It was morning, early springtime, not long after sunrise. The still-yellow daylight highlighted twig, thorn, grass and moss in surreal detail. It shone through the heart-shaped leaves of rising seedlings, sparkled off scattered snow patches, and refracted through the drops left over from last night’s rain. For a short time, the whole scene resembled a grandiose display of jewelled light thrown over the tatty, overgrown backdrop of a clearing.

Here and there a chill morning breeze moved softly on it’s way through the whispering leaves, parting the pink and grey rain clouds of the night before – and raising goose-flesh on the limbs of a man who was kneeling, partly hidden, in a clearing. In his left hand he held a small dirk, the keen edge of which was smeared with an oily, greenish fluid. His other hand pulled at a half-dead clump of onion-weed, so that that he could better harvest the dormant roots beneath.

He had cast aside his over cloak in a small black heap beside him, and had partly rolled up the sleeves of his robes, leaving his arms exposed. He was not of pleasant aspect, this man – nor normally of pleasant mood. He was pale and thin – too thin. The winter had been hard on him during his exile, in spite of the adequate – but intermittent food parcels and other help he had received from his allies. His cheeks were hollowed even more than they usually were, and the bones of his back and shoulders jutted out a little harder through his dark robes.

No longer young, and not yet old, his harsh-featured, hook-nosed features were currently pulled into a grimace of concentration. Now and then, he would push aside the dull black hair that curtained his face, and scan the area for any trouble. Satisfied that he had seen none, he would feverishly return to his gathering.

A pair of swallows flitted over him from just behind his shoulder, weaving wild patterns in the air around each other as they courted. The man, distracted from his task by their flight, relaxed his shoulders and looked up at them with. He resented the sight of the courting birds, for happy scenes like that seemed to mock his own unspeakable situation. The softest hiss of resignation escaped through his gritted yellow teeth, and he resumed digging.

In happier times, Severus Snape would have ignored the birds … or merely hexed them to the ground (should he’d have been having a sufficiently bad day). Nowadays, though, he had to conserve his energies. The strain of surviving a winter on tight rations was not the only reason for this need; when he had woken before sunrise a few hours earlier, he had cast a glamour spell over his body to conceal a pregnancy that the Ministry of Magic, under the control of Dolores Umbridge, had imposed on him fifteen months ago … though to him, the way he felt, it may as well have been a lifetime. He had noticed recent signs that his gravid condition could be coming to an end, though it was difficult to tell - due to the effects of a slowing spell that had unnaturally extended it.

He had done what he could to prepare himself for the birth, which recently he’d had a strong, nagging feeling could come about any day now. Much as he’d prided himself on his independence in the past, he could not also keep away a growing fear of that impending event … especially the fear of going through it alone, and without help. There was a likelihood of that fear becoming realised – the Ministry had been keeping a much closer watch on the activities of the tiny resistance movement he’d been a part of, since their involvement the previous year with the (apparent) death of the lamented young war hero, Harry Potter.

That was also the reason why Severus himself dared not risk seeking further for help; he was the Ministry’s main suspect in that ‘death’, and he could not risk being brought before Umbridge at a time like this ... if, as he’d had good reason to suspect, she was the one who was truly behind what happened to Harry. She would make short work of the boy’s soul that Severus had rescued … should she ever find where he’d kept it hidden and sleeping within his body, awaiting the opportunity for rebirth.

Moreover, both Ginny Potter and Hermione Weasley’s names had been called up in the latest of the Ministry’s annual Rejuvenation Project polls, meaning that both were pregnant themselves now, part of a Ministry plan to forcibly boost Britain’s post-war wizarding population. The result being that neither Witch was fit to apparate to check on Severus, or, for the well being of their own unborn offspring, make much use of the animagus ability they’d recently learnt. For the food, health-sustaining potion ingredients, and outside news that he needed, Severus had been forced to rely on surreptitious visits from the already overworked House Elves on their side.

Many times, he needed more than what they could bring, forcing him to risk exposure to scrounge what he could to make up for it … like this morning, when he discovered he was running low on the fresh onion-weed roots, which he needed to brew the only vitality-boosting potion that was safe for him to take now. Sighing again … as quietly as he could, Severus bagged the last of the roots, along with the rest of his morning’s gatherings, hoping he’d cut a sufficient amount to brew enough for what he needed. He had woken yet again, that morning, with a dull ache around the base of his abdomen … another reminder that the slowing spell was wearing off, and that Eileen, the child he was carrying whom he’d named after his mother, would soon need to be brought into the world.

He hoped, and prayed to whatever powers he knew of, that when that time came, it would be during Hogwart’s school hours, when either Dipsy or Krykett would be free to help with the delivery. If not, he had many times also gone over and mentally rehearsed what he would do in that case; and he only hoped that he could summon the magical energy and concentration that he would need then. The vitality draft would help him greatly with that … if what he had left was still enough.

Clumsily (for his limbs were cold) Severus wiped and sheathed the dirk, and struggled back into his cloak again – the morning dew had soaked it enough to make the sleeves stick. A quick drying spell fixed that, though even that simple expenditure of his magic drained him. Rising awkwardly to his feet, for he’d not had the energy to cast a stronger lightness charm on his body, he trudged off to a sunny patch by the foot of a tree … partly hidden by a thicket, should he suddenly need to hide. He breathed slightly with relief as he leaned his aching frame against its trunk, allowing his arms to flop beside him, so as to catch more sun.

<I>I need to sleep! </I> He thought as he basked, <I>once again, I did not have a very good night</I>. He laid his head back against the tree, to let the sunlight warm his neck and face, and soon, he could feel the heat already beginning to penetrate through his dark garments. Shifting his position slightly for comfort, the man opened one cold black eye to look down at the scrawny arms draped over his body. When his gaze reached his abdomen, even though the glamour spell still hid it’s true bulk, he screwed his eye shut again, rolling his head away as though he’d just spied a nest of maggots.

<I>Good God! </I> He hissed softly to himself, as the familiar feeling of self-disgust returned – <I>Oh Dear Merlin’s rusty skullcap, I don’t think I can never, never get used to ever having had this happen to me. Never</I>. He moved one hand up to his face, to stop himself from giving in to a sudden urge to cry like a weak and stupid child. Though he was confident that there was nobody around to witness the breakdown, had he let himself do so, staying in control still remained a matter of honour to him.

<I>You Will Not Weaken!! </I> He tersely ordered himself, while lightly touching his fingers to his temples, eyes closed and concentrating. All feeling blanked out under the mental disciplines that had become second nature to him, and to his great relief, the urge to weep soon left him. Severus permitted himself another near inaudible sigh, as he let himself relax against the tree, letting the sunlight soak into his dark clothing and warm him. As the morning matured, he started to feel slightly better. <I>I must not allow myself to fall asleep until I am back home</I>, he thought drowsily, <I>it is not at all safe to doze off out here</I>.

Searching one of his pockets, he took out a small flask filled with a fluid like watery ink, and let a few drops of it fall onto the back of his hand. Sipping that, he felt instant relief again from the persistent nausea that had just started to come back. He knew that he would need to leave the clearing soon. But he also doubted if he was physically ready enough yet to drag himself back to his cold little hideout.

He had also forgotten (or, more truthfully – didn’t have the energy) to cast an anti-slumber ward on himself. As sleep crept up and caught him, his last thought was to wonder how Draco would be faring now. Apart from the House Elves, he had not seen or heard directly from the resistance since February. He wished that he could have brought with him the painting the Malfoys had given him when he came here, but it had been needed back at the Burrow. Among the many things he had been missing during this exile was his old Headmaster’s company …

<center><b>***</b></center>

A cloud of insects scattered as two wizards and a witch apparated on the edge of a field of budding stinging nettles. “Oh bother, nettles!” the witch exclaimed. “I find a knee-blanket charm is pretty good for them,” advised the older of the wizards. The younger wizard, a lanky, wiry-haired man in his thirties, spoke up next. “If all seems clear to you two, I will change now”. He said in a quiet, softly accented voice, whilst pocketing his wand. Without awaiting further word from the others, he promptly transfigured into a wolfhound. “All right then,” said the other wizard in his low, gruff voice, his magical eye spinning around to face forward with the other one; “Let us go”.

“What about Muggles here, Moody?” said the witch, her heart-shaped face peering from beneath her hood. “Cano here has learnt to develop a very good nose for them, Tonks” Alastor Moody replied. The wolfhound looked up briefly, pulling a wide dog-grin at Nymphadora Tonk’s words.

“So he’ll be able to alert us in time should any turn up?” Tonks asked. Moody nodded, adding; “I also don’t think Snape should likely be able to move too far nowadays, if we find him. There’s been no evidence I know of that he’s had that kid of his yet”, he said, “and the healers found traces of a slowing spell on Harry’s body, might have used one on himself too”. Tonks shuddered at the thought of that. She could little understand, when reading the healer’s reports, the senseless cruelty her despised ex-teacher had shown, when they concluded that he had deliberately hexed Harry, to prolong the dangerous gestation that had eventually killed him.

<I>Why did he do that awful thing to him? </I> She thought, bitterly, <I>and Harry had trusted that bastard so much since the war</I>. She remembered the dramatic turnaround in the boy’s attitude back then, she was there herself when Harry had defied both Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, to recklessly storm off to take both Snape and LeStrange down together by himself. She was also there when, two weeks later, Harry returned … badly wounded himself, with Snape nearly dead in his arms, shouting for the healers …

<I>He should have been left for the crows,</I> Tonks thought, <I>some people will never, ever change</I> …

“So now, we simply walk and look”. Moody said. “We will be need to take this slowly and thoroughly if we want to have any chance of finding him – I hope you wont get too bored, it might take some time”. “Not at all.” Tonks replied. “I haven’t been able to get outdoors as much as I’d like to lately”. Her voice trailed wistfully off for a moment, before she added: “It’s been a little too easy for me to hide myself away behind my desk, since Remus went. It’ll do me good to get outside for a bit of adventure now and then”.

“ Well”, said Moody, “There’s a chance you might get some, if we find who we’re looking for”. He remembered when Percy had forwarded an urgent owl that arrived at the Ministry, reporting that a man matching Snape’s description being sighted by a local Squib (who had been on his way to visit some Muggle relatives). Moody had volunteered to head the quickly assembled search party. He had offered Tonks a chance to join, in spite of her still being on leave due to Remus’s death, as wizarding manpower was in desperately short supply. It was prudent to have an extra pair of eyes about, as well as an extra wand … in case it was necessary to ‘persuade’ Snape to come with them, should they find him. Tonks was also the only able-bodied Auror left who had been available.

That was why she had found herself, outdoors on a pleasantly cool spring day, in the company of Moody and Cano, the softly spoken Auror on loan to the Ministry, from his employers in Berlin. The search was proving to be pleasant, though boring work – walking slowly behind the other two, painstakingly searching the area with her eyes, ears and wand, Cano using his nose. It was late afternoon; almost sunset, when all of a sudden the wolfhound froze, his nose pointed like a gun dog’s. “Muggle or Squib, I’m not sure!” hissed Moody to Tonks, “Quickly – disguise yourself!”

A moment later, an elderly man with a round, florid nose and wing-nut ears strolled into view, leading a tri-coloured mutt. He noticed there were two men standing by the trail, dressed in identical tweed outfits. A wolfhound was sitting next to them, without any sign of a lead or collar on. Moody recognised him as Charlesworth, the Squib who had reported Snape’s presence to the Ministry yesterday. Cautiously, he waved, introduced himself, and motioned to Tonks and Cano to also return to their normal appearance.

“Oi – you, that dog o’ your’s bite?” he asked the Aurors, in jest. “No sir, we have him well under control” Moody replied (Cano scowled a little, then permitted himself a wry smile) “Well, ‘e better not then, I don’t want my dear old Lady gettin’ bothered” – Charlesworth gave the mutt a pat – “And you lot better be careful too” he added in a warning voice, “I seen ‘im again just now, ‘e’s about six miles back down the road, right in the direction of where your ‘eading”. “What was he doing?” Asked Moody.

“E looked like ‘e was ‘aving a right big sleep under the bushes by that old apple tree what’s down over in McCormack’s cow paddock, right by the old wood”. He said, continuing: “E might ‘ave moved on or ‘e might still be ‘ere – so if your quick you might be in luck”. “<I>Snape?! </I>” Tonks said, “Sleeping out in the open in broad daylight, when he’s supposedly in hiding?!” Moody couldn’t believe it either. “Aye” Charlesworth answered, “But ‘e might ‘ave been livin’ aroun’ here for a while, too”.

“I’ve been ‘earing rumours from some of the Muggles I know,” he said, “bout some skinny long-haired weirdo in black robes, who’s as thin as death an’ wi’ a bad beer gut, ‘oo’s always tryin’ not to cough”, he continued “I didn’t make the connection of ‘im with that Snape feller until now, when I spotted ‘im, yesterday an’ today,” adding, “I did think to meeself, when I saw ‘im, that ‘e did indeed look more than a bit sickly, like they said”.

“Thanks for that information” Moody said. “It’s a pleasure” the Squib replied, “I warn you lot to be careful now, ‘ere?” he added; “You don’ know what ‘e might do wi’ all the stories I’d been readin’ about ‘im in the papers, an’ especially what ‘e did to that poor ‘Arry Potter lad, too”. He said, “So anyways I’d better be off then” he said, “You all take care now, you ‘ear?” “We will, thank you!” Moody replied. Charlesworth grunted, and then continued on his way, dog in tow. As soon as he was gone, Moody took his wand out, and quickly traced the outlines of a charm in the air – “Just in case,” he said, “to make sure he wasn’t somebody else in disguise”. He found nothing suspicious, but Moody still cast another spell to double-check, before he was satisfied enough to continue on with the others.

<center><b>***</b></center>

Severus woke up suddenly to a hot, dull pain across his midriff. He had been experiencing random pains like that for the last two weeks, though they had been coming more frequently the past three or four days. This time, he thought, studying the lowering sun with a small stab of fear, the pain seemed to be considerably stronger than ever. He hoped it wasn’t what he feared it was … there was no way now, that he could raise the kind of magic needed to hold a labour off all night, until the House Elves were free from their curfew to help him. Moreover, it was very obvious that he had been asleep all day, in spite of his better judgement. If Eileen’s birth began now, he would not have time to brew more of the vitality draft … and he probably had just enough left for two small swallows, if that.

Above him, four crows flew over, cawing loudly in alarm. There were probably people about … he froze, and scanned the countryside around him, straining his ears for the sound of voices and footsteps. Muggle or wizarding, it didn’t matter, if there were people about, he couldn’t stay.

He pushed himself up, still groggy from his sleep, and wrapped his cloak around his body while casting a glamour of confoundment over him. Not the ideal spell to camouflage him on his getaway, but it was the best that his weakened magical reserves could manage. Then he rummaged through his robes until he found the bag of sweets that Fred Weasley had given him, and waited … it was important to find out where the people were coming from. He soon noticed a commotion of birds around a patch of forest at the foot of the hill he was on, and he saw a rabbit flee out of a small stand of pine trees at it’s edge. He decided that it would be a good idea to focus his watch there.

It did not take long. Out from there emerged a young witch and an old wizard, both of whom he quickly recognised as Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody – Ministry Aurors both. Beside them stalked a gigantic grey dog, most likely an animagus.

Severus realised that if he was to escape in time, the only ways were to either apparate – something that he was unable to do right now – or create a distraction. He was reluctant to use up another one of the precious wishing pastilles that Fred had given him, but it looked as though he would have little choice. They had been charmed to have any physical effect one wished for if swallowed, or to create any illusion one desired if spat out … so long as the wish was whispered before you chewed them. Their magic always wore off after twenty minutes or so, but he had still found them useful, though he’d been sparing in his use of them.

It was the illusion that he needed now … he took one out, stuck it into his mouth, and before he chewed, whispered, “<I>Simulo</I>”. Then, though giddy with hunger, and aching to swallow the rich little mouthful, Severus spat it back out onto a patch of moss … and then crawled away through the undergrowth, as quickly and quietly as he could manage.

<center><b>***</b></center>

The three Aurors jumped at a sudden sound from the top of the hill above them, like the crack of a Muggle gunshot, or …

“Someone’s just apparated!” Tonks hissed, “Up on that hill – quick, let’s go!” Moody snapped, as Cano was already morphing back into human form, preparing to apparate …

Cano reached the hilltop first, and he was back to animagus form – sniffing the ground and air as Tonks and Moody joined him. He transfigured back to human form as soon as he saw them, wand held out on the ready. “I know the scent – it was definitely Severus Snape,” he said, tersely. “And that old squib was right – I can smell there is something wrong with him, but I can’t put my finger on it yet”. Moody nodded. “Let us know if you get any theories”. Cano nodded grimly, before returning to dog form. “Now” Moody continued, “we have to see if we can be able to track him from here. If he’s gone too far away, we may already have lost him again”.

Moody and Cano kept watch, as Moody first touched his wand to the spot where Snape had been – and then took from his robes a device resembling a cheap toy compass. Tonks instantly recognised the tracking mirror – yet another recent Ministry invention, and even Cano craned his wiry head over to admire it. “We are in luck” Moody said, “I’ve picked up a trace … he hasn’t gone very far from here either, he’s currently in a deserted Muggle-area, three miles to the southwest of us”.

“How did he get there so quickly?” Tonks asked. “Apparated, I think” Moody replied. “But …” Tonks said, “He can’t, can he? As far as we know, he still could have his baby …” “It can be done” Moody said, grimly, “but apparating while you are expectin’ is a bloody big risk to the child, as well as the one who carries it”.

“He wouldn’t …” Tonks breathed, in horror. “Don’t start making assumptions, Tonks” Moody said, “For all we know, he might have had it by now …” The wolfhound next to Tonks shook his head, and stood up. “He is still carrying the child,” Cano said matter-of-factly, as he resumed human form, “but he is also very close to having the birth. That too I found in the scent”. He pointed his finger at something pale and slimy on a patch of moss, gently poking at it with the toe of his boot. “Eww, it that what I think it is?” Tonks said.

“It seems like it might be his” Moody said, as he bent down to examine the spittle Cano had found, “I’ll see if I can use it to throw a tag-along charm on him” he added, “but we’ll have to be quick if we want to find his exact location, the magical traces will have faded too much. We need to get him, now if possible” he said as he traced another complicated rune in the air above where Snape had spit. “But no time to explain,” he said, raising his wand, “quickly, follow what I do … Now! “<I>Sequor Proximus Discessus! </I>” The three pointed their wands as one to the centre of the patch of pressed grass where Snape had been, and apparated together with a light crackle.

They reappeared inside an abandoned Muggle farmhouse, which appeared so dangerously close to collapsing that Moody wondered if he should do a discrete shielding charm. Cano and Tonks had immediately occupied themselves with a search of the building, treading silently and scanning with wands out. Cano suddenly froze – Moody was reminded of the way he had reacted to the Squib’s presence in animagus form – and Tonks followed suit.

The two of them began stepping slowly towards a partly smashed wooden door swinging on two rusted hinges; Moody behind them … then she heard the voice – one that she instantly recognised. “You would be wise to keep your distance from me, Auror … Tonks … Moody …” The voice seemed to float at them from the direction of what appeared to be a ruined pig-sty. It had a velvety, dangerous-sounding croon to it … Tonks spoke up first: “Severus Snape, we request that you throw down your wand and come quietly”. “And what if I wish to first discuss the terms of my surrender?” Snape replied from his hiding-place. “Then we shall be forced to stun you,” Tonks coldly replied.

Snape reacted in a way that made Moody’s nerves jump. “THEN STAY AWAY!!! KEEP AWAY FROM ME DO NOT COME NEAR ME DO NOT EVEN LOOK AT ME!!! At the threat of being hit by a stunner, Snape’s voice had switched to a terror-twisted scream. Something didn’t make sense … but there was no time to ponder. A patch of wall of wall behind them suddenly collapsed – showering them in a cloud of limestone dust and flying bits of mortar. The three dashed to a door to escape the debris, a chip of which clipped Tonks on the arm, bruising her.

“I TOLD YoU TO GET away FROM MEeEEE!!!” Snape shouted again, as they emerged to see him in a corner of one of the sties, his back against a rickety wooden gate, clutching at his heavy midriff with one hand, whilst keeping his wand aimed at the three “Severus Snape …” Cano began: “STAY AWAY from ME … YOU TOO Moody … all of you just KEEP AWAY from me and LEAVE ME BE!!” his voice wavered in and out of a scream.

“Severus Snape” Tonks said, matter-of-factly “We are three against your one, you can’t possibly succeed in winni ...” While she spoke, Moody noticed that Snape had suddenly lowered his head and looked like he was concentrating … concentrating on … “Snape! Sto …” she shouted but it was too late. Before Moody or Tonks could finish their sentences, Snape disappeared with an explosive crack. He had apparated again.

Tonks and Cano responded quickly, pouncing on the spot from where Snape had disappeared. Moody searched the sties, building and surrounds with the two Aurors for nearly an hour, fussing around with wands and instruments. Finally they stood up, Tonks shaking her head. The sun had set, and it was getting late. “We can’t track him, he’s gone too far away,” she said. “I’m not sure” Moody replied, scanning the horizon beneath the darkening sky, “I have a feeling that there was something amiss about that little scene we just witnessed. I’d like to go back to that hilltop once more, before it gets too dark”. “One more try, then”. Tonks agreed, as she and Cano prepared to apparate back to the hill with him. If the Aurors found no other traces tonight, it seemed that the search would have to be over, for the time being.

<center><b>***</b></center>

His hut had been warded against any lights or sounds leaving it, though he could still easily see or hear all that went on outside. The effort of casting them had left Severus weary enough to need to lie down on his bed awhile to rest. He had also taken one precious sip of the last of his vitality draft to help his energy return. He did not take more than a sip, for he knew now that he would later tonight need to take the potion again. A lone candle lit the single room of his home for the past seven months. On the rough wooden table next to it was a simple green cloth, upon which had been placed a single wizarding sickle of well-bitten silver.

Severus looked at the coin repeatedly, while he tried to relax, to keep his mind off the pains that had been repeating themselves with gradually increasing frequency. He tried to keep the details of his plan clear in his mind, and tried not to think too much of the fear that had been increasing all evening, as the labour progressed. The potion bottle and the wishing pastilles sat together on the table by the cloth, for when he would soon need them. It had to be done so accurately … another contraction came, a little stronger than the last, and for a moment, there was only pain again.

It was that pain that he feared, more than anything else. Though it hadn’t been as severe as his memories of the Cruciatus curse, it was gradually coming to feel close enough to that in its intensity … and, unlike the <I>Crucio</I>, this pain had a sickly, draining … <I>alien</I> quality of its own that unnerved him. If the pain of Crucio could have a colour, Severus thought, as he struggled to ride through the agony of the current contraction, it would be a fiery, bloody red. This pain, though … he could imagine its colour as a hot, bluish white, like cruel fingers digging their nails deep into the soft lining of the artificial womb where Eileen still lay … and for the umpteenth time that evening, he questioned his own wisdom in casting that spell to speed his labour, earlier that afternoon … back in those hours, when things did not hurt so much.

The pain faded again, as quickly as it had come. Severus stopped gasping, and looked back up at a battered old clock on the mantelpiece. It had been the fourth contraction that hour, and there were still ten minutes of it to go. Severus levered himself upright, wondering if it would be possible to attempt sending a Patronus for help, while he was still able. That had also been part of his plan, but since his near miss with the Aurors that day, he had been reluctant to do so … for fear of being found. Though his mind still wavered, he had more or less decided, under the circumstances, to try to go it alone.

According to what he had read on the subject, he could expect the pains he was experiencing to come increasingly closer together, until – according to the books - would change to an urge to push downwards. At that point, he planned to attempt an animagus transformation, concentrating on modifying his body whilst doing so that, once changed, he could lay his child like an egg. That was what the coin on the cloth was for – a safe place on which he could put her, so that, when he returned to human form, he could change her back to her natural form. He had turned the cloth green, so that, should he miss the coin, the egg would still show up on it. Heavens forbid, that he should ever lose it, or take so long in finding it again, that it became too late for him to change her back …

Seeing as it was unlikely that he would get help in time … and the area was probably still crawling with Aurors, that remained his plan – whether or not it would work. He looked to where an amphora of water stood against a wall, a battered iron mug hanging from a nail above it, and an empty wooden bucket sitting beside. At least that had been filled while he could do so … he fancied a drink, but wondered how his stomach would react to having anything entering it at the moment. It was unlikely he could keep a wishing pastille down long enough for it to work … He noticed another feeling in his abdomen, one of movement and pushing. Eileen was trying to right herself again. After being carried upright for most of his unnaturally extended gestation, she was not accustomed to lying upside-down … but she would need to remain that way, in case things went wrong in the first plan.

A simple calming spell relaxed her, but Severus had no time to enjoy the quietude; another contraction seized him, and he was forced to lie still while it passed, teeth gritted, and eyes screwed so tightly shut that he could see stars and flashes. If they became any more painful than that, he thought, he was sure that he would faint. After a while, the pain abated again, and he decided to risk having a drink. Taking an old sweeping-broom by the handle to keep himself steady, Severus hobbled over to the amphora. His legs felt as weak as strings, his belly was tight, hot, heavy and sore, his back was slowly killing him, but somehow he managed to make it over there without incident.

He didn’t realise how thirsty he was; the cool water was like nectar to him, and he wondered if he’d ever before appreciated a drink so much as this. In spite of the likelihood of him retching it up during the next contraction, he filled the mug again, and took another draught before returning to the couch to wait it out. The next pain hit him like a blow from a horntail, forcing his eyes to water, and he tasted blood from where he had bitten his cheek … again. But at least, this time … he did not faint …

<center><b>***</b></center>

It was two thirty am, by the clock on the mantelpiece, before Severus finally realised, through the haze of pain fogging his mind - that a new feeling had become discernible amongst the contractions that had now become almost continuous. It felt, to him, like he wanted to squeeze his belly tight, and push something downwards, and out of his body … groggily, he decided that must be a sign that it was time. Steadying himself with the broom again, he made his way to the table, and somehow managed to take a swallow of what was left of the vitality draft, without spilling any. Severus then lay himself down by a leg of the table, wand in hand, and began to will his animagus transformation to come about.

He felt the familiar changes come over his body as it grew smaller, harder in places, sprouting extra legs … the pain abated as the labouring womb disappeared, Eileen becoming a heavy egg in his body. He sensed her surprise as she went through her change along with his, and he turned his mind to making the modifications he’d planned, fashioning a birth canal down which she could travel in her egg. Then, something went wrong … Severus had expected the transfiguration to be slower than normal, since he had been physically weakened, as well as having to take time for the modifications he needed.

He did not, however, expect to find himself lying sprawled half-transformed on the floor, the size of a cat, limbs flailing everywhere, and the most definite feeling … almost like a scream … of physical distress from Eileen that he’d ever known. Something about that mental surge of pain and fear had the effect of a cold shot of energy on Severus, and he somehow found the strength to reverse his change, and return to wizard form. With, as he realised when, feeling an immediate urge to push, moving Eileen’s body downwards in a way that felt too … alien for his ease of mind – his modified birth canal intact.

This gave him a sudden hope, that somehow, he would still have a chance of safely delivering her now … and, maybe, for him to even survive it. He propped his back against the couch, gripped the rough wood of its arms, and pushed again. She moved a little. Severus gathered his breath, wondering if he ought to take the last of that draft to give him strength … and then gritted his teeth, and strained again, with all the strength he could gather. Eileen moved again, a little way … and then stopped. With his next push, she went no further, though he felt her head jammed against the inside of his hipbone. The area behind his genitals felt sticky, and he could smell blood. That was a good sign … it meant the birth canal was complete, but he realised that he would need to modify his hips at once, if she was to be able to leave his body that way.

Severus reached out for his wand with a shaking hand, hoping that he would still be able to summon enough magic for a bone-shifting charm. He wondered, wildly, whether Harry’s soul would be disturbed by the trauma his body was going through, or whether it still safely lay, blissfully oblivious, within it’s little patch of flesh. As his fingers closed around the stiff, springy birch wood, he felt a need to push come over him again, along with another stray contraction so violent, so painful, that he screamed as he fell back to the floor, forgetting to close his eyes as he fainted …

<center><b>***</b></center>

He did not know for how many minutes he’d been passed out, but he awoke to the feeling of rough, steady hands on his shoulders and arms, and the cool, soothing play of magic over his hips, crotch and abdomen. He vaguely heard a man’s voice, rough and steady as those hands, ask him if he was awake … and when he moaned in an attempt to reply, felt the edge of a cup against his lips, and a hand supporting his head. The familiar taste of a potion – strengthening solution - flooded his mouth, and Severus felt himself foggily come back to reality.

“Just as well for you, young man, I decided to follow that hunch of mine” the man’s voice said, “and just as well too that the silencing ward you cast was too weak to hold that scream. You and that baby could have easily been goners, you do know that, don’t you?” “I would have had no other choice”, Severus said, weakly. He blinked his eyes, and found that they stung with cold tears … he must have shed them while he had been out to it. An old, scarred hand proffered him a simple linen handkerchief, which Severus gratefully took to clear his eyes with, too tired, and in too much pain to bother with being embarrassed by them.

“When you’re ready, Mr. Snape”, the man said, “we’ll see if we can get that little girl of your’s out into the world”. “And then, you will turn her and me in to the Ministry” Severus muttered, recognising, for the first time, that it was the old Auror, Alastor Moody, who had been attending to him. He also seemed to be alone. “Your friends are probably waiting outside for me to finish it”, he added, trying to sneer, but sounding defeated instead.

“Not so fast, lad!” Moody said, as he busied himself at the table with towels, potions, strings and kettles of hot water, “Once we get the business of this birth over, and you and she are settled, I’m going to ask you a few questions as to …” Moody turned around, and tapped Severus on the flank with a finger, his magical eye also pointed there “… why the soul of Harry Potter just happened to have found its way in there”. Severus felt a sarcastic retort form on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back, saying instead; “Why do you need to know that?”

“Because it will make a big difference”, Moody replied, “between whether I decide to turn you in after this, or whether I send you to somewhere safe. A very big difference, Severus Snape”, he said, “and it would help you greatly if you were honest with me. Now”, he added, turning to Severus with a towel and basin of water levitating above his wand, two vials of potion in the other hand. “I think it’s about time we get this over with. I hope you are not the sort to be easily embarrassed, Professor …”

He wasn’t, though in spite of the situation, it still did not feel quite <I>right</I> to let himself be touched, checked, even manhandled in such an intimate place. He remembered when he could barely stand the regular healer’s examinations earlier in the pregnancy, and how it had felt almost unbearable to let Madam Weasley … a former <I>student</I> of his … touch his midriff so she could heal it after that fall. Having Moody’s hands all over, and all inside him, was endurable, considering the circumstances … but only just. “Right”, Moody said, “I think things should be ready now. I am going to use magic to help her out, but you have got to push. That potion I gave you should give you enough strength to do it … so now, are you ready, Mr. Snape?’

Severus nodded weakly, and Moody aimed his wand. He felt a sudden, strong pulling sensation that forced a gasp of surprise out of him. “Don’t forget to give me a bit of help, now” Moody said, and Severus, remembering, pushed. Eileen moved, and he felt his eyes sting with relief. He reached up to wipe them on the back of his sleeve, but the need to push came again, naturally this time … and for the next few minutes, between the efforts of both of them, he felt her head first crown (to the sound of his hips audibly <I>crack</I> as they widened … a flick from Moody’s wand stopped the sudden pain from that, but a dull soreness remained), then a sudden flare of pain (and an “Oops, didn’t anticipate that” out of Moody), as he felt the over-stretched passage below his privates suddenly give way.

<I>At least I do not have to use that hole for anything else, </I> Severus thought as he felt the cool energy of Moody’s healing magic play briefly over the wound. Within seconds, both Severus and Moody’s focus had returned to getting the child out. The rest of the head was not as bad as the initial bit, though passing her shoulders made him scream again. After that, the rest of her body felt like nothing … though by the exited exclamations of his Auror midwife, he’d guessed that she was finally delivered. Severus himself wondered whether he also ought to be celebrating, but at the moment, all he could feel was tiredness, unreality, shock … and relief.

He heard the sound of water, and Moody’s gentle prattling as he washed her. He wondered if he should try to look up, to see what she looked like; but he then heard a thin, reedy wail … so much like the cries of Harry’s sons. The sound seemed to sink down through his skin, and into his heart … and he felt afraid. For a moment, he wished that he could take a time-turner and run away. But then Moody returned from bathing Eileen with a towelling-wrapped bundle in his arms, handing it to Severus. “Your daughter, sir” he said. Severus nervously took the bundle, as though it might contain a baby chimera, and cautiously peeled back a corner of the cloth for a better look. “One way or another” Moody added, “I’m not going to leave you here on your own with this child. Something tells me you’re going to be needing quite a fair bit of help with her”.

She was larger than how Severus had remembered Harry’s, or even Ron’s sons to be. She was not bald, like Seamus; there was dark hair on her head - though not as thick or wild as Harry’s twins. On her, it lay thin, flat and straight. In his mind’s eye, Severus had a flash of a thin, pallid teenage girl, with dark eyes and arched nose, straight black hair hanging in curtains around her face. He hoped that it would never become greasy, like his. “You’ll need to feed her later on” Moody broke in, breaking his train of thought, and reminding Severus of his uncomfortable and leaking breasts. <I>That</I> was something he’d been trying not to think too much about lately …

The old man offered him a steaming mug, and Severus realized it was a hot broth that had just been conjured for him. “This’ll do for a while, until I can get you something more substantial”, the Auror said, as Severus nodded in gratitude, and drank it. Glancing at the cabin window, he noticed that the sky outside looked lighter than before … an ironic reminder of the night of Harry’s delivery, and near death. Another sound came from the bundle, and Severus turned his attention to Eileen again. This time, he saw simply a red-faced, black haired infant. The child that he had been forced by the Ministry to bear, his daughter … his own flesh and blood, and he still did not know what to feel.

Dear God and Merlin, Severus thought, as he gazed at the face of his sleeping child … what am I going to do?

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