The Mating Game

Chapter Fifteen

The Roar of the Lion

Hermione supposed that time would drag along if she’d been overcome with morning sickness. But since she hadn’t had any symptoms of pregnancy but hunger and fatigue, time seemed to speed up after the birth of the twin twins (as everyone referred to them).

Her schedule had already been packed before April. Now, with correspondence courses and extra sleep added to the mix, it seemed like she had no free time whatsoever.

It seemed like only a couple of weeks (instead of a couple of months) before Angelina delivered a son, Jason, on the last day of May; no sooner was he born than Fleur announced that she was in labor. On the first day in June she and Bill welcomed their daughter, Persephone, into the world.

A few days after the double namesgiving ceremony, Hermione looked up from the exams she was preparing for her second-year students and asked, "I don’t suppose you had any ideas for what to do this summer?"

Severus shrugged. "I thought you’d be too wrapped up in your college studies to go anywhere."

Hermione frowned. "They don’t allow us to study year round. For some reason, the professors want a break."

"Fancy that," said her husband with a wink. "Well, I usually stay here over the summer. I’d certainly planned to this year; Albus has made me Acting Assistant Headmaster until Minerva delivers."

"Why in the world would he need an Assistant Headmaster at all when there aren’t any students around?" she wondered aloud.

"Aside from taking over whenever Albus is away, his assistant has only one serious duty," Severus said. "Think, Hermione. It hasn’t been that long since you received one."

"Received what? Oh! Letters! How dull."

"My thoughts exactly. Those usually take Minerva a month to write out. First and second year letters are easy; third years and up take longer, since they have individualized schedules." Severus scowled a bit and returned to his marking.

"That only takes us through late July, though. There would still be lots of time remaining in the summer. And I figure this is my last chance to travel for a while–you can’t apparate with small children. Besides, don’t you ever go home?"

"This is my home," he responded quietly. "My parents managed to accumulate a large amount of debt during their lifetime. I sold the manor after their deaths to pay all the creditors."

"Oh," said Hermione quietly. In an effort to end the awkward silence that followed, she added in a cheery tone, "There’s always my place in Dover. I love it there."

Her husband finished scanning the contents of the essay he’d been reading, scribbled a mark on the top, and looked up. "Dover is acceptable, but wouldn’t you like to go somewhere a little warmer?"

"Somewhere where I can swim would be nice. Angelina says that swimming is heavenly in the last trimester. You’re weightless in water."

"There’s a lake here," smirked her husband.

"Definitely not what I had in mind!" Hermione grimaced at the thought of the entire Hogwarts staff checking out her bulging tummy as she paraded around in a maternity swimsuit.

Severus allowed himself a rare grin–of the evil variety–before remarking, "I have a good idea of where to go, actually. Do you trust me enough to let me make the arrangements?" He picked up another essay from the stack in front of him and began absentmindedly picking at the corner as he waited for his wife’s answer.

Actually, she wasn’t sure that she did trust him on this account–he had an unfortunate fondness for practical jokes–but decided that he wouldn’t put himself through hell for an extended period of time. So she said, simply, "All right, dear," and blew a kiss at him (she was currently feeling too drained to get off the sofa and walk over to him). He nodded back in return and returned to his marking.

At the last Weasley namesgiving ceremony, Ron had made a comment to her about Snape’s complete lack of affection for her. She protested that it wasn’t entirely true–he was quite affectionate, in his own way. He just didn’t express it in the ways that most people did. She had grown quite fond of the winks and nods that he sent in her direction. Certainly she was glad that he didn’t paw all over her in public the way that Draco groped Ginny.

Since the night that her husband had had the audacity to cry in her arms, Hermione had felt more of a connection with him. At first she’d thought it was because he’d started being less of a cold fish, but, after much thought, she’d decided that wasn’t the case. He was still as restrained as ever, even in private.

She couldn’t analyze exactly why she felt so much more affectionate towards him. That night, she’d told him that she loved him. The words had slipped out of her mouth without thought, yet she’d meant every one of them. She’d never considered herself in love with him before; but now, for some reason, she found that she was quite fond of him, even when he was in one of his sullen or sarcastic moods. She didn’t always like him, but she did love him.

It was an odd feeling, one she didn’t understand completely, despite her tendency to over-analyze everything. But still, she felt comfortable around him, and that was enough.

Exam week flew by (though the grading of said examinations seemed to take forever). At last the castle was empty of students. Hermione chose her correspondence courses for the following fall and began doing reading in advance so that she could more easily speed through the coursework.

One day, as she wandered into the Great Hall for breakfast, she bumped into Professor Flitwick. This wasn’t much of a surprise, since her nose was buried in a book and he was too busy bouncing up and down to watch where he was going.

"Isn’t it exciting?" he squeaked with enthusiasm.

"Huh?" said Hermione, looking down at her book again to see where she had left off reading. "I’m a grandfather!" he chirped excitedly, waving his wand and making the candles along the walls dance.

"Oh!" said Hermione, closing her book with a bang. She hadn’t realized that Flitwick was a father at all, much less a grandfather-to-be.

"At last! I’ve been telling them to do it for ages!" the diminutive professor chortled as he danced gleefully into the entrance hall. Pausing for a moment, he turned back to Hermione and added, "By the way, Minerva’s in labor today. She wanted me to tell you that her water broke at five this morning."

In the Great Hall, Hermione found that Madam Pince was setting up a betting pool as to what hour of the day the Lion Cub would be born. Unfortunately, the slots considered "prime"–in other words, most of the late morning and early afternoon hours–had already been monopolized by Sprout, Hooch, and Pince herself. Trelawney (claiming that her "Inner Eye" never failed") had picked only the 5 pm to 6 pm slot. Professor Vector hadn’t picked a time yet, but was busy scribbling equations on the back of her napkin, ostensibly to determine the most appropriate time of birth.

Hermione had never been one for gambling, but decided that she’d participate–for a reduced price. She managed to negotiate a discount on the purchase of all the hours between 10 pm and 6 am.

"You do realize that you won’t win," said Madam Pince, writing down Hermione’s name with her right hand while holding out her left hand for the negotiated two galleons.

"We’ll see," said Hermione smugly. She had a vague recollection that more babies were born at night during the day. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite sure whether it was an old wives’ tale or not. Her memory was becoming decidedly foggier.

Since there were no students to attend to, the female members of the staff (those who weren’t on holiday, anyway) spent the day in the staff lounge playing cards waiting for news. After several hours, though, the eagerness dissipated. By four in the afternoon, Hooch and Sprout were in a sour mood (they’d obviously lost their money) and left in search of more entertaining pastimes.

By midnight, Hermione was the only one left. She was curled on a couch facing the fireplace (so that announcements would be easier to notice). She realized, after a while, that she could just as easily hear the news from her own fireplace, but that would involve standing up and walking, and she was much too tired to do that.

Besides, Severus was currently using their sitting room for writing letters to fourth- and fifth-year students, which meant a lot of swearing and yelling. Severus was never happy when he was forced to be polite. Writing all the letters in the nicest of terms hadn’t done wonders for his temper.

As she relaxed on the sofa, Hermione instinctively rubbed the small bulge below her waist. She closed her eyes and settled deeper into the comfortable cushions, trying to ignore the achiness of her limbs and the soreness of her breasts. She had no luck, though; for some reason she was extraordinarily tuned in to her body tonight. She was noticing everything: a small bubble of gas made its way from the left side of her intestines to the right. Or maybe it wasn’t gas! The "bubble" suddenly reversed direction and went from right to left..

Hermione smiled and lay completely still, focusing on the gentle, feathery movements of her baby. She was so completely relaxed that she drifted off into slumber.

The light coming through the windows was dim and gray when she heard Severus’s voice. "Hermione?"

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she gazed up into her husband’s eyes. "Has she still not delivered? I didn’t mean to fall asleep."

"I haven’t slept yet," he scowled. "I was waiting for you to come back. Albus just asked the staff to come up to his quarters, so I assume the Little Lion has arrived."

He helped her get to her feet–none too gently, she noticed–and directed her towards the headmaster’s quarters. As she stumbled along, trying to keep up with him, she managed to say, "Quintus Aurelius is moving now. I felt him last night."

Severus slowed down and sneered at her. "Of course he’s moving. He’s probably been moving for a long time now." Then his expression softened a little, and he said softly, "I don’t suppose I could feel him yet?"

"I’m really only sensing him internally," Hermione said. "I don’t feel anything when I put my hand on the spot where he’s moving, so I doubt it. Not until he gets stronger."

"Hmmm," muttered her husband, looking somewhat disappointed. The grumpy expression remained on his face, but he slowed down enough to take her hand as they walked through the corridors.

Albus and Minerva’s sitting room was full of staff members. A digruntled Madam Pince handed Hermione a sack full of galleons. "Five o’clock this morning," she said shortly. "Twenty-four hours of labor, who would have thought?"

"Come now, Irma, Minerva’s body isn’t as young and strong as it used to be," said a bleary-eyed Madam Pomfrey, closing the bedroom door behind her as she entered. She yawned widely and collapsed into a chair. "Albus says they’ll do the namesgiving now and then they’ll sleep for about forty-eight hours. I only hope the little one complies."

Albus Dumbledore entered the room supporting his wife with one arm and holding a squalling little bundle in blue in the other. The staff gathered around him, in a circle. Hermione could barely keep her eyes open during the ceremony. (She wasn’t the only one, she noticed; next to her, Poppy was nodding off, only staying upright because she was crammed between Hermione and Professor Sprout.)

The baby was named Leo Albus something something Dumbledore–Hermione dozed off for the rest of the middle names, but she assumed he had three of them, like his father.

Finally, Minerva (who looked more bedraggled than Hermione had thought humanly possible) retired to the bedroom with her husband. The staff had volunteered to watch the little one for a few hours so the couple could have a little bit of uninterrupted sleep. Little Leo was now bundled into a sling draped over Filius Flitwick’s shoulder and en route to his first breakfast at Hogwarts.

When the weary staff trudged into the Great Hall for breakfast, their mouths dropped open with amazement. The enormous room had been completely decked out with streamers, balloons, confetti (wafting magically about the room–it never settled on the floor), and one big sign at the far end which they couldn’t quite read.

Suddenly Peeves, who was busy suspending a balloon bouquet over Dumbledore’s chair, looked up and saw that his audience had arrived. "Like my party decorations?" he cackled. He waved his hand at the sign; immediately the letters glowed fluorescent orange, allowing them all to read the message thereon:

WELCOME TO HOGWARTS, BARMY YOUNG CODGER!