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Title: The Waiting Room (Chapter Two)

Category: Drama/General

Fandom: Harry Potter

Length: 6,700 + Words. First completed Nov 10th, 2005

Author: Me (etc)

Rating: M 17 + (Adult Themes)

Main Characters or Pairings: SS, HP, HG, GW, AD, DM, PP

Warnings: MPREG, Pregnancy-TMI, Coarse language, Angst, Het, Hurt/Care, Some fluff, Disturbing dream/memory imagery, Corpse desecration (Inferius abuse), Mention of character deaths, Spoilers for H.P. book 6

Setting: Severus would rather have some relative peace and quiet while he still has a chance at it, but unfortunately, for him, it looks like privacy will be in short supply. Moreover, right now, privacy is something he really could use. Need, even. AU, obviously.

Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling is the creator and true owner of the characters of Hogwarts and the wizarding world, and no infringement of copyright is intended. I'm not their mum, just an evil-minded person who is messing around with them for my own fun.

Author’s notes: I’m not sure if Umbridge had been sorted into Slytherin, but there have been signs here and there throughout canon (wearing green at Quidditch, favouring the Slytherin house team), so I’m assuming that she was. Also, Harry (like the rest of his classmates) is about twenty-two years old in the fic – so when Severus (from whose POV this story is told) refers to/thinks of him as a ‘boy’ in this story, that says more about his persistent habits, than Harry’s actual age. Chalcedony is an opaque, quartz-type stone.

Beta: Morgan_LeFaye58 (with much gratitude to thee ^_^). Any other mistakes are mine."

THE WAITING ROOM
Chapter Two – A Certain Lack Of Privacy

Severus could really have done with the chance to spend his time alone tonight. Lying on his bed in an upstairs bedroom, he listened to the faint conversation between Ginny Potter and Hermione Weasley as it was relayed up from the lounge room. It was not that he would rather be waiting out the remaining weeks to the delivery of his yet-unnamed child in the living room amongst the distraction of his books. Rather, that this part of his house had lately become too busy for his comfort. In the last two weeks or so since Dumbledore had turned up with his instructions, he had taken to spending most of his free time upstairs - so constant were the visits. He had even been skimping on his customary courtesies to his visitors, his need for solitude having greatly increased with his advancing condition.

Most of the visitors who had been passing through were Dumbledore (as well as various other paintings), Hermione Weasley and Ginny Potter. The two witches had, by sheer luck, been spared from participating in Umbridge’s repopulation programme for the year. Unlike their husbands, they were not pregnant - and were thus fit to safely apparate. Currently, they were busy with the final stages of setting up an unofficial floo network between Severus’s house and those of others, whom Dumbledore had deemed to be sympathetic to a resistance against Umbridge. Once connected, those currently gestating - and unfit to apparate - would be able to safely travel and meet, without detection.

After ordering Topsy (an ex-Hogwarts house elf Dumbledore had sent to assist him) to see to the needs of the two young witches, Severus had excused himself as soon as it was politely possible, with the excuse that he needed his rest – which was partly the truth. As the days drew closer to the time of her delivery, he had become more prone to tiredness. All the magic he knew could not safely do away with every discomfort of the pregnancy that Umbridge had imposed on him, and he was finding it harder to sleep.

Whilst he tried to rest, he continued listening to Ginny and Hermione (who were busy fine-tuning the spellwork on his fireplace, under the guidance of two magical tech-savvy paintings sent in by Dumbledore). A listening charm he had cast on his home’s disused wiring system long ago made it possible for him to clearly follow the conversation downstairs.

“Harry’s had to spend another night in St. Mungo’s” (That was Ginny); “I’m really starting to get worried about him”. “What with?” asked the other witch – Hermione. “Blood pressure again” Ginny replied. “They brought it back down ok, but this is the third time in the last two weeks”. “Blood pressure? That can be really dangerous, Ginny”, Hermione said, “It can be a big problem among Muggles when they have children – especially older mothers, those with the wrong family history, or a lot of other risk factors …” “It’s not exactly a problem that our kind often gets, though” Ginny said, “But would … Harry going though this, being a wizard instead of a witch”, she added, “help to … cause something like that?”

“Maybe … I’m not sure, I mean, Ron’s as healthy as he can be under the circumstances. And professor Snape …” (Hermione lowered her voice slightly) “seems to be having no unusual problems either, as far as I can tell. And as well as being a wizard, he’s definitely in the … um … older mother category” (Severus, lying in his bed and surrounded and by a motley collection of spare pillows and cushions, allowed himself a wry grin at her comment – though he felt more like snarling).

“Could it be also that he’s got twins?” Ginny asked. “That could be” said Hermione, “they would definitely be putting much more strain on his body”. “That’s weird, you know,” Ginny continued, “the way that the wizards had been set up to conceive artificially, that shouldn’t have happened”. “It sometimes does among Muggle medicine” Hermione said, “it’s the practice there to put several of the fertilized eggs in the mother, because some of them will die anyway. You put three or four in, so that at least one would survive. It’s things like that …” Hermione continued, “… That makes me glad that I’m a witch, and have magic”.

“Well, they don’t have to do that in St. Mungo’s”. Ginny asserted, “Which makes it all the more suspicious”. Hermione agreed. “I’ve been talking to a few people”, Ginny continued, “And I haven’t heard of even one wizard in this stupid breeding program who’s ended up with twins … or who is having the sort of problems that Harry is having. And that’s including the Muggleborns and half bloods”, she went on: “And when I started reading up on the wizard pregnancies that have been mentioned in history … before all this, I did not see a single mention of one who had died from an unpreventable cause – or who had been unable to overcome whatever problems he had with the right spells or potions”.

“You mean, that Harry might have been …?” Hermione asked, quietly. “I mean, that I’m starting to think there’s something fishy about all this”, Ginny replied, “Pansy is having twins too, I heard, but she’s a witch – so it would have happened normally. And anyway, she’s doing ok. I also heard that Draco’s pretty depressed about the whole thing, but he’s not otherwise ill in a physical sense”. She continued: “the only other person I know at the moment, wizard or witch, apart from Harry who is having any real problems with this pregnancy thing is Luna” Ginny said, “and Neville told me that that’s because of a problem that runs in her family”.

“I forgot to ask - how’s Neville?” Hermione asked. “He’s doing ok” Ginny replied, “He says he still gets embarrassed a lot by it, but he’s looking forward to having a family – regardless of what Umbridge has to do with it. He’s also been asking after Harry”, she said. “Ron said he was going to send an owl to Neville today”, Hermione said, “to say hi, and to ask how Luna was going”. “Speaking of Ron …” Ginny said, her voice sounding more hesitant now - “he had a word with me about Harry …” “What? … What for?!” Hermione asked.

“Please don’t tell him off for it”, said Ginny (Severus, listening via the end of a charmed light-cord switch pressed to his ear, noted with some discomfort that she sounded as if she was getting ready to cry), “He was right” she continued, “I was so busy being put off by him being pregnant, that I forgot about just how much danger he was in”. “What do you mean?” Asked Hermione. “Um … I don’t want to say too much about it” Ginny answered, “Just that Harry and I were having some problems for a while”, Ginny said, “Just small ones … but they’re pretty much sorted out now”.

“Oh, ok”, replied Hermione, “You two are ok now, though?” “Yes”, said Ginny, “but I don’t think it’s the stress from that that’s been making him sick so often. He’s been suddenly getting a lot worse just in the last couple of weeks … and I’ve been making an extra effort with him in that time”. Ginny sighed, “I don’t know what it is, Hermione, but he shouldn’t be that ill. Either the healers don’t know what’s making him that way, or they won’t tell me. I can’t always tell which”.

Hermione said, “Harry’s got a fair sort of a physical and emotional burden on him, but even with that, he should be in and out of hospital like he is. Ron isn’t, Professor Snape isn’t – so why him?” Ginny replied, “He was so fit and healthy when It was done to him. He’s supposed to be a very powerful wizard in the prime of his life, yet, well; you’ve seen him, Hermione. Even Snape”, she said - lowering her voice slightly again, “… as you said, is doing ok with this thing. Since he’s started taking that turn for the worse, I can’t stop thinking about it all the time. I’m really getting scared that I might lose him”. Her voice broke slightly, and then Severus heard a sob. He held the cord switch away from his ear for a few seconds – he had always found such displays of emotion disturbing … particularly so in the last few weeks.

Ginny did not weep for long – within a few minutes, the sobbing died down enough for Severus to risk listening closely again. After a short silence, Hermione’s voice came through: “Ginny, the best thing we can do about it at the moment is to get this floo set-up finished, so that Harry and the others can come here safely, without Umbridge nosing around on them. We’ll put it to Dumbledore and Snape after tonight’s meeting is finished”. Severus heard Ginny make a murmur of agreement – then the sound of crackles and humming as the two witches set back to work on the fireplace. He let go of the cord, letting it swing awhile above his head. Turning over into a more comfortable position on the bed, he pulled a sheet over himself (for some reason, doing that made him feel more secure … heavens knew why), and took stock of the latest developments.

Seeing that he didn’t have the need to use the bathroom at the moment, nor was he hungry enough to warrant going downstairs, and that the meeting was still some hours away – all this meaning that he hopefully had a little time to think. The first thing that came to his mind was that there was definite sense in what the witches were suggesting. That the healers had been unable to find what was wrong with a young and powerful wizard accustomed to being in good health (pregnancy aside) … that itself could be grounds for suspicion. As was the fact that an artificial conception - induced by magic - had resulted in twins for Potter, when in every other case he had observed or known of, only a single child had been made.

He had heard the explanation for that – that Potter’s unusual magical strength had interfered with the procedure, causing the unexpected result. Nevertheless, neither would he put it far past Umbridge to sabotage the brat by throwing such an extra burden on him. It would provide an ideal explanation for anything else that she could arrange to … happen to him. He had personally known far too many power-fixated individuals, to put aside the likelihood that someone of her nature would be content to sit by, and let someone who had the potential to overcome her simply get on with his life.

Though it had been years now since he was the head of Slytherin house at Hogwarts, he remained intimately aware of the nature of the serpent in himself - and in others. He knew that Umbridge herself had been sorted into the green and silver, and though he doubted the proficiency of her cunning, he did not doubt for a moment that she would use any means to achieve her ends. If so … then Potter’s life could be in danger. If the healers in charge of him were following her orders … it would be a very simple matter to set up the pregnancy to make it appear more dangerous, and blame it on the boy’s uncommon magic. It would only take a little more sabotage to make him ill from a gestational disorder … and then only a little more fiddling further down the track (at the right time, of course), to deliver the coup de grace. If Potter died … who would dare (or bother) to look beyond his ‘dangerous pregnancy’ for the cause?

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable again, Severus turned over to rest on his other side - strategically rearranging a few cushions to support his bulk (his healer had advised that he spend a few hours each day free of the featherbelly charm, to allow the child’s natural weight to help her develop properly). Pushing back thoughts as to whether she would in the future arrange similar fates for those others (such as himself) who had stood up to her, he turned his mind to ways of finding out for sure if the witches – and his - suspicions were founded. About fifteen minutes into his plans, exhaustion and sleep deprivation caught up with him.

He was still snoring gently at seven o’clock in the evening, eight hours later, (when Topsy apparated into his bedroom to wake him up in time for the meeting). He remembered that he had been dreaming of Potter, lying dead in a pool of filth, his belly sliced open by someone. In the open hole cowered not twin infants, but a dwarf-like spirit with Potter’s face. He had been trying to kick poisonous toads away from a skinny little girl with dark hair, lest they touch her, and turn her into one of them. He had also been shouting at the little spirit hiding in Potter’s wound, trying to make it come over to him, where it would be safe from all the poison …

After tidying himself up, then casting a glamour and a lightness charm on his body, he made his way downstairs to the bathroom, then to the kitchen for some food. Tidying himself again after that, Severus returned to find his lounge room looking abnormally larger than it had been the last time he saw it. The witches must have cast a wizard-space spell on it, to make room for the extra visitors. Already, he could see Ginny attempting to conduct a stilted conversation with Pansy, while Draco and Potter sat silently by their spouse’s sides, studying the floor. Hermione and Ron sat chatting together on another couch, oblivious to the other couples (some extra furniture must have been floo’ed in); he noted that all the others he knew to be pregnant (Pansy, Draco and Potter), were also, like him, using glamours to conceal their figures.

On the wall, he could see Dumbledore flit in and out of his frame, accompanied by another painting that he did not recognise. Neville and Luna had not yet arrived, and he was not sure if there were any others on the guest list to come. All eyes turned to regard him as he entered the room. Probing with his eyes, he could sense a little residual fear, a tinge of resentment and betrayal (before Draco closed his mind), and, most of all, pity (the last of which made him uncomfortable the most). “Good evening, Sir” greeted Pansy, stiffly, while everyone else in the room relaxed visibly after she had broken the ice. Severus commandeered his armchair, and sank into it, as if it was a fortress.

Fortunately for him, he was spared the awkwardness of starting the meeting. At that moment, a black-haired, sallow-faced man poked his head into the frame of the portrait – he recognised the painting as Everard. “Professor Dumbledore will be along very shortly,” he announced to those assembled, “he sent me to give you the Longbottom’s apologies – Luna’s child has come early, and is being delivered tonight”. In the middle of the silence that followed, Potter spoke up: “She’s all right, isn’t she?” Everard surveyed the pale-looking wizard. “So far”, he said, “there have been no complications. I will have time tonight to keep watch on her progress”. “Thank you” said Ginny, as the painting moved out of frame.

Severus tried to think of what to say at the news, looking at the others in the room – and at Potter – and realising that the time to plan freely was running out. If Luna could deliver tonight … then so might the others – including himself - from any time onwards. Tonight may also be the only chance he had to find out if Harry had been sabotaged, before it was too late. He looked up at the empty frame above the fireplace, his mind racing. The portrait did not stay empty for very long … with a flurry of robes and beard; Dumbledore dashed panting into the frame, adjusting his glasses. “Please excuse my tardiness” he said, “Everard would have explained the Longbottom’s absence, I trust?” Severus nodded, along with the rest.

“Then, let the meeting begin,” said the painting, “Severus, could you bring those parchments outlining the plans and proposals, that we had been working on last Monday?” Severus nodded, and opened his hand. With a quiet accio, a wad of bound scrolls flew over to him, landing in his lap (a couple of them hitting the top of his partly invisible abdomen, before rolling down its curve. The effect looked weird – and he felt his ears grow hot). Pushing his embarrassment aside, he began to unfasten their bindings, so that he could hand them around …

“What the HELL is going on?!” It was Draco. “I thought I had made it clear, that I was to have a full say in the way that this coup was going to go …” “And your point, Mister Malfoy?” asked Dumbledore, calmly, while Severus looked up from his scrolls. Draco’s face was starting to redden, his expression ugly and indignant. “My point” the young wizard continued, “Is that clearly, you have not been listening to me. You, and Snape … and probably Potter and Weasley as well, have been going ahead with the plans behind our backs! You were so desperate to push your agendas and do things your way, without thought for what we might want …”

“Draco, sweetie …” Pansy broke in, stroking her husband’s arm “try not to get upset, you know it’s not good for your health …” “Your point has been heard, and taken into consideration”. Dumbledore said, before Draco could continue. “Severus and I have indeed been working privately on certain details of the plan. It was my decision, to help save time. Something that I am quite sure, that most of you are aware is running short …” “You lie!” Draco spat, and Severus – risking an attempt at legilimency while the young man was distracted – sensed the distinct impression of a mind that was beginning to disintegrate. Draco may be beginning to go insane, he realised, feeling his skin grow clammy at the thought.

He quietly tightened his hand around his wand, and looked at Pansy, catching her gaze by chance. The look of fear and knowing in her eyes told him all he needed. As he suspected, he had probably been watching him go downhill for months now … hoping that he would not have an outburst in public. He gave Pansy the slightest of nods. She broke her gaze, bending her head to her husband’s shoulder, starting to cry. Draco did not notice her. Turning away in embarrassment, he saw Dumbledore look at him, then nod as well. So… it turns out that the worst may be happening with Draco, Severus thought. I agree with Dumbledore and Pansy on this one – the pregnancy would have destabilised someone as hex-scarred as him, in so many ways, he thought again, bitterly.

How old was he himself now? Forty-three? Enough time for Umbridge to force at least two more children out of his body, (or more, if she wanted to) Well, we can probably kiss goodbye to those plans for that little revolution of ours - for now, and be thankful that neither I nor Potter had gone that way ourselves …at least this time.

He wondered if Potter was not the only one who may have been sabotaged … Draco? He thought … would she have any mercy on him, if he truly were that close to losing his mind? Draco, unheeding continued to rant – focusing his vitriol on Potter, who was taking the torrent of abuse silently, head bowed. Pansy was trying to calm him, but it was clear that she was having no success, as well as being too frightened to act more forcefully with him. He noticed that Potter was looking more listless than usual. It occurred to Severus that it would be a wise move to take the boy to a quieter place very soon, if he did not want to have to floo both him and Draco to St. Mungo’s before the hour was out.

He rose awkwardly to his feet (the lightness charm was beginning to wear off already), wand in hand. Looking to the Malfoys - then to Potter - he said: “Professor Dumbledore, if I may … it’s just come to my notice that Mr. Potter may be in need of a dose of tincture of chalcedony, if he is to avoid another visit to St. Mungo’s tonight”. Severus said, “I have a supply of it upstairs, but it will be also beneficial to him to have an hour or two’s bed rest. Alone”. “Of course, Severus” said Dumbledore, “I will keep you informed on how the meeting went” dismissing him with another nod. “Come”. Severus ordered Potter, pointing his wand at the young man. It was a lifting charm, cast non-verbally.

Potter pushed himself weakly to his feet, following the older man. The bookcase concealing the staircase door had already parted, and Severus ushered the young wizard ahead of him. After noticing that Potter’s legs were moving with little strength, he cast a mobilocorpus charm to fully levitate him. The youth flinched a little, as Severus put his hand between his shoulders to push him up to the bedroom. The bookcase had slid itself firmly back into place behind them – he had made sure of that. They reached the bedroom, and with a movement of his wand, Severus lay Potter down on the bed, on his back. Then released the charms.

With the sudden return of weight to his body, Potter gasped in pain and discomfort, half-rising from the bed and clutching his arms above his belly (On his belly, Severus knew, since the glamour made him look much slimmer than he actually was). He motioned his wand at the young man’s midriff, and Potter reached out to stop him … “Potter!” Severus snapped, impatiently, “Stop being a fool - let me release the glamour! I cannot help you, unless I can see for myself what is wrong with you!” Reluctantly, Potter lay back on the pillow, his hands by his sides. Severus broke the concealment spell … and twitched slightly away at the sight.

He had almost forgotten about that first sight of Potter’s body, back at St. Mungo’s, two short weeks ago. Barely accepting his own pregnancy, the youth to him had looked … more like a severely bloated Inferius he had seen used once, than someone who was merely carrying two children. He remembered that, after it had finished its task, Amycus and McNair amused themselves by taking turns throwing rocks at it, to make it … Severus felt his skin grow clammy again, thinking of that, while looking at Potter – who himself had his head turned away. Heaven help us, his skin even has the same colour that thing had, he thought.

He raised his wand again: “Potter, I will need to disrobe you. I trust you are wearing underwear” Potter nodded. Removeo vestis! Potter’s robes flew off, and Severus directed them to a chair, over which they folded themselves neatly. Looking back at Potter lying near naked on the bed (he had been truthful about the underwear), Severus thought that the young wizard had, since he last saw him, grown to look somewhat worse than … that Inferius ... Clamping his lips together, and pushing the memory down in his mind, he said: “I have reason to believe that your body may have been tampered with by the Ministry. Possibly via your pregnancy” (Potter’s hands rose up to grasp his abdomen), Severus continued: “I have some theories … damn!” Just at that moment, his own child chose to make her presence felt.

Since she had less space to move in lately, it seemed to him that, she made up for it in brute strength. Probably a bloody Griffindor too, like her mother surely was … he thought, dourly. “Are you ok, sir?” It was Potter, trying to prop himself up again. Severus realised that he had been standing bent double over the bed, propping himself up with one hand, while clutching his belly with the other. Moreover, that he had been wincing … “I am not about to start giving birth, Potter!” he hissed, “And for your information - since we happen to share the same condition - I have merely just received a severe kick to an internal organ, that I’d rather she’d have spared”.

“Oh”, said Potter, in a slightly dreamy voice that made Severus slightly uncomfortable, “Mine hardly move much, nowadays”. “I’m hardly surprised” Severus replied, straightening his back – and pausing again, when one of her elbows rammed a rib – “There is precious little in the way of free room left in your body. They would both be bound very tightly by now” “I know, and it really feels that way”, Potter said. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus though he saw Potter’s hand moving gently over that horribly distended, vein-riddled mass … he bit back the urge to tell him to stop it. “I need to sit quietly for a little while, until she settles down again” he said instead, “I will not be able to concentrate properly on the diagnostic spells that I will need to use on you, while there is so much physical distraction”.

“I understand, sir,” said Potter, in a voice that had a definite tenderness in it. Severus scowled as he levered himself down into a chair, aware that his own concealment and lightness charms had almost worn off by now. For a few minutes he sat, glaring out the window, with his arm across his belly (he detested doing that with people watching, but the child always seemed to calm down quicker that way), aware that Potter was probably watching, and most likely getting … ‘maternal?’ … ‘paternal?’ feelings over the sight of him. He tried not to grimace at the thought. It would upset the boy who, as far as he knew, could be in such a fragile state of health, that even the wrong mood might kill him …

“Sir?” Severus turned his head to look at Potter, without speaking. “I … I hope I’m not being rude, asking … but I’m wondering if … have you found a name for her yet?” “No” Severus grunted, looking back out the window again. “I’ve … um … thought of Oliver and Remus for mine ... especially since they’ve both gone, and … it’s a way of remembering them for me, I suppose …” Severus said nothing, and shifted himself a little to lessen his discomfort. “Maybe”, he eventually said, though it came out sounding more like another grunt. “Sir … um … is there any names that you are thinking of giving her?” “Potter”, Severus said, “I need to sit quietly for a while”. “Yes, sir” the young wizard replied, leaving him to his peace.

The child took longer than usual to return to her sleep. She tended to struggle longer lately, when he was feeling tense. One moment, Severus was almost sure that she was calm again … then she would move, and he resigned himself to waiting. I wonder if she has had enough of me, and wants to escape? He thought sourly. There were potions he could take to quieten her – but she tended not to sleep for long under their effects. His child … he noticed that his attitude to her had changed somewhat, since learning that she was his, and not some stranger random created by the Ministry. He felt uncomfortable with that – it seemed to him as though he was letting his gestation backslide him into sentimentality. Since when, he thought, did I ever make it a policy of mine, to favour a child on their genetics? He began to wonder how the Longbottoms were faring in St. Mungo’s right now … (and then mentally berated himself for being distracted by irrelevant concerns).

From the corner of his eye, he looked again at Potter. He was lying on his side, propped and supported here and there with cushions. Already he was sleeping. Severus raised a hand, “Accio Small Potions Box”, he whispered. An old, battered square biscuit tin floated over to him, vials tinkling together inside. Tapping the scratched tartan-painted lid off with his wand, he selected a vial of a watery, milky liquid – the chalcedony tincture, a metal bottle containing a distillate of dragon’s egg yolk, and a ceramic jar of parsley flower and honey ointment. Regardless of what happened, he was not about to let Potter go back downstairs without a dose of each – (the combination, he expected, should keep him stable for at least a week). Quietly putting the box down on a table, alongside the potions, he watched Potter whilst he waited.

The young man who was a little intimidated by his presence, who tended to open up to him in embarrassing ways, who nearly always called him “Sir” - was a very different person to the angry young teenager he had watched grow up, back in the days of Hogwarts. That youth had ceased existence; on the very day before their mutual enemy, Voldemort, did (how strange it still felt to be able to even think of the Dead Dark Lord’s name in safety) … he automatically fingered the numb patch on his forearm, where his Dark Mark had once been. He remembered the duel he had fought with Bellatrix, and how Harry had crept up behind him while he was preoccupied. He only realised the boy was there, when he felt the binding spell come over him.

The foolish brat had followed the bind with a cutting curse, screaming that he was doing it for Sirius, for his parents, and for Dumbledore. His fingers traced a line from the inside of his elbow to a place above one of his annoyingly enlarged breasts (it still ached along there at night, when the weather changed) … and then Potter had tried to take on Bellatrix by himself. How they both had managed to survive that encounter fit enough for Harry to complete his task … Severus found it hard, even now, to believe how they had managed it. Especially since he himself had taken another curse later that day, which left him unable to help the boy – he had barely been able to recover in time to give Potter the treatment that saved his life. …

To then have Potter tell him that, while Severus was unconscious, he had been raving – and from those ravings, Potter had learnt the truth about his loyalties … though he would have rather died than let the boy learn what he had really felt about Lily … Potter’s mother. His next memory had been of waking up in a hospital bed in St. Mungo’s after the battle, with a bandaged Potter beside him, calling him “Sir”, and crying and throwing himself all over him when he tried to speak. Many things had changed in the space of those twenty-four hours, and sometimes it still did not feel quite real to him.

How would they fare, if Voldemort walked in on us now? Severus thought, looking down at his body, and then at Potter. Not very well, I’m afraid he thought, he’s probably get his goons to slice us open like melons … his stomach clenched at the thought, and he put his mind on other things. He realised the child had been quiet for a time … it seemed like she had gone to sleep again. Looking at a clock on a table, he saw that it had been nearly half an hour since he had taken Potter upstairs, and he did not want to waste any more time. Casting another lightness charm on his body, he walked over to the bed, and woke the sleeping wizard with a small shake of the shoulder.

“Wake up, Potter,” he whispered, as Potter woke murmuring to himself, “I have some potions that will help to maintain your health - but before you take them, I must first test you for sabotage”. “Sure” Potter mumbled, “I feel a little bit cold”. “You shouldn’t, in this weather”, Severus said, growing more suspicious: “Try to lie straight on the bed, and keep your arms at your sides”. The young wizard obeyed. Severus aimed his wand at Potter’s forehead, and slowly traced its tip in a complex pattern over his body, downwards towards the feet. In his mind, he repeated a non-verbal spell, increasing and decreasing the same five words like a mantra.

As he had suspected, when he reached the area above Potter’s abdomen, the wand seemed to stick in the air, refusing to budge. Potter’s hands reached up, to clutch himself there. “Ow … it’s hurting now,” he gasped. “Please try to lie still!” Severus ordered, and started to work his wand back upwards again, towards Potter’s solar plexus. Without warning, he felt as if a strong hand had grabbed hold of his wand, and was trying to pull it towards Potter’s left shoulder … with all his strength, Severus pulled the wand away with both hands, and saw fear in the young man’s eyes.

“Sir … you’ve gone pale … why?” he asked. Severus pressed his lips together, to stop a retort from escaping. The boy had a right to be afraid … and Severus needed to buy himself some time to work out a way of breaking the news to the boy, in a way that wouldn’t kill him with shock. Turning away from the bed, he fumbled through the potion vials in the biscuit tin, putting back the parsley flower and honey ointment (he knew enough about that curse, to know that anything that had parsley in it would aggravate it’s effects) “Sir?” Potter asked again, as Severus, without answering, selected a porcelain tube of stasis water, and a glass dropper bottle of pomegranate nectar.

He brought them over, along with the chalcedony tincture and the dragon’s egg distillate. Producing two tiny crystal-measuring cups from a robe pocket, he measured out and mixed the contents of three of the bottles. Cleaning one cup with his wand, he poured out a measure of straight pomegranate nectar, and gave it to Potter. “Take this first”, he said. When Potter was done, Severus handed him the other cup. “Now this”, he said, and Potter winced as he swallowed the mixture, then put his hand to his chest with a look of surprise on his face, gasping and panting as though he had just eaten something very hot. Good, thought Severus, its working … we may have a chance yet.

“What … was that stuff?!” said Potter, staring downwards as though the bed had just sprouted mushrooms. “Something that is going to help keep you alive, until I can make it possible to save you”. Severus replied – no point in shilly shallying around, the news had to be told now. “Are you aware of a curse known as Expecto Mors?” Severus asked, (looking Potter in the eye as he spoke). “No”, said Potter. “I’m hardly surprised” Severus replied, “I doubt that you would be aware of such an obscure piece of magic”, he continued, “Suffice to say, that such a curse is difficult and dangerous to remove, once placed. Moreover, it is designed to bring about the death of its victim at the arrival of a certain time or event - naturally, the caster chooses which.

“Can … can you remove it from me? Is that what the potions were for?” Potter asked. “Firstly,” Severus replied, “Though I am quite capable of removing the curse, I will not do so. Secondly,” he added, “the potions I administered were chosen to fortify you, not to interfere with the curse”. “But why?” Potter asked, and Severus thought he could detect a little of the old anger rising in the young wizard’s voice. “Because, as I might have mentioned to you before, removing the curse is difficult and dangerous. You are undergoing a pregnancy that is putting you under stress, and making you weak. If I tried to remove it now” he continued, “You will die”.

“Then what about after I have the twins?” Potter asked, “When I’ve recovered?” “Not possible” Severus replied, “Since I found it highly evident in the test, that the curse has been timed to kill you upon that event”. “You mean … that when I have them … when Remus and Oliver are born … I will die from the curse?” ”Yes”, said Severus, “When I cast the diagnostic spell, you may have noticed that my wand reacted when the spell came in contact with your offspring” “Yes” agreed Potter, “I know, I felt it hurt …” “And then it gave the death-sign after that” Severus continued. “When your wand pulled towards my shoulder?” Potter asked. “Yes”, replied Severus.

“But, what will happen, if I choose to have my children delivered in a different way? Will I be ok then?” asked Potter. “That will make no difference,” Severus answered, “Whatever way it happens, the moment your offspring leave your body, unless I am able to intervene before then - you will die”. Potter struggled to sit up, and then bent his head down, wrapping his arms around himself. “Who? Why?” He asked - his voice blank. “Most likely, someone Umbridge has paid to have the curse placed” Severus said, “Most likely, it happened during the procedure when your body was prepared for conception – and most likely, because it is a convenient way to rid the Ministry of having an inconveniently powerful … rival … wizard around”.

“The bitch” Potter said. Severus pulled his lips back in a sneer (which looked more like a snarl, since his teeth were showing), and nodded. Then, Potter put his head down between his arms, curling up as far as his body would allow. Soon, he heard the sound of quiet sobs coming from the wizard. Of course, he would go and do that, Severus thought. He wanted to flee the room … make him stop, shout at him to stop it … leave the boy alone for a while … “The potions I gave you” he said, trying to ignore the tears, “Will give you some more time”.

“To do what?” Potter asked, without raising his head. “To enable me to do something which will keep your soul in this world - in spite of the curse”. Severus said. “What?” Potter replied, “It had better not be a Horcrux …” “How dare you even suggest that I will do such a thing!” Severus hissed in sudden anger, putting his arm around his waist again (in case she woke up, he mentally told himself). He bit back on an insult. “There are other means of preservation and resurrection that I can …” Severus’s reply was cut short by the over-loud crack of an apparating House Elf. Topsy had evidently arrived with some news. “Topsy!” said Potter.

“Good Masters!” She said, clasping her hands and dipping her bat-like ears, “Topsy is sent by the painting Dumbledore to give you news of the Longbottoms”. “Yes - what is it then?” Demanded Severus. “Good Sirs, they is got a girl, but the Mistress Longbottom, she is still sick”. “Where is Mr. Longbottom?” Potter asked. “Mister Longbottom is talking at the floo, Master Potter”. “He should go back to his wife” Severus muttered, then asked out loud; “What of the Malfoys?” “Mistress Malfoy took Mister Malfoy home after you left” Topsy replied. “And the discussion?” he asked. “The painting Dumbledore has much to tell you”. Severus nodded, “you may leave,” he said. With another crack, Topsy disapparated.

“It is time we went back down,” Severus said. “Aren’t you going to tell me more about how you plan to keep me alive?” Potter asked him, wiping the last tears from his eyes with his fingers. “I will tell you first”, Severus replied, “And when I am finished telling you, we will go back downstairs, and tell the others about the good news”. He was using sarcasm in that last line … even Potter understood that.

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