort to be polite while he was at the Burrow last night than I can recall him bothering with in the past five years... I think you'll be a good influence on him."

A sleepy, quiet, deep voice replied before Hermione could. "Thank you, Minerva. Your approval means a lot to me."

Both women looked over at the doorway of the bedroom. Minerva flushed, blinked, and looked quickly away, while Hermione devoured the sight of her husband clad in a knee-length dressing gown, his sparsely, darkly-furred chest bared almost to the navel in a narrow vee where he hadn't pulled the material fully closed. If the older woman hadn't been in the room, Hermione wouldn't have stayed carefully where she stood. She'd have leapt all over him with an embarrassing lack of shyness.

The Transfigurations Mistress looked anywhere but at her half-naked colleague. "Well. You have my warning, and my opinion on the matter. And your morning mail... I'll bid you good-day, then. Shall we be expecting you at the head table for lunch?"

"I was thinking we might be honeymooning in Rome by then. Or in Athens," Severus drawled. "Or back in bed."

The older woman's cheeks flushed again. "Well, I'll just leave the two of you to, er, discuss that, then."

Hermione let her out, shutting the door behind the stately witch. Turning her back to the panel, she gave her husband a dirty look, albeit tempered by a smile. "...You have a wicked sense of humor, Professor Snape--teasing the poor woman so horridly!"

"You have an equally perverse mind, entertaining a former teacher while clad only in my shirt, Mrs. Snape," retorted the man in the doorway opposite her. "I could thank her for the warning, but I doubt it will change anything. I am quite content with my top Geneamorological choice...and I would make no other, if I had to choose again. Even if it meant living as a ruddy Muggle."

Hermione flew at him, giving him barely enough time to open his own arms and welcome her embrace. Face pressed to the warm vee of skin, she whispered, "I think I'm falling in love with you..."

"Good." Severus smiled wryly at her as she looked up sharply at him. "I think I might be in love with you, too."

"Why didn't I see how right you were for me?" Hermione asked, frowning up at him. "You were right there in front of me, for seven bloody years. I mean, I always respected and admired you, but I never once thought...I mean, you were my teacher. Not a potential lover, let alone husband-material."

"I suspect that's why the Yenta's Livery Company has been so sucessful for so long. They do say love is blind," he reminded her with a slight shrug. "Sometimes it takes an outsider to see something that would otherwise be overlooked or missed."

She contemplated that for a few moments, then slid her hand inside his robe, pressing her hand over the warmth of his muscles, and the beating of his heart. "I know something I'm missing, right now..."

"What?"

"A kiss."

"Mm, quite." Bending his head, he brushed his lips over hers, then pulled back slightly. "By the way, congratulations on apprenticing to the Unspeakables. We'll have to talk to the Headmaster about fixing up a Floo connection with the Ministry of Magic, so you can commute. After our honeymoon. Where would you like to go, anyway?"

"Well, I need to go through the house...and I'd like to live there with you in the summers, if that's alright," she offered hesitantly.

"Only if we enlarge that ruddy narrow bed. And change the curtains and coverlet to anything but pink," he added, wrinkling his nose in masculine distaste.

"We can renovate my parents' room, and leave that one for any little girls that might come along," she dismissed, circling her fingertips around the soft skin of the nipple she located.

Severus looked down at her sharply. "Any little girls...?"

"Well, you did say I should think about starting a family with you...and I've given it some thought, since yesterday afternoon."

"And?"

"Well, you don't have any contraceptive potions lurking around in the covers of your bed, do you?" she teased.

"My bed? Our bed, wife. Say it," he ordered her.

"Our bed," she repeated dutifully.

He kissed her. "Again."

"Our bed."

Another kiss, and another command, "Again."

"Only if you take me to it, and...and do to me what you read in that trashy romance novel," Hermione bargained, blushing but meeting his gaze firmly. No shyness left at all, with that suggestion.

"I still don't know what a 'prautau' is," he reminded her dryly. "Nor where to hire a stout horse that's capable of carrying two riders as a substitute."

"No, the other one. Where you pin me face-down to the bed, and, erm...ravish me from behind..."

Dark eyes gleaming, Severus swept her off her feet and slammed the bedroom door shut with his heel as he strode inside the book-cluttered chamber. Just in case any other well-meaning busybodies thought to pay the newlyweds a visit today.

EPILOGUE.

Yenta's Livery Company

Est. 416 B.C.

Offices in London, Bath, Norfolk, Carlisle, and Leeds

"Your Best Match For Your Best Money, Guaranteed"

Greetings, Mr. Snape;

May your marriage be blessed with unending love, great happiness, a long, fulfilling, healthy life, and many, many progeny!

Severus glanced up from his letter. His wife's, he knew, would read the same; they had gathered at the Burrow to open and read their letters in the face of all their so-called friends. But she didn't look very pleased at what she had read. She didn't look the slightest bit happy--in fact, she looked rather like she was going to be sick. "...Are you alright, love?"

"I knew it!" Ron hissed, fists clenched on his lap as he read. "She's just now realizing she's made a horrible mistake, marrying you--"

Hermione's curls flew as she shook her head swiftly, emphatically. Her whole body stilled for a wide-eyed second, before she lunged off the aging couch, nearly tripping over Tonks, who had settled for sitting on the floor, given how many of the Burrow's chairs had been claimed and occupied by the purple-haired woman's elders. Alarmed, Severus rose and followed her, watching her stumble straight to the sink and lean over it, retching up the remnants of her breakfast. Quickly gathering up her hair to keep it out of her way, Severus wondered if it was something she had eaten. But he couldn't remember her having more than a few bites of toast, and a few mouthfuls of tea, in fact; waiting for the results to come back had put her off her breakfast each morning of late, waiting for those ruddy barn owls to return.

"--Wotcher! " Tonks' voice exclaimed from the sitting room, Hermione's hastily abandoned letter clutched in her green-nailed hands. "Their compatibility's gone up by a whole ruddy percent!"

There was a bit of a scrum in the living room, as the others scrabbled to get their hands on Hermione's and Severus's letters, the latter also left behind in his concern for his wife. She wasn't retching anymore, though she was drooping over the sink. Turning on the faucet, he cleared the drain, then cupped a palmful for her to sip and rinse her mouth.

"...Are you alright, love?" he asked softly, as soon as she had swished and spat.

She nodded her head shakily, straightening and leaning back against his chest. "I think I will be."

"Hermione, dear, are you alright?" Molly called out from the other room, unable to come any closer because of the tangle of bodies in her way. "--Alastor, move that ruddy wooden leg of yours before I trip over it! The poor girl's ill! She might need medical help!"

"I, ah, won't need medical help, Molly," Hermione called back, regaining some of her strength.

"You won't?" Severus asked her, arching a brow.

She shook her head, dropping her voice to speak just loud enough for his ears. "It's the same reason why our compatibility went up a whole point. I think."

"And that would be...?"

"I changed one of my answers. From 'fertility unimportant'...to 'fertility important'."

Severus stared down at her in shock, feeling the blood draining from his face. "You're...?"

She nodded.

"You're...?" he repeated again, unable to quite wrap his mind around that concept just yet. "--Already? "

She shrugged, and nodded again. "I think so."

"You think what, dearie?" Molly Weasley asked her, finally making it into the kitchen as the noise in the other room died down.

"I, er, think I'm pregnant."

Hermione's voice silenced the last babbles of conversation from the Weasleys and Order members in the other room. A moment later, something thumped to the wooden floor. Both Hermione and Severus frowned.

"Oh, ruddy hell--has Ron gone and fainted, again?" Hermione called out impatiently; he was sitting beyond her view, so she couldn't see for herself.

"...Er, no," the unseen redhead in question replied. "But Harry did!"

(The End)