The Mating Game

Chapter Twenty

In Memoriam

August 31, 2004

(two years later)

Meetings have certainly become noisier over the years,

thought Hermione to herself as she settled into a chair in the staff room. The few times she’d visited the staffroom as a student, it had been sparsely furnished with a wardrobe, a table, a sofa, and several chairs. Now it boasted a whole corner full of picture books, another corner overrun with toys, plus a dozen or so child-sized chairs scattered throughout the room.

She was surrounded the din of small voices chattering, the rattle of blocks tumbling to the floor, the clank of dishes being slammed on the counter in the toy kitchen. This was, of course, in addition to the hubbub normally associated with pre-meeting gossip.

Thankfully, since the children were born, Minerva, Charlie, and Severus had taken to discussing things such as potty training and discipline. Before birth they’d gabbed about which students were dating whom, including guesses as to how far the aforementioned couples had gone physically. Severus took an almost voyeuristic pleasure in catching couples "in the act".

Things settled down somewhat when Albus entered the room. Well, the adults settled down, anyway. Leo shrieked, "Papa!" and ran to sit on his father’s lap.

"Why the extra staff meeting, Albus?" piped up Flitwick.

"I’m trying to anticipate our future needs," said Dumbledore, ruffling his son’s hair lovingly. "Let’s face it: in ten years, we’ll be swamped with students. Seven years from tomorrow we’ll get our first large crop of children. The next year, we’ll get the bunch who missed the cut-off date; and following that, we’ll start to get younger siblings of the first crew."

Professor Vector cleared her throat. "My calculations indicate that it will be two or three generations before the reverberations of that silly law start to fade."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Which will necessitate the expansion of the staff. Now I know that many of you are quite attached to your teaching positions and will be loath to share them with others." He glared pointedly at Severus.

The Potions Master pretended not to notice; he turned and spoke softly to two-year-old Will, who was handing him a toy cauldron. Hermione heard Will’s little voice saying, "Deem-liss Seep, Daddy."

"Of course that day is a long way off," continued the Headmaster. "But I am asking you to consider the following questions. Firstly, how many classes will we need for each year? Currently we have each year divided into two or four groups, depending on subject. How will that change if we have two or three times the number of students? Secondly, how many staff members will we need to teach your subject to that many classes? And finally, do you have any suggestions as to who might fill the extra positions? I’m giving you four years to consider. Then we’ll meet again and discuss our options."

***

"Madness," said Severus as they walked slowly back to the dungeons.

"Can’t you think of anyone you’d like to share your classroom with?" asked Hermione with a smile.

"Besides you? Only one. And there’s no way he’d do it."

"No, probably not. But then again, you never know until you ask. He’s contrary enough that he might say yes just to spite you."

Her husband smirked at her. "You don’t even know who I’m talking about."

"Oh, come on, love," she grinned. "I’ve been married to you for five years now. I know how your mind works. It’s Draco, isn’t it?"

He frowned at her seeming clairvoyance. "So you know how my mind works, do you? Tell me what I’m thinking now."

She leaned over and whispered in his ear: "You want to shag me senseless."

His grin was triumphant. "Close. Very close. But not good enough."

"Do I have to go into specific details?" she grimaced.

They had reached the dungeons now; Severus brought the boys into their bedroom and ordered them to lie down for a nap. Having done this, he dragged his wife into the master bedroom and pinned her against the wall.

"Do you know what I want more than anything?" he asked her.

"Perhaps not," said Hermione.

He leaned close to her face. "I want to have a daughter who’s just like you. I want to make love to you and get you pregnant right now."

"Oh!" she cried, taken aback. "I…I never really considered…"

"Please?" he begged. "Just one more child?"

"I’ll think about it," she said. She promised herself that she would consider it. Just not right now.

In the mean time she didn’t mind making love to Severus. Actually, come to think of it, "didn’t mind" was a wrong choice of words…she’d love to hop in the sack. They could pretend that they were making another child, even if, in the back of her mind, she knew that she was still taking the Contraceptus potion.

***

It was two days later that she made up her mind. As they’d decided years before, both she and Severus both participated in the education of their children. Of course, neither of them would dream of demanding more from a child than was appropriate for his age. Theodore spent ten minutes with each of his parents every day; William, only five. Usually Severus had Will in the mornings and Theo in the afternoons, with Hermione taking the other child.

On this particular afternoon, Hermione put down the book of colors that she and Will had been going through. He was making excellent progress; he knew most of the colors, though he still confused pink and orange.

"I done?" he asked.

"Yes, sweetheart, you’re done. Why don’t you go and play with your blocks for a while?"

Giggling gleefully, he slipped off her lap and ran off to the bedroom he shared with his older brother.

Hermione looked over at her husband, who was doing flashcards with Theo.

"Hellebore," Theo was saying.

"Correct. And this one?" Severus held up another flashcard.

Theo, unconsciously imitating his father’s scowl, pondered a bit before replying, "Wormwood."

"Very good."

Hermione continued to watch as her husband patiently worked through the pictures of different herbs with their son. He is such a good father, she thought. I never really expected him to be so patient…or so gentle.

They had reached the last flashcard. "This is easy," Theo said with a grin. "Asphodel. I saw some by the lake yesterday."

"Really?" Severus asked in surprise. "You’ll have to show me."

"Now, Daddy?"

"Why not?" Raising his voice, he called, "William, we are going for a walk. Would you like to come?"

Will came zipping out of his room at top speed, holding socks in one hand and shoes in the other. "Hep me, Daddy?"

"Very well. Sit down." After his younger son’s feet were shod, Severus took hold of a boy with each hand and led them out of the room, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

It was true, of course, that in many ways Severus had not changed. He was still an Absolute Bastard in the classroom. Certainly he hadn’t softened his stance towards students breaking the rules–especially when said students were Gryffindors.

And yet, somehow, he seemed so different. He was so tender with his boys, so–relaxed, for lack of a better word. Fatherhood had brought out a different side of Severus Snape, and she liked it. She liked it so much that she wanted to prolong it.

How much more trouble could three children be than two?

***

It was a good thing that Leo was in primary school now; it freed Minerva to take over all of the Transfiguration classes again.

Hermione hadn’t been terribly thrilled at the temporary loss of her part-time job. Her work was closely linked to her sanity. She loved her children dearly, but she desperately needed an outlet for her intellect.

And yet even she had to realize that it was necessary, for this pregnancy was much more tenuous than her first two. She was so nauseated that she could barely keep anything down. That, in and of itself, was not unusual; after all, Minerva had been the same way.

The problem was the spotting. At first it had been light and pink in color, just a few drops of discharge per day. Then it started getting heavier, darker. Madam Pomfrey had put her on bedrest.

And now she was stuck in the dungeons twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She couldn’t even go to the library. Of course Peggy could bring her books–and she did–but Hermione missed being able to walk down aisles of dusty tomes, picking one out at random, browsing to her hearts content.

Keeping Will out of trouble was also difficult. She tried to keep him in her bedroom as much as she could–she read more picture books aloud per day than she’d previously thought possible–but it is never easy to restrain a restless toddler.

For once Hermione actually wished she were a Muggle. Then, at least, she could use the television as a babysitter part of the time.

Of course, had she been a Muggle, she wouldn’t have had Peggy to follow Will when he went wandering through the other rooms. Nor would she have been able to use Summoning Charms to grab things she needed.

And so it went for weeks. Four or five weeks–or maybe six–how long had it been, anyway? At last the spotting and cramping eased enough to put her mind at rest. She was allowed to get out of bed to use the loo–a relief, for bedpans were a great indignity. Things were definitely improving.

***

The morning ritual went as it always did.

"Promise me you’ll stay in bed," said Severus as he pulled on his socks.

"Won’t leave unless necessary," replied Hermione, not looking up from her book.

"Don’t do anything risky." Her husband was now putting on his shoes.

"No dear," she replied in a monotone, not even thinking about her answer. He gave the same orders, word for word, every day; her answers were always the same.

By afternoon she was restless. She had not bled today; not one little bit. Surely she could take a walk, by herself, to escape the dungeons? She wouldn’t leave her bed unless necessary; well, for her sanity’s sake, it was necessary. Necessary couldn’t possibly mean just using the toilet. Besides–she couldn’t miss today. She hadn’t missed a year yet.

Everyone else visited the War Memorial on Victory Day, the fourteenth of February. Not Hermione. She needed to be there when there weren’t hordes of people around so she could express her grief privately. She was a very private person, after all. Remembrance Day seemed an equally appropriate time to visit, so she had always come on the eleventh day of November.

She peeked into the boys’ room, where Theodore and William were taking their afternoon nap. Neither was stirring. She could leave them safely as long as Peggy knew to look after them.

Five minutes later, she was walking slowly–so as not to overexert herself–towards Hogsmeade.

The War Memorial had been designed, in part, by Colin Creevey. He had visited America after his fifth year and, impressed by the memorials in Washington, had snapped several rolls of film. A year and a half later, Dumbledore had expressed the need for a permanent monument; Colin had given him a number of photos of the Vietnam Memorial.

So now, just east of Hogsmeade station, there stood a wall of white marble which was engraved with the names of the fallen. Hermione ran her hands over the words, pausing when she reached the names of those she had known.

Susan Bones–she’d parlayed the D.A. from a small, private club to a school-wide institution in their sixth year. Her name was right next to her aunt Amelia’s.

Lee Jordan–Hermione would always remember the first time she’d seen him, carrying that awful tarantula, and could still hear his voice in her head, commenting on Quidditch games.

Remus Lupin–the first real Defense teacher they’d had. He was the one who had, in a way, inspired S.P.E.W.; before she’d met him, she’d never really considered the plight of part-humans in the Wizarding World. He’d fallen along with his lover, Tonks, as they fought back to back in the middle of a circle of Death Eaters.

Hermione, who had come to the T’s by now, traced Tonks’s name with her index finger. How would the Metamorphmagus react if she were to see her hated first name inscribed here for all to see? She was tracing the name Nymphadora again when she felt the cramps begin again.

"Oh no," she gasped. She spread her cloak on the ground and lay down on top of it, hoping that the dull, throbbing ache would go away. It didn’t.

And so it was that Severus found her lying there half an hour later. His face was frozen into a mask devoid of emotion; Hermione couldn’t tell exactly what he was feeling as he whipped out his wand, muttered "Mobilicorpus!" and levitated her back home.

Once inside their quarters, however, she had no doubt as to what was going on in his mind. "YOU FOOLISH GIRL! WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING?"

"Oh, so I’m a foolish girl now, am I?" she snapped. "Wasn’t it just last night that you were saying how much you enjoyed being married to an intelligent woman?"

"Intelligent people can make foolish choices," he snarled. "AND YOU CERTAINLY DID! ANYONE WITH HALF A LICK OF COMMON SENSE WOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED!"

"Yes," she shot back sarcastically. "Because most people endowed with common sense enjoy being shut up in their room all day with nothing to do."

He leaned down so that his face was level with hers and whispered menacingly, "You claim to be Gryffindor to the core. You are the one who’s always lecturing me about sacrificing for the common good. But you just couldn’t sacrifice a bit of your time for the sake of our child, could you? Typical Gryffindor. All talk and no action!"

She pushed him out of the way and fled to the bathroom so she could lock him out and find a bit of peace. Besides, it seemed that the flow was increasing, and she needed more than just a thin liner in her knickers. She knew the prognosis for this pregnancy wasn’t good. As she approached the door, she felt a clot pass. Not a small one either, from the feel of things.

When she reached the vicinity of the toilet and pulled down her underpants, she gave a sharp cry. It was not just a clot, after all. She sat down on the loo heavily and burst out sobbing.

The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing her husband standing with wand in hand.

"Hermione? Are you all right?" His voice was back to the almost-whisper she was accustomed to, but there was still a tinge of sharpness in his voice.

In answer she lifted her robe, revealing what lay in the crotch of her knickers. He stared at the little sac which contained the still but unmistakable form of a baby. He stood equally still for a while, then suddenly raised his wand and began chanting in Chinese.

"It won’t work; it’s no longer in my uterus," Hermione interrupted.

She was wrong. The spell was effective enough, for a faint hieroglyph appeared and rotated over the remains of her child.

Severus’s breathing became heavy. "YOU IMBECILE! YOU KILLED MY SON!" he snarled.

Hermione fumbled in her robes, pulled out her wand, and pointed it at him. She levitated him out of the doorway, slammed the door with a flick of her wand, and sealed it with the strongest locking spells she knew. Then she collapsed on the floor and began sobbing again.

She must have passed out, for when she opened her eyes again the light was dim and Severus was leaning over her. "Hermione?" he asked gently.

He lifted herself slowly to a sitting position and tipped a potion down her throat. "This will keep you from hemorrhaging," he said gruffly.

Her legs were warm and sticky with blood–she hadn’t managed to put her underpants back on before fainting–and she still felt unbearably crampy. "I feel awful," she moaned.

He cleaned the blood off of her with a gentle washing spell. It was the same spell he’d used to bathe their boys when they were infants, which made Hermione feel terribly helpless.

When she was clean, he helped her to her feet. The loss of blood had made her light-headed; she swayed as she stood, and he took her in his arms and held her tightly.

"I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier," he said softly. "I didn’t mean what I said. I know…I mean, literature indicates that there’s little you can do to stop an impending miscarriage. Your walk may not have been the trigger after all. I…I had a feeling it would end this way, but I didn’t want it to…" There was a long silence before he added shakily: "I never thought I would want another son, but now I do."

"You have another son," Hermione said, wiping the tears from your eyes. "You just won’t be able to see him grow up."

He lifted her gently and carried her into the bedroom. "I know you’re eager to get back on your feet," he sighed, "but please try to rest for a couple of days. I want you to make a full recovery. I may have lost a son, but I refuse to lose my wife."

***

Although Severus Snape had sold his ancestral family home years before, there was one part of the grounds he had refused to sell. Deep in the forest behind the manor house was a small clearing where generations of Snapes lay buried. It was in the corner of this small plot that Hermione and Severus knelt together, placing a small box into a hole and covering it with earth.

As she patted the top layer of dirt down firmly, Hermione broke out sobbing again. She turned to her husband and buried her face in his chest. In response, he took her in his arms and held her tightly. His face remained impassive, but as he squeezed her tightly against him, she could feel his body shaking.

Finally they separated. And yet, even then, they could not bear to leave; they stood together, hand in hand, staring at the headstone of the small grave.

SEPTIMUS AUGUSTUS SNAPE

Due 2 June 2005