My Son One and Only

My Son One and Only

*

Prologue

One Birth, Two Funerals

*

A tall, dark-haired man wrapped in a black robe and a cloak stood in front of an open grave. Looking down at it, he saw a lonely, dark coffin on the bottom of it.

Then somebody whispered a spell and the grave started to fill itself. Turning around, the man walked away, his motions stiff and almost robot-like. Not that he'd known what a robot was, though.

"Severus?" asked a soft voice, a gentle hand being placed onto his shoulder. "Severus, are you all right?"

The man turned slowly towards the speaker, and then sighed. "Yes, I am, Alice," he said quietly, nodding shortly at one of the very few people he ever called by their given name. "I'm fine." At her doubtful glance, he then snapped irritably, "How do you think I could be all right? Celine's dead! She's dead, and she'll never come back! How exactly do you think I could ever be all right again?"

"Look, Severus, I'm really sorry for all that's happened to you lately," Alice Longbottom said quietly, not taken aback by his sudden burst. She was too used to Severus's tricks. "I know how much you loved her. But at least try to remember that she gave up her life for a reason, okay?"

"Of course I'll remember," he replied, sighing. Letting his cloak slide a bit open, he then added softly, "How could I forget, when she left me such an angel?" On his arm, protected from the harsh wind by his thick cloak, the witch saw a tiny infant with a tuft of dark, fine hair on top of his head.

"True," she said, smiling sadly. "Nicholas is truly a wonderful creature. I hope my baby will be as beautiful," she added then, placing a hand over her full-term belly.

"Of course it will, dear," Frank said, wrapping his arms around his wife's shoulders from behind. "It does, after all, have just as wonderful a mother." With that, he also gave a slight smile at the little baby on the Potions Master's arms. "I'm sorry, Severus," he added quietly. "I know you loved Celine very much."

The Slytherin nodded again shortly. "I've never loved anybody more," he said quietly. With a glance down at little Nicholas, he added softly, "Well, nobody but this little one here."

"You must be kidding," said then a harsh voice behind them. "Severus Snape -- cooing at a child? Truly, the world must have come to its end. The greasy git cannot be actually capable of human emotions!"

They all turned to see James Potter standing there, his eyes mocking the widower. The bespectacled boy's wife soon came close, however, placing a hand on his arm.

"James, you'll apologize right now," she hissed through her teeth, her arms crossed between her breasts and her big belly. "We're at her wife's funeral -- you should have at least some respect!"

"Yeah, we are in his wife's funeral," spat the Gryffindor. "I'm here because you were friends with Celine, not because I was friends with Snivellius." With this, he sent a glare at the mentioned man's direction.

"Don't bother," Severus said curtly as Lily again prepared to shout at her husband. "If I actually paid attention to anything what he says, I would have gone mad a long time ago."

"You mean there's still somewhere to go with you?" taunted James him. "Well, now you've truly surprised me, Snivellius. I'd thought there was no sinking lower from where you are!"

Ignoring both his insults and the other people's angry comments at James, Severus turned around, glancing again down at his little child. The baby had stuck one finger into his tiny mouth, sucking hungrily at it. With a sad smile, he shook his head. Then he concentrated his powers and whispered a couple of words that activated the Disapparating spell.

A moment of time, a little popping sound, and a whirl of air later, he and his son were both away.

*

As soon as he got back to home with Nicholas, Severus sank to a nearby couch with a deep sigh. Nicholas didn't even bother to open his eyes, continuing his sleep. With a glance at his Muggle watch -- which he'd got solely for this purpose -- he knew that it would be about half an hour before the boy would again wake to be fed. So, he had half an hour of free time.

He had half an hour of time -- but for what, he didn't exactly know.

It had been so easy before. Celine'd always been there, laughing, chattering, singing -- well, even yelling at him sometimes, but mostly she'd been happy. She had brought life to this dark, quiet, empty house, filled it with her light and joy. Now she was away, however, and all her blessings had gone with her.

Well, not all, as he was forced to think as he looked down at the infant on his hands. Getting slowly to his feet, he then walked to the nursery -- which was charmed so that he would always hear even the tiniest sound from there, no matter where he was -- and laid his little baby boy down to his cradle. As Nicholas soon curled up under the covers he tucked him in with, instead of leaving he just sat there next to the cradle, looking down at his little son.

This was Celine's gift to him, the last thing she'd ever given to him. He was definitely going to hold onto this little thing, his little song, hold onto the last blessing Celine had brought to his dark, lonely life. No, he would never blame this child for Celine's death. As much as he'd loved his wife, he knew that this baby was innocent of her death. He would not blame him, because if he'd done that, Celine's sacrifice would have been for naught.

He could still remember her vividly. When he closed his eyes tightly, he could almost see her in front of himself. Her flow of her brown, curly hair as she flung it over her shoulder, the pretty smile on her face, the warm brown eyes, the sound of her laughter. Especially well he remembered one moment when he'd seen Celine on her most beautiful.

It had been the beginning of that summer, and they'd been in the garden of their little cottage. Suddenly he'd heard how Celine gasped. Flinging around, he'd been surprised to find her wife smiling warmly despite the startled gasp.

"The baby," Celine'd said, one hand placed over her rounded tummy. "It kicked." The breeze had been throwing her hair to one side, making the flower in her hair shiver a bit. Her thin maternity robe had clung to her on the wind's side and flown wide on the other side. Her engagement and wedding ring had both shone brightly in her left hand, and her eyes had been twinkling with joy. That one time, in the middle of the early flowers and bright rays of sun, she'd been a picture of absolute beauty in the eyes of her husband.

...Not that she hadn't been that even at other times, of course. At all times, to be honest.

Yes, Severus had loved his wife, loved her dearly indeed. Nothing could have been more precious to him than his beautiful little Ravenclaw. His dear wife, his image of humanly perfection who'd borne him a beautiful, perfect son.

A son who would grow up without his mother, now.

He did not want to believe it true, but he could not deny the obvious truth. Celine was gone, she was gone and he could not do a thing about it. The only thing left of her was Nicholas, his -- no, their little Nicholas. And he would care for him as well as he could, no matter what the cost.

No matter what the cost.

*

"Nicholas?" Severus called out well before entering the nursery. "Nicholas?" He was a tad worried. His son should have waked up to be fed some time before, but he hadn't done that. Of course Severus did not see this as a reason to panic, it wasn't like Nicholas had ever slept and woke within the expected minute -- the expected hour, rather. Even though the boy was only two weeks old, he'd already got to know his habits.

However, when he came to the nursery door, he got more than just a bit worried. He panicked, pure and simple. He hadn't heard Nicholas's breath, but that hadn't been a reason to worry -- the boy was a quiet sleeper, and he did check up on him every now and then even while he just slept. However, now that he was inside, his usual hearing and the spell combined should have made him able to hear his son's breathing.

However, he did not hear that.

Hurrying to the cradle, the worst possibilities already playing around in his mind, he reached out a slightly trembling hand to the cradle. Anything could have happened. Voldemort might have doubted his loyalties and sent somebody to take Nicholas from him. Or Nicholas could be --

Then he took a step forward, finally able to see inside the cradle.

The baby bottle fell from his other hand, shattering to tiny pieces all over the floor, as he froze in shock. There was indeed a baby lying peacefully in the little cradle, yes.

But no, the baby was not breathing.