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Snape Bloody hell, he thought, clutching his left forearm.As if morning sickness wasn't bad enough. He had not exactly forgotten Voldemort, but he had more than a few things on his mind lately. The summons should not have been a surprise, although things had been quiet on that front lately. He had only just unpacked and settled in the comfortable cottage when the Mark began to burn. Well, there was no getting around it; he had to obey. The pain of the Mark was surprisingly harsh this time, but somehow a little easer to bear. He had often heard that women had better pain tolerance than men; perhaps the extra bits had their uses after all. He smoothed down the Death Eater robes, trying to figure out just how obvious his condition was. Not that there was much chance of hiding it, though. Voldemort knew he had left Hogwarts and would want to know why. The truth, humiliating though it was, would probably be the best tack to take. It wasn't as if he was particularly happy about the situation, either. --------------- He was a little surprised to see that there were no other Death Eaters there, save the ubiquitous Wormtail. The little rat with the silver paw was sitting on Voldemort's shoulder, a strangely appropriate familiar. "Severus." The sibilant greeting was almost friendly. He felt the all too familiar nausea starting and held onto his gorge firmly. He said nothing, but bowed deeply. "You've left your teaching position." "Yes, my Lord," he murmured respectfully. "It was necessary." "Necessary?" The flat, snake-like face had no eyebrows, but still managed to convey the impression of one brow rising to a non existent hairline. It was a remarkably repulsive expression. "I'll be the judge of that. Explain." So he did, leaving out little details such as who cast the spell in the first place and who had shared his bed after. The changes in expression on Voldemort's face were almost as comical as Dumbledore's reaction and somewhere in the back of his mind, he snickered to himself. Finally, after a long silence, Voldemort burst out laughing. It was a genuine belly laugh, not his usual sneering amusement. "Well, Severus, you do get into the most peculiar situations," Voldemort said, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. "The child is pureblood?" "Yes." He was sure of that. Both Black and Lupin were from respectable, if not notable, wizard families. Without conscious thought, he wrapped his arms around the slight bulge, in a protective gesture. "Once the child is born, I will find the perfect family to take it in," Voldemort continued. "Do not worry, Severus, your child will be provided for." "No." The harsh denial burst out of him, reckless of the consequences. "No, I will take the child myself." "To Hogwarts? Under the influence of that old fool?" Voldemort hissed dangerously. "The child is mine, my Lord. Mine to teach and mine to influence," he said carefully. "The Headmaster adores babies. He will want to protect an infant and, as the child's parent, he will be wish to spend time with me, discussing to how that is best achieved." Voldemort thought about this for a long, long time. Finally, he rose and placed his thin fingers directly on the Dark Mark. "Go home, Severus. We will manage without you for a while." The order was almost kind. "You will keep me apprised of what you learn only by owl. You shouldn't be apparating in your condition." "Thank you, my Lord," he managed to murmur, his self control dangerously unsteady. Voldemort nodded in dismissal. For the first time in years, he left Voldemort's presence feeling somewhat hopeful. Voldemort would leave him alone until the child was born. If he had known that, he thought, with a curl of his lip, he'd have been tempted to get pregnant ages ago. ---------------- Despite the morning sickness that still lingered on, he found himself feeling better than he had in years. The enforced rest was doing him a world of good. A natural night owl, he had spent too many years getting up hideously early. Now he slept when he was tired and didn't get up until his body was fully rested. He ate what he liked, when he liked. He read all night if he wanted to. Voldemort was leaving him in peace. In short, he was free to do whatever he wanted. It felt very good. His hand fell to his growing belly in a natural gesture. He was quite obviously pregnant now, but not yet ungainly. Minerva, bless her, had kept her promise to help him whether he wanted her to or not, and sent him some clothes that accommodated his expanding midriff without being feminine. She also sent fond wishes and a very long, very detailed letters telling him everything that had happened at Hogwarts since the break. He appreciated the clothes, but the letters were even better. He missed Hogwarts and its chaotic atmosphere; Dumbledore's eccentricities and Filch's grumbling; Granger's brilliance and Longbottom's incompetence... He must be losing his mind, if he missed Longbottom. He missed the Slytherin children most of all. He hoped Diane had listened to his detailed instructions on how to handle them. She was, thank goodness, as unsentimental as he was. She would neither smother or abuse them. She'd yell and wax wonderfully sarcastic with them, but they were used to that. He shouted at them all the time, not bothering to hide his frustrations and temper. They took it with a grain of salt; they learned early on that he would never lay a hand on any of them. Some of the braver ones even talked back, knowing that a witty, clever reply would elicit his approval. He ran his hands across his belly again, wondering what this child would be like. Would she be like him, solitary and bookish? Or like her father, outgoing and friendly? He was certain the child was a girl; his divination skills were poor, but he trusted his instincts on this. A daughter. A little girl who would be intelligent and inquisitive, if genetics had anything to do with it. He had to keep her, if only to keep her safe from Voldemort. And he did want to keep her; Voldemort's attitude was only an excuse to do what he wanted to anyway. He could be a good father. If the Slytherins were any indication, he wasn't too bad at the parental role. Not perfect, by any means, but he did seem to be able to help those children. Dumbledore, incorrigible optimist that he was, seemed to think that it was a simple matter of deciding that he wanted a child and everything would fall into place as if by magic. Perhaps Albus was right. Logically, there was no pressing reason why he couldn't keep her. He had the money to support a family. Even without his family inheritance, he had a good job and enough savings to support them both comfortably. He could easily hire a nanny to take care of her while he was working. He'd have to give up being Head of Slytherin, but some sacrifices would have to be made. He had the adoption forms on his desk, but he hadn't so much as looked at them since Diane had gotten them for him. Now he knew why; he wanted his daughter, whether Voldemort approved or not. Picking up a quill and parchment, he wrote a long letter to Albus, finally able to tell him of the meeting with the Dark Lord and his decision. Perhaps Albus was right; everything would work out just fine. Black He should have been a little more upset over his conversation with Remus, but he was more relieved than anything. Remus and that slimy git was not a pairing he would normally approve of, but Remus had been alone for so much of his life. Dear, sweet Remus; he was so vulnerable to anyone who showed him a bit of kindness. Kindness? What was he thinking? Snape wasn't exactly kindness personified. Snape and kindness didn't really go together. So what the hell did Remus think he was getting into? Snape? He shook his head in wonder. He really didn't know Remus very well anymore. In years gone by, Remus never would have gone for such a miserable, sour faced son of a bitch like Snape. How goddam desperate must he be, to care for Snape? He knew he wasn't in a good position to object. After all, he'd spent far more time in Snape's bed that he ever thought he could stand without doing serious physical damage to the man. But that was different. It was just sex. Snape had made the first move, probably more to discombobulate him than any real intent to follow through. He had refused to be discombobulated and flirted right back. From that point on, it was a game to see who would back down first. Neither of them had. That first night with Snape was an eye opener. He had forgotten just how seductive Snape could be when he put any effort into it, and he had never known how talented Snape was between the sheets. The affair was as much about competition as it was about physical gratification. Okay, the sex was spectacular. He had to admit that. Snape was a damn fine lay. However, there was an also an odd sort of equality there. He didn't have to feel guilty about anything with Snape. Even if he had betrayed James - which he hadn't - it wasn't like that ex-Death Eater could really find any moral superiority. Guilt. That was why he had accepted Remus' sudden infatuation/lust/caring for Snape. If Remus did care for and had slept with Snape, he was off the hook about the kid. He didn't have to feel guilty about the whole thing. But how could Remus be so sure that Snape's kid was his? Remus knew that he and Snape had been sleeping together. Either one of them could have been responsible for Snape's condition. Knowing Snape, he wouldn't have told Remus about it. If he had, you wouldn't be able to pry Remus away with a crowbar and a very strong spell. Remus was the responsible one of the Marauders. He wasn't aware of a paternity identification spell that could be done in vivo. He had some research to do. Lupin Albus really had been quite reasonable about the whole thing. He had given him the coordinates of the place where Severus was staying, along with a handful of things to take to the expecting mother. Severus would be showing by now, since he was nearly six months along. He wondered what sort of reception he was going to get when he finally arrived. He had apparated just outside the small hamlet - the place was too small to even be a village - and blinked at the sight of a very modern, up to date, very busy clinic with obviously wizarding clientele. He froze for a moment, realising that this was the famous Galen Clinic, renowned for its top notch and discreet medical services to most of the wizard population. He wasn't aware that it was here. The cottage that Albus had given directions to was not what most people would call a cottage. It was a rather charming place, and it did have thick oak beams and whitewashed walls and even a thatched roof, but it was enormous. It could easily have housed the entire Hogwarts staff in comfort. He wiped the palms of his hands down the sides of his robes, suddenly nervous. He wasn't entirely sure of his welcome. Still, he had some things to deliver and surely Severus could not object to him playing delivery boy. He squared his shoulders and walked up the steps to rap on the door. A few moments later, the door opened. "Don't just stand there gawking. Come in." Severus was standing there, with an annoyed look on his face. "Hi," he managed. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything." "It took you long enough to get here," Severus replied, still with that irritated look. "Get in here so I can put the wards back up." He swallowed and followed Severus into the cottage. Of course Severus had known he was coming. There had to be massive wards on the place. Severus could not properly be called paranoid, since there really were people out to get him, but he was extremely cautious nonetheless. He took a moment to look at the large, sunny room Severus led him to. It was not at all what he expected. Severus was a creature of shadows and of the night. At least the furnishings were what he could have expected; dark, heavy and sublimely comfortable. "Not what you expected?" The amused voice brought his attention to the other man. "Not really." "Wait until dark, Lupin. The views are spectacular from here," Severus said, with a quirk of an eyebrow. That dark, smoky voice was the same, as was the perfectly arched brow, but Severus looked exceedingly odd. He looked rested and happy, younger and healthier than he'd looked mere months ago. He was, to use that Muggle cliche, glowing. He did not, despite the bulging waistline, look the least bit feminine. It was an odd juxtaposition, that still masculine body distorted with the grafting of pregnancy. And odder still was the obviously unconscious way Severus' hand rested protectively on that bulge. "I... Albus asked me to bring a few things to you." "Yes, so Albus said." Severus waved him to an overstuffed armchair. "You knew I was coming?" "Albus felt it would be better if he let me know," Severus replied. "If he hadn't, you'd never have made it past the first warding spells." "What did you put up?" He was curious as to what warding spells Severus would use. "Nothing too elaborate." Severus shrugged. "Double mirror traps, confundus, sizzle charms and a stick lock. Tea?" "Yes, please. Doubled mirror traps are a little extreme, don't you think?" "I left off the spirit bottles," Severus replied defensively and tapped his wand on the tea table to summon a house elf. Said house elf arrived with a full tea tray and left without a word. "You can make spirit bottles?" "Of course. Can't you?" "Well, yes, but I've never thought to use mirror and bottle traps as defensive wards to keep people out." He replied, a little aghast. Mirror traps were very high level magic. They created a magical barrier that allowed an intruder to walk through in one direction, but would not allow them to walk through in the other. A double mirror trap put two mirror spells facing each other, effectively keeping the intruder trapped between the two spells, unable to leave. A spirit bottle was often activated as soon as the intruder actually touched either mirror, transporting them into a magic bottle. Such spells were usually used as wards against ghosts and poltergeists, but almost never with corporeal beings. "I decided against the bottles since they're a bitch to store," Severus continued. "I put in a transportation spell in to throw them out after I've had a chance to identify them." "You let intruders go?" He let his eyes grow wide with feigned shock. "Of course. Eventually." Severus refused to rise to the bait. "So what did Albus send and why did he send you?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package, tapping it gently with his wand. A box grew to much larger proportions, to reveal itself as a gaudily wrapped present, complete with bows that danced across the top and winding ribbons that made weird and wonderful patterns. He was impressed with the wrapping, but Severus frowned. "I see Albus hasn't acquired any taste in the last hundred years," Severus commented, waving his wand to stop the merrily moving ribbons. "I shudder to think what's actually in the box." He was wondering himself, but Albus had merely twinkled at him and shook his head. He wished Severus would stop staring at the box and get around to opening it. To stop himself from tearing into the box itself, he poured tea and took a long gulp of the scalding liquid. Severus finally leaned forward, a little awkwardly due to the bulge that he had resolutely refused to look at, and lifted the top. He first removed a small stack of parchments tied in a ribbon. Severus stared at the package for so long that he wondered what could possibly be in them. "What is that?" he asked softly, as Severus closed his eyes, as if in pain. "Letters from some of the Slytherins," Severus replied, his voice a little husky. "Albus did say that they missed me a little." "A little?" He snorted. "Alana Posthumus waylaid me to ask if you were dead. She was quite upset." "That sounds like Alana. Morbid little creature." Severus put the package aside, sounding more like his normal self. "I hope Diane is treating them well." "Uh... Well..." "What?" A short, sharp bark. "They don't like Diane very much," he said hastily. "On the whole, they seem to prefer talking to me." "You?" "I guess being a werewolf gives me some sort of credibility or something." He shrugged, then turned serious. "They miss you very much, Severus. Diane tries to help them, but they resent what they call interference." "I told Diane to get the kids work out their problems for themselves." Severus sighed. "They don't like being fussed over." "They're kids, Severus. How can you not fuss over them?" "With a great deal of practice. They need to be in control, so I let them." "You let them run wild?" "To a point and no further. I know everything that goes on in Slytherin House and not one of them has been able to get something past me in all the years I've been head of house. They've learned to respect that. If you're really serious about helping them, there are a few students who need a subtle hand." "Like Gregory Goyle and his dyslexia?" "Hm. You've done better than I would have thought. Gregory won't admit that to anyone easily." "I suppose next you'll tell me that Vincent Crabbe is a genius." "No, Vince really is stupid. How he ever got into Hogwarts at all is a mystery to me. He's got poorer reading skills than Gregory, but without as much excuse. He'll turn to Voldemort as soon as he graduates, if not before." "You're sure about that?" "Yes. He wants to be someone and nobody else will give him that. My only hope of saving that lad is to make sure he understands that he'll be nothing but spell fodder, but it's a faint hope at best." He heard the slight pain in Severus' voice and winced. Severus really did care deeply for his students. Not only did he have responsibility for those children, but he had the added worry about Voldemort and his recruiting practices. "About Voldemort... Does he know about this?" He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Severus' swollen belly. "Yes," Severus replied. "I had to tell him." "And?" "He was more bemused than anything. He asked if the child would be pureblood, which I assured him it would, and congratulated me. He believes that I wanted to carry on the Snape name and raise another generation to revere him. He also believes that Dumbledore, who adores babies, will be even more open with me if I return to Hogwarts as a single parent, child in tow." "Will you? Return to school with the baby?" he asked softly, needing to know the answer. Please, Severus. Please tell me that you'll keep this child. Please tell me that you're happy about it. "Yes." Snape Lupin's presence in his parlour was a bittersweet experience. Albus had, thank goodness, warned him that Lupin was coming, but declined to say why. However, if his Slytherins really had taken to Lupin as someone to talk to, it made a certain amount of sense to have Lupin come visit. After all, it wasn't like he could hide the child once he returned to Hogwarts. Lupin would figure it out sooner or later and better now than after the child was born. He had to wonder, though, why Lupin didn't seem surprised at his condition. It was pretty damned obvious by now and Lupin wasn't stupid. Albus, Poppy, Minerva and Diane all knew, but which one of them would have told Lupin? Poppy might have, since she knew Lupin well and was very fond of him. Minerva wouldn't say anything, even if he gave birth in the Great Hall during dinner. Diane had to be told, since she wouldn't have taken the job as his replacement if he hadn't explained exactly why he was leaving. He didn't think she would say anything. She had heard stories of the Marauders - not all of them from him - and expressed in her forthright fashion her opinions of the four troublemakers. And Diane was not inclined to change her mind once it was made up, so he doubted she'd say anything at all. Albus was the most likely culprit. Although Albus had never said so, he suspected Albus knew about his feelings toward Lupin. Meddlesome old man that he was, Albus was perfectly willing to play matchmaker. He looked at Lupin, who was staring at the opened box, openly itching to tear into it and find out what else it contained. Was Lupin aware of Albus' lamentable tendency to play God with other people's lives? Still, as long as they talked about school matters or politics, it was nice to have someone to talk to. He had been rather lonely these last couple of months. Although he liked solitude, time had been weighing rather heavily on his hands. To have company was good. |
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