Home | Members | Help | Submission Rules | Log In |
Recently Added | Categories | Titles | Completed Fics | Random Fic | Search | Top Fictions
Challenge fics > HG/SS Exchange

The Oldest Magic by Fizzabella [Reviews - 9]

<<

Would you like to submit a review?

The Oldest Magic – Chapter Two

Four Months Later: Deputy Headmaster's Quarters, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland

"Severus Snape! If you tickle my feet I shall HEX you!!!" Hermione was curled into an armchair, her feet in my lap. I sat on a tufted pouf of a footstool, and was rubbing her feet.

"You can't hex me, I have your wand." Elementary precaution these days, as Hermione's magic had gotten quite erratic.

"Well, I shall hex you after I get my wand back." She stretched luxuriously as my fingers flexed her ankles and rubbed in circles over the arches of her feet, much abused by the weight of the unborn twins she carried. "Actually…If I could kneel, I'd be tempted to kiss YOUR feet. What you're doing feels amazingly good."

"A simple 'thank you, Severus' will do."

The last four months had been eventful. We had moved into the old Hospital Wing at Hogwarts four months into Hermione's pregnancy, and Dobby, the house-elf assigned to care for us, had subtly organized the suite so it suited us perfectly, without provoking Hermione into more fits of erratic magic. Once I started putting the calming draught in her morning tea, there had been no more magical temper tantrums, and indeed, Hermione had managed to start and finish a short correspondence course from the University—a course on magical child psychology.

I stopped rubbing Hermione's feet, and instead had moved to the side of her chair, turned her onto her side, and now started rubbing her back for her. Her pregnancy was taking its toll on her. She was perpetually exhausted, her feet hurt all the time, and her back was more sore than her feet. But she was bearing it with good humor, and to my fond eyes, she had never looked more beautiful. She had the glow that all the maternity books spoke of; her eyes sparkled, her hair was more luxuriant and unruly than ever.

I captured one long curl and twined it around my fingers, fascinated by the color—sort of a golden amber in the warm firelight. Hermione objected to my playing with her hair, and my tugging on the curl invoked a soft growl from the depths of the chair.

"Severus, if you get your hands tangled in my hair, we may never find them again. And your fingers and hands are rather important to your livelihood."

It wasn't a threat, just a statement of fact-Hermione's hair was like a living snare these days.

"But I love your hair, my dear."

She rolled back towards me, one eyebrow raised in skepticism.

"Ready to sit up?" She nodded and I caught her hands and helped her, raising her to her feet as a soft popping sound signaled the entrance of Dobby with our dinner.

We ate lightly in the evenings, because Hermione suffered from nausea if she ate heavily at any time, but it was especially bad at night, when she was trying to rest. Dinner, therefore, was soup, with fresh bread, cheese and fruit. I had a single glass of white wine; Hermione drank fruit juice. We really didn't speak during dinner; I had been to London that day to order supplies, and Hermione was more tired than usual, complaining that the ache in her back was more pronounced this evening. Dobby came in to clear the table just as I helped Hermione out of her chair. I rubbed her back as we walked towards our sitting room, but we had only gone a few feet when Hermione arched her back and gave a startled cry.

"Hermione? My dear, what is it?" I felt my heart start to race, but tried to maintain a calm façade as I peered anxiously down at my wife.

"I…Severus, I had a rather sharp contraction."

Automatically, I glanced at my watch. Madam Alson had stressed that we had to carefully check any contractions that Hermione had, time them and in some way keep track of how often they happened. Hermione's hand was clenched on my arm, her mouth formed into a perfect 'O' as she gently blew her breath out. The contraction lasted longer than I would have expected, more than half a minute. When her breathing eased at last, and she looked up at me, her eyes were wide, her expression apprehensive.

"My dear?"

"That was—quite strong."

"I think you should sit down." Not knowing what else to do, I guided her towards the sofa before the fireplace, my arm around her waist. I wasn't allowing myself to become excited, but worry was pushing at the walls of the walls of my control. I hoped Hermione could not feel my hand tremble, and tried to smile as reassuringly as possible. She knew that I already loved our children, and was eager to see them born. She also knew of my worries for her safety, and saw it as more evidence of the deep love I felt for her.

"It's all going to be well, Severus." She looked up at me with love in her eyes, and I relaxed the tiniest amount.

"I know, my dear. But allow me the indulgence of worrying about you. You…are very precious to me."

She rested her head against my shoulder for a moment, and I felt the gentle weight of her trust settle on my shoulders. I would cut off my own hand before I would betray that trust. I felt my eyes mist over and ruthlessly pushed the mushy feelings to the back of mind. Practical. I would be practical.

"Here we are, sit down, and let’s get your feet up, Hermione." I helped her lower herself to the chair, but halfway down, she gasped, and doubled over. She would have fallen except for my arms around her, holding her up.

"Another contraction, my dear?" These were coming much faster than they should have.

Hermione nodded, trying valiantly to use the breathing pattern the midwifery witch had taught her. I bent closer and tenderly kissed the curls rioting over her head, closing my eyes and whispering a prayer to the cosmos, that my vibrant, amazing wife would be safe during the challenging time before her. I realized, as I never had before, how much I loved her, and how big a part of my life she had become. That she loved me enough to carry my children had filled me full of awe, and now that the babies were making their entrance into the world, I felt my chest tighten, as if I couldn't quite catch my breath.

A tiny sound escaped through Hermione's closed lips-a sound that was part gasp, part moan. I could tell that she was trying to stifle the sound, and it tore at my heart that right now, when she had the perfect excuse to wail, to cry, to scream, she was trying to be brave, trying to hide her pain. That was all it took for Hermione to have all of my attention. I could help her through this. I would help her through this.

I knelt before her, taking her face in my hands and pressing kisses on her forehead and eyes.

"Look at me, sweet. We're going to get through this together, right?"

"Oh Severus. I love you." She rubbed her cheek against my hand, eyes closed, savoring the moment. The tender moment ended abruptly as Hermione's eyes suddenly opened wide.

"Oh, Merlin's curly beard, I think my water has broken!"

I couldn't stop myself from glancing down at our feet, where I could see some kind of clear fluid puddling on the floor.

"Well, then, we'd best get you to St. Mungo’s."

I got back to my feet and went to the desk for the Portkey we'd been given at St. Mungo’s, a Portkey that would take us right to the Maternity department, and allow us to bypass the crowded reception room on the first floor. It was neater than using the Floo, and safer than Apparating.

“Severus, wait.”

Wait? We had to get to St. Mungo’s.

“Don't forget my bag, Severus.”

Bag? I almost said “What bag?” out loud, but my wife had a pained and yet expectant expression on her face, and I tried frantically to remember which bag she would be worrying about. With no success.

“Pray forgive me, my dear, where did you put it when we moved to these rooms?” If she told me where she stored it, perhaps I could find it without admitting I didn't remember what it was.

“The bag with my night-things and baby clothes and camera and focal point, the bag that I shrank and put in the desk drawer next to the Portkey, Severus.”

Ah, that bag. Minerva's gift to Hermione, the tapestry carpet bag that reminded me of the Muggle movie “Mary Poppins.” I found it shoved in the back of the drawer, and grabbed it, unprepared for the sheer weight of it. I needed to be able to hold my wife tightly in my arms, so I cast a lightening spell on the bag and shoved it into the pocket of my robes. I didn't understand why Hermione had to carry so many things to the hospital, but I had already lost that argument, so I remained silent.

I knelt again and wrapped both arms around my wife, then touched the Portkey with my wand.

St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, England

An instant later we were standing in the lobby of the Maternity department at St. Mungo’s. A receptionist looked up with interest, then smiled when she recognized Hermione.

"Madam Granger-Snape. Professor Snape. How may we help you tonight?"

"My wife is in labor. Be so good as to show her to a room and summon Madam Alson, if you please?" I tightened my arm protectively around Hermione as I heard her take in a quick breath, and felt her entire body tense.

"Of course. Madam Granger-Snape, can you walk?"

This one wasn't a complete dunderhead, then, I thought with satisfaction. Hermione shook her head, and the receptionist nodded in acknowledgement and waved her wand. A moment later, a silvery Patronus burst from the tip--a carrier pigeon, appropriately enough--and flew away. She waved her wand again and sent another one flying off in a different direction, and a moment later an orderly appeared with something that looked like a beach chair without legs.

The orderly hovered it next to Hermione, and helped her seat herself, and then he was guiding it down the hall at a remarkable pace, with me hurrying after him. I felt like an idiot. I could sweep through the halls at Hogwarts but this orderly easily outpaced me.

In less time than it took to even think about it, Hermione was being settled into a bed in the labor room, with a nurse helping her out of her robes and into a patient gown; Madam Alson appeared in the room before Hermione had changed.

"Professor Snape, please tell me how long your wife has been in labor?"

I looked at my watch and did some mental calculations, and replied,

"She had her first hard contraction approximately 10 minutes ago."

"How many has she had, and how far apart are they?"

" Three, no, four, now. They are two and a half to three minutes. And her water has broken."

"How long ago?"

"Between the second contraction at home and the third one here. No more than a couple of minutes."

"Oh, good. "

The nurse had gotten Hermione settled, and now I could see a glowing band around the baby bump. The band was the equivalent of a Muggle Fetal Monitor, only, I had been assured, far more comfortable for the mother and a thousand times more accurate. I'd seen pictures of the Muggle device, and it looked like an invention of the devil.

The Muggle version had a thick webbed strap that looked stiff and unwieldy, and the monitor itself appeared to be a pressure-sensitive disk. I was so glad that Hermione had access to the magical version. As I watched, the monitor beeped once, and I saw a quill began to trace across a roll of parchment on the bedside table.

I hurried to Hermione's side, paying no attention to the monitor or the results. I remembered Madam Alson’s council to pay attention to my wife and not the machine—it would have been impossible to forget the colorful stories she’d told of husbands who’d ignored her advice and been hexed six ways to breakfast. I wasn’t the only wizard married to a resourceful and inventive witch, but I intended to be one of the smarter ones. I took Hermione’s hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm here, my love."

She looked up at me and I saw the relief in her eyes. Good, I wasn't as useless as I felt at this moment.

"I promise, I won't leave."

She nodded, but another contraction swept over her, and her hands tightened in mine.

"This hurts, Severus!"

"So I have been told, my love. Tell me how I can help you." I couldn't let myself think of how she was suffering. I had to remain calm.

Hermione gritted her teeth then snapped,

"Give me my wand, so I can hex someone."

I couldn't help himself, I chuckled.

"It wouldn't be good for you to be casting spells, love. It would drain your magical energy too much."

"Then you hex that midwifery witch for me. Something painful and long lasting."

"Dear heart, she's here to help you." I brushed her curls back from her face again, amused that I was no longer the focus of my wife's ire. Better for someone else than me to be on the receiving end of her wand, not that I wished to seem as if I condoned her hexing Madam Alson. I saw that Hermione was flushed and sweaty, and conjured a facecloth and a basin of cool water, which I used to sponge her face.

"Oh, that feels good. I'm so thirsty, Severus."

"Let me get you some ice." Though it seemed barbaric to me, (how could she keep up her strength,) a witch in labor couldn't have anything to eat or drink, as it was too dangerous for her. She could have ice, though, and I summoned a cup of it, and a spoon. I wished I could have done something more for her than feed her the ice between contractions, and sponge her face when she grew flushed. She was concentrating now on every contraction, and in the back of my mind I really was astonished at how fast everything was going.

I was helping Hermione breathe through a contraction when I suddenly realized that Madam Alson hadn't said anything about getting Hermione ready for surgery. But twins were always born by surgical intervention, weren't they? I looked up and caught Madam Alson's eye.

"Why is my wife still in labor?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Surely you plan to get her ready for surgery soon?"

"Professor Snape, your wife is not going to require surgery. Hermione is doing very well, and the babies are in no distress. Surgical intervention would be an unnecessary risk.”

"But she's in pain."

"I know, but she is managing well. And it's going fast."

I was about to argue with Madam Alson, but Hermione's shriek cut into my attention like a knife.

"Severus Snape, I want to have these babies myself! Quit pestering my mid-wife."

Chastened, I looked back down at my wife, whose face was streaked with tears.

"Please, help me! This way is better for the babies. Please?" Her voice was a harsh whisper, and her eyes were pleading.

"Of course. Whatever you need me to do, love." I stroked my hand over her cheek, relieved when her expression softened and the desperation left her eyes.

"Hermione, you're almost there." Madam Alson spoke quietly but she was smiling. "Professor Snape, it's almost time for your wife to push, will you take your place behind her so you can help her?"

This we had practiced. I moved to the head of the labor bed, and with a wave of my wand, raised the separate coach's seat so I would have a place to sit. I scooted the seat closer and rested my hands on Hermione's shoulders.

"Ready, love?"

"Oh, yes." Another contraction gripped Hermione's body, and she started to breathe as she had been taught, but the soft pants turned into a deep guttural sound, almost a growl, and she gasped "Oh, Merlin's Beard, I need to push."

"Go with it, Hermione." That was Madam Alson, nodding her head and grinning. "Help her, Severus! Help her push."

I started to ask her if she was ready, and saw she had already braced her feet and was leaning forward, her body straining to the utmost to birth our child.

"Oh, Gods, Severus! I'm pushing as hard as I can!"

"You can do this, love." I kept my voice low, trying to remain calm to help her stay calm. I smoothed my hands over her hair, caressing her shoulders, trying to let her know by my touch that I was there with her. Words have always felt awkward, even after I admitted to her that I loved her, but touch didn't lie, ever. Hermione is my witch, truly the great love of my life, and I poured my love for her into every touch of my fingers, every stroke of her skin.

"Almost there, Hermione. Stop pushing so I can ease the baby out."

Hermione panted hard to keep from pushing, and only an instant later the baby slid out, and Madam Alson cried "It's a boy!" over the noise of the squalling newborn. "A fine, strong son, Mr. and Mrs. Snape. Look at him!" She held the baby up in triumph, and I looked into the eyes of my firstborn as the baby squirmed in the grasp of the midwife. A low groan from Hermione reminded me that there was another baby yet to be birthed, though, and I tore my gaze away from my son to bend back to my wife again. Madam Alson handed our son to another healer, and checked Hermione's progress.

"Almost there, my dear."

Hermione nodded, and reached for my hand. I could see her tense as the urge to push swept over her again, and she tightened her grip on my hand—tightened it to the point that I felt the bones grinding against each other. Madam Alson glanced up to check Hermione's breathing, smiling approvingly when she saw Hermione draw in a deep breath, hold it, and start to push. The approving smile turned to a pained wince as Hermione squeezed my hand even tighter, and the little bones in my fingers cracked, audibly.

I felt the pain, but it didn't matter. My arms were wrapped around my wife, holding her tight, and I was murmuring encouragement into her ear. I could heal my hand with a wave of my wand at some later point. The only thing that mattered now was supporting my witch.

"Push, Hermione! Here we go, here comes the baby. Oh, look, welcome to the world, little girl." Madam Alson smiled broadly as she drew the baby girl from Hermione's body and held her up so Hermione and I could see.

"A girl?"

"A beautiful baby girl."

Madam Alson placed our daughter on Hermione's abdomen and swaddled a blanket over her. Hermione and I both reached to cradle the baby, with Hermione murmuring, "Welcome to the world, darling." A moment later, one of the other healers placed our son beside his sister, and Hermione and I got our first chance to look at our children and touch them.

A sharp jolt of pain reminded me of the injury to my fingers, and as surreptiously as I could, I put my hands behind my back, pointing my wand at my fingers and murmuring the bone-mending spell I had learned during my servitude to Tom Riddle. The spell worked in an instant, and I could turn my attention back to Hermione and the babies.

"They're so beautiful." Hermione ran caressing fingers over our son's head, feeling silky chestnut curls twining around her fingers. Our daughter's hair had the same texture, but the curls were as dark as a raven's wing.

Hermione looked up at me, as I looked from her to the babies and back again. My wife—my witch—MINE—and my newborn son and daughter. I felt such reverence for her and for them that I couldn't speak, and indeed, my eyes filled with tears, though I am not normally a man who cries.

"I never thought to have such a blessing, Hermione. I know I don’t have the right words, but I love you and I always shall. I swear that I will always protect and cherish you and our children. I swear it." I felt so humble, so blessed.

"Oh, Severus." Hermione's tears were falling freely, as her fingers twined with mine over the heads of our twins, and she raised her face to receive the sweetest, most tender kiss we had ever shared.

Madam Alson signaled the healers, and two of them took the babies away to be weighed and measured and cleaned and diapered. She waved her wand a few times to clean up the aftermath of birth, change Hermione into a fresh gown, and put new sheets on the bed. In what seemed like no time at all, Hermione's bed had been moved to a private room, and she was settled with a baby in each arm. I'd felt largely useless during all the moving and fuss while Hermione and the babies were cleaned up, but now we were alone in Hermione's room, and she was beaming up at me, a twin in each arm. She murmured, “join me?” and I removed my boots and lay down beside her on the bed, watching over her and our twins. This was, amazingly enough, my life, my witch, my newborn twins. Well worth everything painful that had ever happened, if all of that had led to this. I remember reading in some book or other, a character being described as “absolutely, shatteringly happy” and I knew exactly what that meant.

"Who do you think they look like, Severus?"

I smiled at the tiny faces, somehow so solemn in their innocent sleep.

"Well, I think they look a great deal like each other, actually. And it's absurd that anything should be that small. ” Absurd that I could not stop touching their tiny hands, absurd that I had such an overpowering need to look at their feet, to count fingers and toes, to twine feathery curls around my fingers.

Both our babies had creamy complexions, and mouths that were perfect cupid's bows, clearly a legacy from Hermione. Our little boy had a more pronounced jaw and more angular cheekbones than his sister, whose face was heart shaped. Neither baby had the Snape nose, exactly, and thank Merlin for that, but our son's was distinctive. Both babies had beautiful eyes and surprisingly dark eyelashes. I had seen each of them open their eyes, and they were the steel blue of all newborns, but I had the feeling they would both wind up with dark eyes.

"Our little girl is beautiful, my love, she looks like you." I kissed the back of the baby's head.

"Well, our son looks like the baby pictures of you that you showed me when we first got married." Why did my witch look so pleased by this?

"If we can keep him from breaking his nose, he may escape being as plain as his father.” In truth, he was a handsome little boy, but no one's face is ever improved by having the nose broken. I had no illusions regarding my personal appearance, and it always embarrassed me a little when Hermione insisted that I was handsome. Evidence that love is truly blind, I was sure.

"I love your nose." She placed a tender kiss on the feature in question, then went back to adoring our babies. After a few moments, she yawned, and I could see how exhausted she was. I sat up, taking the babies from her and laying them together in a cot next to the bed. They slept so peacefully. I had to fight the temptation to simply stand there all night watching them. Part of my own personal miracle. I forced myself to stop watching them, and went back to the big bed where Hermione was fighting to stay awake. This witch, the heart of my personal miracle, had been magnificent, but she needed to sleep now. I leaned down and kissed her gently.

"It's been an eventful day, Sweet. You should sleep."

"Hold me?"

“Always.”

I smiled, and laid down again beside her, drawing her back against my body and wrapping my arms around her. The last thing I did was wave my hand towards the wall sconces to dim the lights, and then I sank into sleep.

All was well.

Finite Incantatem


The Oldest Magic by Fizzabella [Reviews - 9]

<<

Disclaimers
Terms of Use
Credits

Ashwinder
A Severus Snape/Hermione Granger archive in the Harry Potter universe

Copyright © 2003-2019 Sycophant Hex
All rights reserved