Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Severus held the vial up to the light as he pushed the cork in. When he stoppered the final version of a potion he'd invented, it was usually a moment of pure satisfaction only surpassed by the result of a successful test on the efficacy. His concoctions rarely had an unsuccessful test either, even in their earlier stages.

This time there was no satisfaction thrumming in his veins. Only doubt. Oh, he had no suspicion that the potion would not work. All experiments with samples of his own sperm so far led to that conclusion. No, Severus's doubt was of the 'should I have done this' variety, a feeling he'd only had with potions brewed for the Dark Lord.

Doing anything to help further the accursed addendum wasn't something Severus took lightly. But a gender selection potion like he'd been contracted to produce was nothing to mess around with. Far too many so-called potions masters would start work on the antidote afterwards, when sensible practice was to do it at the same time, if not in advance.

It was not arrogance but a simple fact that Severus was the best potions master around at present. As such, according to Shacklebolt, it was his duty to invent the potion. But what had really decided it for him was that Hermione would have to take it.

All that was left was to hand it over to the Ministry for them to test on volunteers, after the antidote had cooled down enough. Severus was not about to hand over his creation without a way to reverse it.

Five minutes later, the antidote was bottled. Ten minutes after that, the lab was in a safe state to leave. Both still warm vials in hand, Severus left the room. He checked the time, surprised to see that it was after lunchtime. Come to think of it, he vaguely remembered eating the sandwiches provided by house-elves in a break during the brewing process.

Hermione's appointment had been at 11:30, and shouldn't have lasted any longer than ten minutes. So where was she? The week-old 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign on the lab door must have kept her away, as she normally waited until he emerged to greet him if she had been out. Severus had thought that she would ignore it if need be, and today of all days... surely she felt the need for his company?

Had she gone straight on to the Ministry archives? Hermione had returned earlier than usual yesterday, disheartened. Oh, she hadn't given up, but Severus had been under the impression that she'd followed his advice of taking a break from her research for the day of her appointment.

He went upstairs to check their bedrooms. No sign of Hermione, only her dozy cat on her bed. She wasn't in the library either... but her research partner was, his nose buried in a book.

Lucius. He was one of Severus's few friends, a number even fewer after the deaths due to the plague. Why did his old friend have to put that at risk? Lucius hadn't broken his word with a demand for a real marriage with Hermione, but he had crossed the line. A real friend would not try to worm his way into the marital bed after promising he wouldn't.

It was clear that Lucius's word could not be trusted. And even when the slippery snake of a man did keep his word, he wriggled around it. While Severus hadn't caught him in the act again, he wouldn't be surprised if Lucius was still spying on them, even if he wasn't using magic to do so.

As for Lucius assisting Hermione with her research... Severus did not like the idea of his rival alone with his wife. Furthermore, was Lucius truly assisting her? The addendum to the law gave Lucius a means to bed Hermione again. And far more than just one more time. It was to Lucius's advantage to hinder Hermione's cause. However, Hermione was no fool. She would surely notice if Lucius was up to something. For now, Severus was limited to regarding Lucius with suspicion.

Ordinarily it would have relieved him to know that Lucius was nowhere near Hermione. The bastard could hardly practice his charming wiles on her if she wasn't there. However, if Hermione had gone on to the Ministry to do more research, she would surely have summoned Lucius to assist her. That was obviously not the case. Where was she, damn it?

"Lucius!" Severus snapped.

Lucius looked up with a start, dropping his book and losing his place. "Look what you made me do! Why can't you make a sound when you move?" His eyes shifted to peer behind Severus. "Hermione's not with you?"

"That was what I was about to ask," Severus ground out between clenched teeth. To admit that he had no idea where his wife was to his friend-come-rival burned. "I take it you haven't seen her."

"No. She hasn't passed the wards either, before you ask." Lucius fished his pocket watch out of his robes to check the time. "She should have been back an hour ago. Still, I wouldn't worry. We would have been summoned if it was anything serious."

'Fine for you to say.' Severus glowered at Lucius. 'But as you are merely in lust, how can I expect you to be truly concerned about Hermione?'

"I can't imagine Hermione will have any problems. Not like Narcissa – you know how slender she... she was, and the difficulty she had giving birth to Draco. Now, Hermione, she has the makings of a voluptuous figure. Or will have, when she's finished filling out from the rigours of the plague." Lucius smirked at Severus. "A woman like her is made to have children."

"I'll be sure to tell her you said so," Severus muttered under his breath. He would take great pleasure in watching Hermione slap the message into Lucius that she was no baby making machine.

"What did you say?"

"I have a delivery to make to the Ministry. If Hermione returns in the meantime, tell her I will not be long."

Lucius smiled mock sweetly before Severus could turn away. "Delighted to be of service. Don't worry, if she gets back before you do, I'll be sure to keep her entertained."

Severus just snarled and left the library with a billow of black robes and a slammed door.

* * *

Helen Granger almost dropped her teacup when Hermione suddenly appeared in the sitting room. She laid a hand against her chest, in a futile attempt to calm her racing heart.

"Hermione! Either teleport outside or into your bedroom. How many times do I have to..." Her scolding died in her throat as Hermione turned around.

Something was very wrong. Hermione shouldn't be that pale, or look as if she'd been struck – although there wasn't any mark on her.

Helen put her cup down and hurried over to Hermione, pulling her into a hug. "Darling, what's wrong?"

If Severus or that Lucifer had hurt her Hermione, there would be hell to pay, even if they were wizards and she was 'just' a Muggle. Although surely it couldn't be Severus; he'd sooner kill himself. And unless she was much mistaken, Lucifer entertained a healthy dose of fear for his mother-in-law.

Hermione stood stiffly in her arms. She shook her head and pulled away, wrapping her own arms around herself. She wouldn't look at Helen either.

"Hermione?" Helen laid a hand on her daughter's shoulder and gently turned her chin so that she faced her. Hermione still didn't focus on her, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I can't have children," she murmured at last, her voice a hollow monotone. A single tear tracked down her cheek.

'Oh, Hermione...'

Déjà vu of the worst kind. Helen had already had a very similar conversation with Hermione, when unbeknownst to her daughter Ron had been making noises about seeking parental permission for proposing. Before the plague.

Her heart felt as if it had dropped into her shoes. Ever since she'd learned of Hermione's amnesia, she'd been dreading this. That had made her procrastinate. She should have told Hermione before now. Before her daughter had married.

Helen led Hermione over to the settee, sat her down, and pushed her own half empty teacup into shaky hands.

"I came from St Mungo's. The Healers there did say that there was a chance that I'd be able to have one child, but..." That possibility was one Helen had grasped like a drowning woman did a lifeline. The news didn't brighten Hermione's face at all. Did she want children by both husbands? Come to that, why did Hermione want children so soon? She hadn't even been married for a month yet.

"They did a spell that simulates what happens with a typical pregnancy." Hermione swallowed audibly. "My typical pregnancy... it... I would have difficulty conceiving in the first place, and... and... it would end in miscarriage. Before the foetus was viable. I got a second opinion to be sure. And that... that revealed... they found that if I manage to carry a child to term, that's it." She put the teacup down and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. "Even if that child was stillborn."

It was the same problem that Helen herself had, then, although there had been no spell to confirm it, just the heartache of miscarriage after miscarriage. And then Hermione, her miracle child. Attempts for a sibling for her baby had failed – not even a miscarriage. Nothing. It was clear that her loins could only bear a single fruit.

"I'm afraid that this is my fault, insofar as a genetic flaw can be. You see, my mother had the same problem as I do... there's a reason we're both only children."

Hermione jerked her head up. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded. There was finally some life in her gaze, even if only anger.

Helen wrapped her arm around Hermione's tense shoulders. "I did, dearest. I should have told you again, though, as it was one of the memories affected by your amnesia. Ron was making noises to your father and I about asking you to marry him. I thought the possibility was something you should know, especially when involved with someone from such a fecund family."

"Did I tell anyone else?"

"No, darling. Not anyone I know of. It was something to talk to Ron about if he proposed, and he didn't before you fell ill."

"I was wondering if Severus knew. But he would have told me."

Helen winced at the poisonous glare her daughter sent in her direction. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I should have told you before you got married."

"Yes, you should have," Hermione spat, before her shoulders slumped, the fight gone out of her. "Oh, Mum... I don't want to argue with you. Not now."

She didn't resist as Helen gently pulled her into another hug.

"I had hoped that these wizards with their magic would be able to fix the family fertility problem," Helen murmured. "I'm so sorry that they can't."

"Magic has limitations. It can't fix me anymore than it can spontaneously create magical babies." Hermione drew back, a strange expression on her face. Was that bitterness or dawning comprehension? Whatever it was deepened into a scowl with her next words. "Magic does me no favours. The Muggle government would never force their citizens to reproduce. If not for this addendum of the Wizengamot's, it wouldn't... it wouldn't matter that I'm st-sterile."

Helen went rigid. She didn't speak immediately – she needed to get her emotions under control. She'd be of no use to Hermione if she followed her first impulse and raged. She had to remain in control. She counted slowly to ten, breathing deeply.

"What addendum?"

"Oh..." Hermione cringed. "With everything going on, I forgot to tell you."

"Go on."

"I'll give you copies of the documents. I don't want to rehash the full details now, but suffice to say that the Wizengamot amended the marriage law so that witches are required to have at least one daughter by each husband."

"I see." That explained why the chance of having even one child had been no comfort to Hermione. "What will the Wizened Amok do to couples – er, threesomes – where one has fertility problems?"

"Call it infertile, Mum. The Healers did." Hermione looked away. "And marriages that cannot produce the minimum of two daughters are dissolved.

"I eventually wanted to have children... it's bad enough that this takes that away from me." Wide, scared, pleading brown eyes met Helen's. "It's even worse... I'm going to lose Severus."

AN: Many thanks to septentrion and JunoMagic for betaing, and to Kribu for alpha reading.