ANs: This is a collection of drabbles set in the same universe, but not in any consecutive order. I'm setting them out here in the original order of posting with the original ANs included.

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A Handful of Jewels



Giggles and squeals filled the air along with enough perfumes to give the olfactorily sensitive Snape a migraine.

Robes were tossed about in colorfully discordant piles, discarded in frustrated feminine disgust. Severus gazed thoughtfully at a brassière that dangled from the ceiling. The owner would have to fetch it herself.

The clock chimed and bodies poured into the room in a flurry of satins. Nine young women looked at him expectantly; he waited until one lady in particular joined him. She arched an eyebrow at him as he strictly examined all.

“Hermione. Daughters,” he nodded gravely. “You all look lovely.”

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ANs: I was reading mia madwyn's 'The Marriage Benefit' (highly recommended) and following the 'epilogue', got to wondering what Snape's life would be like if he and Hermione had a slew of children—all female. (My own father had to put up with the estrogen-filled house, but on a _far_ smaller ratio of 3:1 normally.) So this drabble popped out. Not as comic as I had originally wanted, but I like it—enough to ponder writing some related drabbles—and hope you do, too. Like or not, a token in the little box is much appreciated. (^_^)

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Causes and Effect



“Wife,” queried Severus Snape one evening, “how did we end up with all this…?” He gestured towards the small mob of young men and women currently occupying their parlour.

Hermione pointed at one young woman. “Ministry broom closet,” she replied dryly.

Another girl. “Hogwarts broom closet.”

Two more. “The Burrows’ guest bathroom. Grimmauld Place kitchen.”

Still more girls. “A two-person broom—mid-flight. Headmaster’s desk. Minister’s desk. Hogwarts library.

“Is that a satisfactory explanation?” Hermione finished archly.

Severus considered her thoughtfully. “Perhaps, my love, we should be utterly mundane and try our bedroom this time,” he suggested.

Hermione smiled… and Apparated.

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An Owl to Father



Dear Father,

Would you please be so kind as to desist in frightening off every single boyfriend I have? The pool of candidates is becoming woefully small— a situation I do not appreciate.

Your loving (and annoyed) daughter,
Antonia.

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My dearest Antonia,

No. Terrifying your young men is my privilege and my pleasure as your father. After all, if he cannot withstand ten minutes with me, I would hardly expect him to be able to handle you for more than a month—or vice-versa.

Besides, would you rather your mother handled these affairs?

Love,
Your father.

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Father—

Point conceded.

Antonia.

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Orientalizing


Severus had become accustomed to the sounds of giggles and whispers and shouts as a small horde of little girls swarmed throughout his home. And to small hands tugging and small voices insisting that “Daddy, come play!”

He even obliged when, as now, he had time.

He was dragged into the playroom, where thick, patterned blankets had been draped overhead between chairs and tables. “What is the game?” he inquired.

“Daddy’s the sultan,” Antonia answered importantly, “and we’re your harem.”

Hermione, standing in the doorway, stifled gales of laughter at Severus’s expression. What did he expect, reading them 1001 Nights?

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ANs: I admit to loosely basing this on memories of my own childhood, though it was my sister (5 yrs. senior) rather than my parents who objected to what I was doing for reasons I only half understood. (And never agreed with, of course. ^_^)

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The Drabble with Tribbles



“Mum!” The panicked cry echoed through the house. “Mum!”

Imogen was the last daughter he’d expect to get into mischief, and, curious, Severus followed his wife as she hastened to the nursery—the creature nursery, where Imogen was attempting to further adapt puffskeins for the Weasleys’ commercial ventures.

The couple stopped dead in the doorway, gazing in shock at mountains of furballs. Their tall, dark-haired daughter was almost dwarfed as she stood helplessly in their midst.

There’d been six puffskeins the previous morning.

Hermione paled as she absorbed the scene. “Dear Merlin,” she muttered, “your daughter’s bloody well invented tribbles.”

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AN: Tribbles, of course, appear courtesy of the Star Trek universe with the full and hearty approval of Kirk, Spock, Sisko, and Worf, among others. They assured me I could have as many as I pleased, and need not be worried about returning them.