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Title: The Waiting Room (Chapter One)
THE WAITING ROOM
If he had the power to have any of his wishes granted right now, Severus would probably have been be happier to have no longer been required to sit in the same waiting-room at St. Mungo’s as Potter and Weasley, than for that human parasite he was carrying to be transferred to someone else. But as it was, he had little other option, but to hide his face behind yesterday’s copy of The Daily Prophet - and be grateful that the two young wizards had not recognised him. Yet. He was thankful too that, by the tone of their conversation, both of them seemed too preoccupied with their own problems to be likely to throw any random greetings or questions his way - which was good. He had become more than a little obsessive in clinging to what remained of his dignity, since having been impregnated on the Ministry’s orders seven and a half months ago (he knew he wouldn’t be the only one cursing the name of Dolores Umbridge by now). After all the various troubles, inconveniences and heartaches Potter and his cronies had brought his way since their first meeting, the last thing he wanted was to put up with the idiots staring at his figure. Even if, by the sounds of things, he and Weasley were in the same boat. A man had his limits, after all. Blame the unending well of stupidity that is the Ministry for all of this, he thought, glaring at a photo of Umbridge as it nodded and smirked from the page he had been staring fixedly at for the last four minutes. Even the Dark Lord, for all his depravity, would not have come up with a scheme as unfathomably indecent as this one. The Rejuvenation Project, they had called it, when the first posters and banners announcing it had came out. The scheme itself came as no big surprise to the folk – the wizarding world had suffered terribly from the war - and one of the greatest problems it faced, now that the war was gone, was a dangerously depleted population. The result was that, at the moment, there were simply not enough witches and wizards left alive in Britain. Severus understood the logic behind the basic concept - and to be honest with himself, he had agreed with most of it. Most of it, that is, But the methods by which it was being carried out… if he had been the Minister, (he thought bitterly), he would have instead encouraged immigration, maybe. Offered support and incentives for larger wizarding families, maybe. Even come up with a potion to be put in the Muggle water supply that would increase the number of Muggleborns. Perhaps. Or, even subject himself to the rigours of a ‘fruitful’ marriage to set a public example. Surely any of those would have made much better sense to implement, rather than forcing every adult witch and wizard of sound health and appropriate age - regardless of marital status – be drafted into what basically was an ill-dignified breeding program. As for why Umbridge specified that wizards had to … incubate … alongside the witches, well … Severus could guess. He had often enough overheard witches in conversation, who wished the rigours of their childbearing experiences upon their husbands and partners. Which only showed their ignorance – since he personally knew of at least five basic methods by which a wizard could be made to gestate (female transfiguration, induced hermaphroditism, foetal-uterine transfer, directly-induced gravidity and intestinal-node gestation - to be exact). All had been proven to be viable by at least one actual case – occasionally two or more. But such things had tended not to occur very often … until now. Umbridge was not the type to just merely think about the possible. She did things - usually the moment they popped into her head. The idea of making the wizard carry along with the witch turned out to be something not beyond the capacity of her twisted little imagination – and neither had she any qualms about making it Law. (She herself was exempt, of course, due to her age being above the maximum limit). Not that she would ever make a decree that would call for a sacrifice of any sort on her own part, of course … Naturally, many wizards had protested – and many witches too. Some were successful – being permitted to delay their gestational duties to a time that was more convenient for them. Most were not, and by now were, like Severus, filling waiting rooms in hospitals and healer’s clinics all across wizarding Britain, nervous participants in an artificially induced baby boom. Severus didn’t push his luck when his own name came up. Though his acquittal had been successful, there were many with whom he remained personally unpopular – and in the mind of the public, he had become a controversial figure. With the war over and his career gone, he now just wanted to get on with what was left of his life in peace. When his name had been drawn from the ballot so soon after the law had been made, he resigned himself to receiving the fabricated womb they had assigned to him with as much dignity as he could manage. When, a few weeks after, a young mediwitch from the Ministry implanted him with the seed that had now become the Madam Rib-Kicker currently asleep inside him, he lay calmly on the table – his feelings of panic and outrage carefully concealed. That had been seven and a half months ago. If all went well - and if the law was carried out correctly on the Ministry’s side (which he doubted) – at least, after she was born, they would permit him three years of grace for his body to recover, before his name was put to the ballot again. Three years … in the company of a child who was already showing an aptitude for physical violence, in spite of not having even been born yet. What would the next brat they stuck in him be like? And the one after that … every three years until he was fifty? Sweet God and Merlin, he thought. How was he going to cope? The clock on the waiting-room wall chimed, and Severus realised - with a start - that he had been staring at the same newspaper page for more than ten minutes now. If he didn’t want to start looking too obvious, he had better make the pretence of reading look a little more convincing. The last thing he wanted, he reminded himself, was to have Potter or Weasly asking him if he was all right. He succeeded in turning a page without letting any of his face show from behind his cover. At least the foetus was being quiet at the moment – another small mercy. There had been times lately when she would take it into her head to perform dramatic internal somersaults – usually in public, or when he had company. That little stunt was always effective for drawing unwanted stares and comments his way (as if his size wasn’t enough on it’s own to do that lately …), as well as leaving him feeling as though the next time she did that, she might just put one of her over-sized elbows right through his already over-stretched hide. That would have been another thing he didn’t need – the Dream Duo staring at him, whilst Her Ladyship The Foetus entertained them with a graphic sheet-puppet show through the skin of his belly. Did Lily have to go through things like this, when she was incubating the scar-headed lump who now sits with his dense friend across the room? He thought for the umpteenth time, whilst listening to Ron and Harry’s discussion regarding their own relationship and childbearing woes. “I really wish Hermione would just ease up on me a little until it’s over” Ron was saying, in a tired and slightly exasperated voice. “I mean, I can get in the mood and that Ok, and I can perform all right if I get myself comfortable. But mate, I’ve just been getting so bloody tired sometimes with the baby and all - and it getting harder to … you know … do the things that satisfy her when the belly keeps getting in the way and things like that.” (Severus wondered if he had just heard just a little too much information) “I’m sure” Ron continued, “That if I wasn’t so bloody tired all the time lately, I wouldn’t keep disappointing her … sometimes”. There was silence for a moment, and Severus heard Harry sigh a little. “I’ve kind of got too much of the opposite problem,” he said, sadly. “Ginny’s still turned right off from me, and she’s getting worse, Ron. I thought she’d get used to me being pregnant after a while, like I told you. But now, it’s really bad. She avoids looking at me, wont touch me, hardly talks to me … she doesn’t even like me sleeping too close to her when we’re in bed”. “Shit, that’s being a bit rough of her!” Ron answered sympathetically, “You know, I never thought she’d be the sort to let herself get grossed off so badly by that. I mean, being a woman and all that, she should know a little bit better than to treat you this way. I could have a little word with her if you like”. “Funny about Hermione, though”, he added, “I never thought she’d be the type to get that turned on by a thing like that … Hermione and Ginny - you’d think, knowing them, that their reactions would’ve been the other way around”. (Severus wondered too … he remembered the bushy-haired little know-it-all he had once taught, and had an uncomfortable mental image of her passionately accosting his gravid person whilst in class) “It’s not so much the sex” Harry replied to Ron, “Though I do miss it a bit. But if she doesn’t want to do it with me while I’m like this, I can understand”. His voice took on a more resigned tone as he continued: “But … she also doesn’t have to keep treating me like I’m some gross ugly monster that she can’t stand to even be around”(Severus heard a sigh). “If she could just try and get used to me”, Harry continued, “maybe just even …” (another sigh, the sound of hands rubbing against hair and skin)”… just … try … not to be so damn cold to me. To just try to give me just a little bit of affection every now and then. Just so I can feel more like a person, and a little bit less like a gross freak – like I do at the moment” he added, “I’m just finding her attitude an awful lot to cope with right now, on top of everything else”. “I wonder when Malfoy’ll ever get called up to do his bit?” Ron broke in. “Probably never, knowing him and his little connections” Harry replied, “He’d probably keep coming up with reasons to delay it until he’s overage. Like maybe he has to attend a beauty contest, and he doesn’t want his lovely perfect figure to get ruined” – the comment was followed by a little burst of dour laughter between them. “Ron” Harry said, the tone of his voice suddenly dropping to just above a whisper (that Severus had to concentrate to hear), “do you think it just a little bit sus - that the two of us were both called up in the very first draw? And Fred and George - and Neville and Luna Longbottom together. Yet Percy, Malfoy, Goyle and Flint get missed? I mean, if you think of the odds …” “Oh Harry, mate! I definitely do get you” Ron replied, with another ironic chuckle. “I reckon that bitch fiddled the cards just to make sure we would come up. It wouldn’t be that hard even for her to do that”. Then he added: “And I wouldn’t put it past her either to make sure our names keep on coming up every time we’re in the draw”. (Severus heard Harry groan at the idea.) “No … Please, I don’t even want to think about that right now. It’s hard enough for me just to be dealing with the twins I’ve got coming on at the moment”. “Damnit, Ron!” He spat, in almost a whisper, and continued: “We’re both around twenty-two years old now. We won’t be overage until we’re about fifty or so” (Severus, as he listened, felt decidedly fortunate that he happened to be of middle-age) “And if Umbridge gets her way with us” Harry went on, “which she will, I don’t doubt it – every three years we’ll …” “Just try to take things as they happen, Harry” Ron butted in, philosophically. “How are Fred and George still taking it?” Harry asked. “As you’d expect,” Ron said. “They’re trying to laugh it off most of the time and make a few jokes about it, but the strain does shows through sometimes. Mum has been really good with them when they get their bad moments …” “Umbridge” Harry hissed quietly, to no-one in particular. “The bitch”. Then they both said nothing more for a few minutes. In the near-empty waiting room, the silence seemed heavy enough to almost have substance. The clock ticked slowly, like a heavy mechanical heartbeat. Severus felt the foetus shift a little within him for a few seconds, but she was simply making herself more comfortable. When he used legilimency to check on her state of mind a minute later, she was already asleep again. He also realised that he was starting to become uncomfortable, from sitting perfectly still for so long. Though the feather-belly charm spared him from the worst of the backaches (and having to waddle), it did not do away with all discomforts. He longed to take one of the cushions that were sprawled all over the coffee table next to his chair, but he dared not risk letting his face show while they were in the room … especially after listening to that conversation. Finally, Ron broke spoke up again: “I wonder if she got Snape too? Bastard though he is, he did get in her way a couple of times when we were back in school and that”. (At the comment, Severus had to fight the urge to clench his fingers on the newspaper). “I can’t be too mad at him anymore, Ron. Not after finding out the things I did about him” Harry sighed, “I actually hope he manages to get out of it. But knowing Umbridge, he’s probably in the same boat as us right now”. Severus snapped his mind shut to his feelings as he heard that. Occulemency could be useful for more than just legilimency-blocking, as he’d found before: He didn’t want to indulge in sentimental thoughts that could wreak havoc on his already over-magnified emotions. It would wake her up for a start, and put her in an agitated mood. Strange, really, how much of his ways she was picking up already … “Ow!” breathed Harry, and Severus felt a cold shot of panic. No! … Surely not, it’s still too soon…isn’t it? he thought, but relaxed again when he heard Potter next say “Oww … one of them just got me right hard in the bladder!” “Take it easy, mate”. That was Ron. “Do you need to go to the toilet?” “No” Harry replied, “Though I think I might need to go again, soon”. “Ron?” Harry asked, after a pause: “Why do you think it is, that Ginny’s so completely squicked by me – yet Hermione’s going the exact opposite way with you?” “I don’t know, it’s so hard to understand women sometimes, Harry” Ron yawned (and Severus wondered if Ron would ever come to realise the contextual irony of that comment) “But I suppose it’s better to have, well, have her making all those extra demands made on me, than to put up with what your dealing with” Ron said, “let me have a talk to Ginny, Harry. I don’t want to see her treating you like this” “Ron” Harry asked again, “If you don’t mind me asking, how often does she usually … ask …” “’Bout at least every second night” Ron replied, wearily, “Usually more often. Last week, she even wanted me four times in a day” “What?! Really?” Replied Harry. “How do you manage it? Especially now … that … you … we’re both really … getting a bit …” “There’s only two positions I really can do right now” Ron confessed, “doggy and missionary – something that gives the belly a decent bit of clearance” (Severus felt his face growing hot, he was sure that there was really no need for him to know all the gritty little details of this sort of thing) “Though I prefer the doggy”, Ron said, “I’ve been trying to get her to keep it to the missionary, the doggy’s getting too tiring” “I like it that the sex is still going”, Ron continued, “but after I’m finished, I feel like I could sleep for a week”. “Don’t be too hard on Ginny, Ron” Harry said. “She probably can’t help getting turned off by me … just tell her to try and control it. And that I really need her right now”. (Behind the paper, Severus winced in irritation) At that point, the door to the healer’s office opened, and a nurse poked his head out, haughtily surveying the three gestating wizards in the room. “Ronald Weasley?” he asked. “Me” Ron replied. “Madam Clio is ready to see you now”. “Ok” Severus heard Ron’s footsteps as they crossed the tiled floor. He obviously had put a featherbelly - or other lightness charm on himself, since only a trace of awkwardness could be heard in his step. He caught a glimpse, from the corner of his eye, of his former student as he entered the other room. Unlike his own already gross proportions, Ron’s body had filled out to a tidy, graceful roundness, Severus noted with a little flare of envy. And now he was going to be stuck alone in the room with Potter. Who sounded like he was getting out of his chair … He heard Potter’s footsteps, treading in a rhythm more faltering than Weasley’s. He heard the door open and shut just afterwards, then silence. Fortunately, Potter was only heading to the restroom after all. Severus reminded himself that he should go there himself after the … boy … had finished. It was getting to that time when nature would soon come to pay him yet another call. But before that, there was something he had to do quickly, while he was still alone and had the chance. Putting down the paper, he leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs one by one (it was the easiest way, for now, to accurately reach his feet with anything), and silently transfigured the loose, comfortable sandals he had recently taken to wearing, into the tall, black boots that he knew Harry and Ron would instantly recognise. And though it was summer - and his tolerance for hot weather had become much less than usual – he pulled from a pocket in his robes something that looked like a black silk handkerchief. With a touch of his wand, it billowed out into a high-collared cloak of light material. Awkwardly, he levered himself out of the chair to his feet, and put it on. There was a glass-fronted certificate on one of the walls, which he used as a mirror to check that he had adjusted it properly. If there was one thing he wanted to avoid, it was being recognised by Potter as the stranger who had been listening to their insufferable confessions. He just didn’t want to bring any more unpleasantness to himself, than that which he already had to cope with. Hopefully, since neither of the two had seen Severus’s face in the room, the boots and cloak should suffice for disguise. As he turned to leave for the restroom, he heard a voice softly call his name from the wall above him. Instinctively, he turned to look up at the usually empty painting frame, and with a little jolt saw the concerned face of Albus Dumbledore looking down at him. “Headmaster … I mean Albus, where have you been?!!” Severus hissed, in shock. “In hiding” Dumbledore answered, “Umbridge has ordered a lot of the paintings to be removed from the Ministry, Hogwarts and other key buildings” he said. “Most of us have been put in storage”, he continued in a grave voice, “some are rumoured to have been even destroyed. I have been hiding out with Godric, Phineus and Rowena in the homes of those who are just as displeased with the Ministry as we are – of which there is still quite a good number. But enough about us” he continued, looking Severus in the eye, “I need to know what Umbridge has done to you”. Severus shrugged, there was really no elegant way to put this. Standing up as straight as he could, he opened out his arms, so that Dumbledore could clearly see everything. It was somehow appropriate that Her Foetal Majesty decided to wake up at that moment, and proceed to make the front of his robes jump with her exercises. “This” he said simply, while Dumbledore’s brows knitted in shock. “A condition that she also happens to have had forced onto the Longbottoms, three of the Weasley brothers at least - as well as Potter”, he continued, while Dumbledore’s eyes grew slowly wider: “And by my calculations, all of us will soon be indisposed - for reasons you can guess - at any time between six to eight weeks from now”. It was a while before Dumbledore spoke again, and Severus dropped his arms and waited. “I know about the decree,” the painting finally said, in a flat voice. “And the details of the preposterous demands it’s been making on our people”. Dumbledore looked again into Severus’s eyes, and there was grief in his expression. “I had hoped, against all hope, that you would have been spared, Severus. I’m sorry” Being the subject of pity was never a thing Severus could take comfort in. He folded his cloak securely back around his body, since Potter would be coming back from the restroom soon (and the use of body-concealment spells had recently been banned in the hospital), then turned his face slightly away from the painting. He didn’t want to look into Dumbledore’s eyes just now. He wished the foetus would stop elbowing him right in that place where it hurt. “It is probably a good guess that she had tampered with the candidate selection poll”, he said, “and if so, it is most likely she will do so again. For every three years, until we are overage … if, that is, she decides to remember that rule”. “Severus” Dumbledore said, slowly, “Turn around and look at me - and let your cloak part”. Severus obeyed, feeling uncomfortable in more ways than one. He submitted himself to Dumbledore’s scrutiny. At least She has settled down again, he thought, though she is starting to feel heavy again. The featherbelly charm was starting to fade – he would have to renew it when he got to the restroom. “Your daughter” the painting eventually said, “appears likely to inherit many of your strengths, and much of your character”. “She is not strictly mine” Severus said, folding his cloak back around himself again. “Like everyone else participating in this travesty, I have had no say in who the seed they used on me had come from”. “Everard has been keeping watch” Dumbledore answered, “and if the procedure by which you were impregnated was carried out here …” “It was” Severus said, “… then rest assured”, Dumbledore continued, “that the mediwitch in charge of the Rejuvenation Project here, has secretly made it her personal mission to ensure that the child of every wizard treated there, be as much of that wizard’s blood, as he would had he parented the child in a more natural way”. “Wha …?! How?” asked Severus, wrapping himself even more tightly. “She has been observed many times to extract and save the seed of her patients in secret. She would have done that to you while you were unconscious, while she was preparing your body for the … ordeal, that you are currently experiencing”. Nice, thought Severus in disgust, not enough that I have been forcibly made gravid, now I learn that someone’s been collecting my cum! Dumbledore must have sensed Severus’s revulsion, for he added: “And the methods she uses for extracting and keeping the seed are particularly … chaste ones. Rest assured that, against Umbridge’s orders, the child that you carry is your own flesh and blood”. “And the other parent?” Severus asked, glancing at the door (surely Potter didn’t need to take that long in there … and surely Dumbledore will let me excuse myself soon. The feeling was definite now - he needed to go) “The other parent was most likely a young witch by the name of Amanda Thrip” Dumbledore answered. “Thrip … not a name that I’m familiar with” said Severus. “And not likely to be” Dumbledore continued, “She was one of the more recent war casualties. She had been terribly wounded when she – successfully I might add - fought off three of Voldemort’s servants” he said, “But it did not help her in the end. Though she was admitted to this hospital very promptly after she was found, it was to little avail. It has taken her more than a year to die”. “How do you know it was her”, Severus asked, “if you were not sure, until now, that I had chosen?” “Because that same mediwitch was so greatly impressed by the story of her bravery”, Dumbledore answered, “that in many of the fertilizations she had carried out, she had secretly ensured that the other half of the seed used, was that which she had recovered from Madam Thrip. She is not highly concerned about the possibility of siblings marrying inadvertently, since she assumes that this coming generation will have the prudence to make use of kin-affirmation spells, when they mature” (Severus rolled his eyes at the witch’s naiveté) “So … what do I have to do now?” he sighed, looking at the door again (what was keeping that boy?! ). “I know that you and the others are all war-weary, and in no condition to fight”. Dumbledore said, “But I’m afraid that, unless you want to accept the fate, whatever it is, that Dolores Umbridge invents for you, you will have no other choice but to organise yourselves to fight again”. Severus imagined a motley army of gravid witches and wizards, burdened with offspring of all ages (or stages of development) trying to take on the tentacular might of the Ministry. He shook his head “I am in no condition … none of us are in any condition at the moment” “Then start making some plans!” said Dumbledore, impatiently, “Use what free time and resources you have to assist you - and try to start working together a little sooner this time!” He continued: “It should be a simple matter this time, of how well you use your wits to remove Umbridge and her associates”. “At least this time” he noted, “we won’t have a prophecy to complicate things. But since I am a painting now, there are limits to what I can do for you – beyond using my memories and experience. But I must leave the rest of this discussion for later, since I have an appointment at Malfoy Manor. Draco and Pansy will be expecting me by now”. “What?!” Severus exclaimed. (He thought he could hear a door close at the end of the corridor) “Like you, Harry and the others you had mentioned”, Dumbledore explained, “Draco and Pansy both had their names come up in the poll, though” he said, “some very costly strings had been pulled, to keep that fact a secret from the public”. “In a way”, he continued, “they both are paying an additional price, for their involvements with the previous enemy”. “Both the surviving members of the Malfoy family have made some very major adjustments in their priorities, recently”, he added, “and you will find they will be particularly eager to assist you in any of your efforts against Umbridge, as well as to redeem the respectability of their name”. Severus heard distant footsteps, approaching the door, and he looked in its direction. “Harry is coming back,” he said. His back was beginning to ache, along with his bladder. “Then I have to go” said Dumbledore, “I must see to the Malfoys first, before I can talk with Harry” he started towards the edge of his frame, and then hesitated, thinking. “Oh, and there are also three more things I must tell you, before I go”. “First”, Dumbledore said, “you and Harry must keep in touch with each other much more often – at least once a week, for a start. Use your patronuses to exchange any sensitive information, if you can’t do so face to face. Owls and the floo will not be secure for such things” he said, “since it will help things greatly, if the world’s most powerful wizard joined forces, once again, with one of the world’s cleverest” (Severus frowned at the compliment, but his face still flushed) “Secondly”, Dumbledore continued, “remove the anti-apparition wards from your laundry – and only your laundry. You will find in your kitchen, when you get home, a number of items that have been owled to you, which should more than make up for any security gaps’. The painting said, “Consider this as a long-delayed repayment of a debt that Malfoy has owed you since he was sixteen”. Severus nodded, he would never forget the terrible night of Dumbledore’s death, when he had intervened to save Draco’s innocence. Outside the door, he could hear Harry’s footsteps getting louder. “And finally” Dumbledore said, “Amongst these gifts, you will notice a new decoration. Restore it to its proper size, put it on your wall, look after it well - and consider it another token of the Malfoy’s gratitude”. Then he disappeared from the portrait, leaving the canvas blank once again. What the … Malfoy has sent me a painting! Severus realised, so that Dumbledore and the others can … A second later, Harry entered the room, and Severus, still staring at the empty painting, heard the boy’s feet shuffle behind him, followed by the sound of the door thumping against the wall. Gathering his nerve, he turned around to see Harry, half-fallen against the waiting-room door, clutching the doorknob to steady himself, a look of surprise and horror on his face. And … Oh God and Merlin! … if Ron was to be envied in the way pregnancy had been treating him … Harry was to be pitied. Not that Severus had ever found pity easy, but … however obscene his own body seemed to him, he never, ever … ever wanted to see anyone become the way that Harry was. And he still probably has more than a month to go too, Oh Sweet God! He thought, forcing himself to turn away again, back to staring at the blank canvas before the horror and disgust showed too much on his face. “Potter”, he said, because he had to say something: “I would have expected you to be capable of keeping better composure than that by now”. “S-Snape! W-what are you doing … here?!! Harry stammered. Severus could sense a sickly wave of shame and panic emanate from the boy. But no hate. So, he was telling the truth for once, he thought, remembering what Harry had said to Ron earlier about no longer being angry with him. Well, we shall see how long that little reform of your’s will last, shall we, Potter? But he couldn’t beat around the bush in regard to Harry’s question. Turning to face him again (and making sure that he kept his cloak wrapped well about his body), Severus said, using his coldest tone of voice: “I am here for exactly the same reason that you are here” (how easy it comes back to me, he thought, to slip into the mode of the inquisitor again) “You … mean that … you … you too are …?” Harry blathered while he clambered to his feet. “My name came up in the ballot at the same time that your’s did”. Severus snapped in embarrassment, before remembering Dumbledore’s warning against alienating the boy. And, to be truthful, the painting was right. The Harry Potter who he saw before him now did not look healthy in any way. More like worn, drained, exhausted, downtrodden … and beaten. He knew what could happen when a witch or wizard allowed themselves to fall that low. He remembered how his own mother had lost her powers … The problems with Ginny? Likely that had helped in the cause of this decline. The toll that the pregnancy was taking on him? Most definitely. The way that Umbridge had succeeded in reducing the world’s most powerful wizard to a puppet? Certainly. “Why did you let her do this to you, Boy?” Severus mused, and realised he had spoken out loud. Harry had heard his words. “Because … it just seemed easier. Because I was tired. Because we were all tired, and that …Bitch, Umbridge, she and her cronies just moved in and took over, while we were all too busy burying our friends and getting over our injuries”. “Damn that bitch, damn the Ministry!!” Harry snapped, “She just used us to get rid of Voldemort, and then took advantage of us while we were down. She’s just as bad as Voldemort was” He hasn’t lost his anger, then … Severus thought, Good, this may help our chances. “Indeed” he replied, “And I have probably been just as guilty as you in that passivity”, he added, ignoring Harry’s look of surprise. “Who was in that painting?” Harry finally asked, “I saw that you were staring at it”. (God, this is taking forever, Severus thought, why can’t I able to just get to the toilet?) “An old friend of ours” he said, “but at the moment, I have a rather urgent need to excuse myself. When is your appointment?” “Not for another fifteen minutes” Harry replied, “And Ron will wait for me until I’m finished”. “Will you and Weasley be going anywhere after this?” Severus asked (his back was now beginning to throb) “Probably” said Harry, “Though we don’t really have any plans”. “Will you both be able to wait until I’m finished?” Severus asked. “Yes … but why?” said Harry. “Because this old friend happens to be Albus Dumbledore, and there were a few things he wanted from us”. “Dumbledore … was here?!” Harry said slowly. “So”, Severus said, “think you both will be able to stay around and wait for me then, after my turn is done?” Harry nodded. “And if I want to go somewhere nice, sensible and discreet to eat afterwards”, Severus continued, “Will you both be able come with me?” “Yes”, said Harry, “It’s not as if there is much else we can do”. “Then don’t forget it”, Severus said, and left the waiting room with robes billowing, trying not to let his stride to turn too much into a waddle (he should still be able to make it to the toilet in time). Once again, fate had come to his doorstep, bringing with it yet another sack-load of obligations. The last time, when he had still been teaching at Hogwarts, it seemed so much simpler. All he had to do, really, was teach, keep Potter alive, spy for the Order, avoid being killed by the Dark Lord, do a few other odd jobs, help Potter bring down the Dark Lord – and somewhere in the middle of all of that, vindicate himself. Time-consuming, yes, but relatively simple. Now … he would probably have to do most of that all over again (except, perhaps, the teaching part). Plans had to be made, ties had to be forged (not a thing he was particularly good at), the world’s most powerful wizard to keep motivated (ditto), a child to be extracted from his body in a few weeks time, and take care of, an entire government to overturn - and even more visitors to disturb the peace of his home (as if Madam Foetus Herself wasn’t going to do enough of that once she was on the outside) Severus knew that he would need to sit down soon, while he still had some quiet moments left - and sort out a few priorities. But right now, there were more pressing things to attend to. He finally reached the restroom door, and pulled it open. Yes indeed …he would just make it.
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