Harry approached the first Potions class after Christmas with a great deal of trepidation. He'd seen Snape leave the Great Hall at breakfast clutching a Howler, and though he hadn't heard it go off he had a very good idea who had sent it. Harry didn't know what he'd been hoping for but Snape looked his usual self. He was as careful to treat Snape as nothing more than a teacher - as careful as Snape was to treat him as nothing more than a student. The one on one teaching was paying off, though. If there was one NEWT he would pass it would be Potions; Snape was much better a tutoring an individual than he was at teaching a class, even Harry could see that, and he felt rather sorry for the rest of his year. It seemed unfair somehow. The lesson proceeded normally, even boringly, until the time came for Harry to cast the simple Fix spell on his Floating SolutioThe The potion should have turned pale mauve and gone cold instantly. Instead it went a bright, vivid and poisonous looking yellow and floated out of the cauldron. Harry and Snape looked at each other. Snape said, "Walk away. Very slowly." Harry did so. He wasn't worried that he'd done something wrong, with Snape watching everything he did there was very little chance for him to do something catastrophic. But he realised that if Snape was that worried, there was probably something to worry about. The contents of the cauldron, a slightly misshapen ball of fluid, floated upwards and waited near the ceiling, turning slowly. It floated towards them. Though the mass looked like nothing more than a Muggle child's balloon, the movement was somehow eerie. Snape took out his wand - to Harry's surprise, he'd rarely seen him use it - and pointed it at the ball. "Impedimenta!" he said. Snape's voice was quiet, but it carried a great deal of force. The yellow ball stopped, and Harry had the curious impression it was angry. "What do we do now?" he asked. He knew the Impediment Jinx wouldn't last long. "Be quiet, I'm thinking," replied Snape. "Ah. Infectum reddere!" The ball fell apart and the raw ingredients hit the stone floor of the dungeon, and turned to powder. "What did I do?" Harry asked. Snape didn't answer immediately, he was watching the powder blow away. His expression was unreadable. Finally, he said, "No more potions requiring spells. You're far too unpredictable." "But what did I do?" "For some unknown reason either your unconscious or your innate ability affected the fixing spell and gave the creation a life of its own, a consciousness." "Would that thing have killed me?" Harry was horrified. "I don't think so. I can't be so sure about me, though." Harry thought for a moment. "I don't hate you," he said. "Don't you? You would be perfectly entitled to." "I don't." "Perhaps you should." Snape turned on his heel. "I think that's enough for today." Whether he meant the
conversation or Potions, Harry wasn't quite sure. Snape turned back, slowly. "What?" "Does Voldemort know? About me, that is?" "Yes. He's known for some time, well before the Daily Prophet made their announcement." "Did you tell him?" "That honour went to Mcnair - I also suspect it was he who sold the story to the Prophet. Voldemort was not pleased with me, but he let me live." Snape shivered very slightly. "Just." "And does he know--" "That you're pregnant? Obviously. He doesn't know that I-- The part I played. Along with almost everyone else, he thinks the father must be Weasley." "Ron!" Harry was astonished. "It's the obvious assumption. I'm sure it would amuse Mr Weasley no end to know that he's currently the most envied young man at Hogwarts - he has both you and Granger in tow, apparently without any effort at all." "Hermione's very pretty--" Harry started. "Miss Granger is an averagely attractive young woman. You are unique." "I suppose there aren't very many-" "What part of 'unique' was it you didn't grasp? There aren't any others." The bell rang. "As that is the end of the lesson, you'd better go." Harry looked at Snape wondering what he was thinking. He had an idea he should apologise for the Howler; he decided that would involve him in a conversation he didn't wish to have. The following morning he rather regretted that decision. Snape received another and this time only just got outside the door before it went off. Harry clearly heard Molly Weasley's voice and Ron grinned. Despite his regret, Harry grinned back. "I better write to her," said Ron. "Before she gives the game away completely. Can I borrow Hedwig? Pig's already taking her my usual 'arrived safely' letter, though what she thinks is going to happen to us between home and Hogwarts, I can't imagine." "Yeah, go on," said Harry. "She should be back from taking my letter to Sirius." "Has he come round yet?" "Not so's you'd notice," said Harry. He was a trifle glum, his godfather's opinion meant a lot to him. "Maybe he'll be better when the children are born?" "And maybe he'll be worse. Trouble with Sirius is, you can never tell. I don't know how Professor Lupin stands it." "Snape would be worse," said Ron, sotto voce. "At least you'd know where you stood." Ron considered the point. "I suppose so. Imagine what Sirius is going to say when you tell him you're going to marry Snape." "Tell you what," said Harry. "Let's not. Besides, I'm not going to marry Snape." He got heavily to his feet. "History of Magic in ten minutes." "I'll get your bag for you and meet you at the bottom of the stairs," said Hermione, who had been reading. "I can manage." "You look tired, and if we let you do too much it won't just be Snape that Molly's sending Howlers to. She'll have our guts for garters." Ron's letter seemed to be effective, Snape's breakfasts appeared undisturbed as far as they could tell. With only two more terms to go, the amount of work they had to do for their NEWTs increased drastically. Harry began to wonder if he shouldn't have taken the opportunity to bail out when he had the chance. He was grateful for the room on his own, he could study undisturbed by the noise in the common room - it was quieter even than the library. The
letter from the Ministry came in the seventh week of term. He opened it warily, but it proved to be about his new house. Well, not new of course, just new to him. Ashe Park Hall was in Surrey. Harry wished it was in just about any other county in Britain, he'd grown up in Surrey. He supposed it made sense, though - at least to an Elizabethan mind. From Maynell's mad book he'd had the distinct impression that the The letter closed with an invitation - a carefully worded instruction - for him to visit Ashe Park Hall at Easter. That would be difficult, he was due to have the children just after and he didn't answer the letter immediately. He wasn't entirely surprised, therefore, to receive a summons to visit the Headmaster's office. "Harry! Do sit down," Dumbledore spoke as if Harry had merely popped round by chance. "Thank you." Harry sat. "Tea?" "Yes, please." Harry took the cup and sat back, leaning it on the substantial shelf he now had. He'd noticed the Minister for Magic as soon as he came in and now looked his way. "The Minister asked to see you," said Dumbledore. "I see," said Harry, though he didn't. He had the distinct feeling that Dumbledore was none too pleased, but then Dumbledore and Fudge hadn't seen eye to eye for several years. "How are you, Harry?" asked the Minister. "Very well, thank you," said Harry. That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say because Dumbledore's expression darkened and Fudge looked a trifle triumphant. Harry added, "Other than being pregnant of course." As if anyone could miss it. He was beginning to wonder if he'd turn into something the size of a house. "We'll need to discuss the...ah...duties you'll undertake when you leave school," said Fudge. Fudge was doing his fatherly act, but Harry wasn't fooled for a minute. He contented himself with sipping his tea and looking what he hoped was politely curious. "You will be expected--" began Fudge. "I will help out where I can," said Harry. "But of course my children's needs must come first." For the first time he felt a sliver of gratitude that he was pregnant. "Of course," said Fudge, in a voice which meant the opposite. "And we thought you might like to see your new home, which has been refurbished for you at great expense--" "I can't really leave Hogwarts, not until--" "Nonsense, Harry. It will only be for a couple of days. Then you'll be back safe and sound." "I really don't think that's wise," said Dumbledore. Harry shot him a grateful look. "And I agree," he said. "I will personally guarantee your complete safety," said Fudge. "And, you know, a lot of people have worked very hard to get the Hall ready for you." "I still don't think--" said Harry. "You wouldn't like to disappoint them, would you?" "No, but--" "Well, there we are then. I'll arrange for you to transport there by portkey." "In Harry's condition--" began Dumbledore. "See here, Albus." Now Fudge was annoyed. "I don't tell you how to run your school, even now. Leave me to manage the matters under my jurisdiction." "I am not under your 'jurisdiction'," said Harry. "I have agreed to come. That's all." "May Harry bring a guest?" said Dumbledore. "Of course." "Two," put in Harry, quickly. "Very well." Fudge looked less pleased. ** Ron looked excited. "We're going to stay at your house?" He dropped his knife, and another appeared. "Yes," said Harry. He wished he shared Ron's amazed pleasure, but he had a feeling that the visit was a supremely bad idea, not only because he'd be two weeks away from giving birth. Dumbledore hadn't said anything, but it seemed to Harry that he shared Harry's misgivings. From her expression, so did Hermione. Harry stole a glance at Snape, who was eating at the teachers' table. He too looked worried, though why was a complete mystery. Harry looked away again when he saw that Snape was looking at him. ** Easter was coming; time seemed to have speeded up. As the birth drew closer, he became more frightened. Part of him simply wanted it over with, but part of him was worried that he wouldn't cope, either with the birth or with caring for the children. Molly Weasley came up to see him once a fortnight, bringing baby clothes. Somehow thesde ide it all too real, and it didn't help that his To add to his concerns, there was the purely physical discomfort - heartburn, piles, various pains which seemed to have no obvious source, the babies moving and kicking him, insomnia, the list seemed endless. He hardly noticed the absorption of his penis; having to sit down to pee was a minor irritation. He hurried down the stairs and outside. He walked as fast as he dared; he was a bit late for Care of Magical Creatures, and he hated to upset Hagrid. As he arrived Ron said, "How long have you had those," and nodded in the direction of his chest. "And why have we not noticed before?" Dean leered. "Have more respect!" Malfoy's voice came from somewhere behind them. Harry sighed. "Leave it," he said. Dean and Ron didn't like being taught manners by Malfoy, and this could get nasty. "They shouldn't talk to you like that," said Malfoy, not prepared to leave well alone. "And you shouldn't let them." "Malfoy's right." Hagrid finally managed to get a word in. "Ron and Dean, apologise to Harry. Now." They both did, rather shamefaced. Harry felt as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up. Hagrid continued, "You wouldn' say it to Hermione or Pansy? Would you? So you're not sayin' it to Harry. Even if it is true." Hagrid had very sharp ears. "Ron, I'm surprised at you." "Why me?" Ron looked astonished. Dean had made the remark and it wasn't like Hagrid to be unfair. There was a rather uncomfortable silence. Harry said, "They're not Ron's." The entire class looked at him, and Harry blushed and stared at the grass. "I think I'd remember if they were," Ron's voice was a trifle faint. "And I'd be dead," he added, when Hagrid had turned the attention of the class back to the lamia they were studying. "Because even if Hermione didn't kill me, my Mum would." Harry stayed behind after class. Lamia were strange, chocolate-smelling snakes with the faces of women and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to handle them. Hagrid wouldn't let him help catch the lamia to return them to their paddling pool, so he sat on the step and watched Hermione and Ron chase them through the grass. He didn't know if any of them spoke Parseltongue, none had seemed inclined to talk to him if they could. "So, it's not Ron," said Hagrid, when they'd finished, and were sitting in the sunshine with mugs of tea and a plate of sticky buns. "No," said Harry. He wanted to smile, but couldn't. "It was Snape." Then he remembered that he hadn't already told Hagrid. Too late. Hagrid spat out a mouthful of bun. "And Professor Dumbledore let him stay? I know Dumbledore's a great man an' all, but... Does he know?" Harry could see his astonishment reflected on Hermione's face. This was the closest he'd ever heard to Hagrid criticising the Headmaster. "I've never said. And you're not to, either. Not if you think--" "But when are you going to tell everyone?" asked Hermione. It was as if the question had been on her mind a long time. "Never," said Harry. "Not if it'll hurt him." There was no need for him to explain who he meant. "Why should you care?" Hagrid put his bucket-sized cup down on the step. "He should never have touched you." "I... It doesn't seem fair." Harry leaned back; he was in pain again and this seemed to help a little. "That you should pay for what he did?" "That both of us should be miserable over what we both did." There was a tense silence. Then Ron said, "Don't you want the children, Harry?" "No," said Harry. Then, "Yes. I don't know. I just want it to be over." "You've never seemed that unhappy about it before." Hermione had obviously chosen her words carefully. "What's the point in torturing yourself over something that can't be changed?" "Well, now," Hagrid picked up his cup Harry had double Potions with Snape just before lunch next day. Snape hadn't been at breakfast so Harry was surprised to see him with a loose white shirt under his robe, rather than the usual buttoned up, high necked jacket. Harry could see the end of a bandage peeking out of the left sleeve, which explained the lack of a jacket. "What are you staring at?" Snape's temper was as bad as ever, obviously. "Did you have an accident?" Harry put his bag down with relief. Hermione and Ron had to go in a different direction before this class and the bag was heavy. "You could say that." "Did something boil over?" Harry thought it would have to have been a pretty big something, the bandage looked substantial. "No," said Snape. How dare you believe I would make that kind of mistake, his scowl seemed to imply. "Just wondered," said Harry. "Are we doing lighting agents? I read that section up--" "Not today. I thought I'd take you through the history and uses of mummy." "Oh." That arm must hurt like hell, thought Harry. Snape likes his lessons hands-on. He blushed slightly at the memory that brought back. Snape said, "Sit down, then." As he took notes Harry had chance to observe. He wasn't able to do this usually, preparing potions on his own - even those not needing incantations - required a degree of concentration which precluded it. Snape looked thinner than he had, even under the loose shirt, and his face was somewhat haggard. The look didn't suit him, it called too much attention to his nose. Harry wanted to ask again how Snape had hurt himself, but having been snubbed so thoroughly once he wasn't about to put his head in the lion's mouth a second time. "I'm sorry about your arm," said Harry. He turned to go. "Yes, well," said Snape. "I'm not popular in certain quarters at the moment." ** Easter finally arrived. Harry didn't want to go to Ashe Park Hall, but he hadn't come up with a way of avoiding it. Going into labour was beginning to look attractive in comparison. The children didn't much like travelling by portkey, they greeted Harry's arrival at Ashe Park Hall by kicking him hard enough to make him gasp. Fudge seemed to take that as approval because he said, "It is spectacular, isn't it?" Ron said, "Wow!" Hermione was silent; she just stared. Harry had to admit there was something to stare at, the Hall was set in rolling parkland, the view from where they were standing included a small herd of roe deer and an avenue of mature lime trees. It really was breathtaking. Harry looked up at the house; architecture was not taught at Hogwarts but Hermione had found a book about Ashe Park Hall - he could always trust Hermione for that kind of thing - and from that, he knew that the house was Elizabethan. What he hadn't expected was the size of the place; he felt dwarfed. They walked through the main entrance into a courtyard; a group of people stood, obviously waiting. "Who are they?" Harry asked. "Your staff," said the Minister. "Except for the house elves." Hermione's eyes flashed, and Harry sent her a quelling look. He didn't want to get into that argument here. "I... I see," he said. From the courtyard entrance there looked to be a lot of people, but there turned out to be only four. "The housekeeper, Madam Danvers," said Fudge. "Hello," said Harry. He shook her hand; her fingers were cold as ice and he wondered how long they'd all been standing there. Still, her long black dress looked warm enough. She reminded him of the first time he'd met Snape; he hoped he'd warm to her in the same way. "The butler, Mr Cowper." Fudge moved to the next in line. "Hello," said Harry. Cowper was tall, and very well built. He had the damaged face of a beater, and Harry wondered if he'd played Quidditch, and if so for which team. He couldn't imagine asking Cowper to "The maid." Fudge looked at the maid. He'd obviously forgotten her name. "Rose, sir. Rose Ellis." Rose shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Rose," said Harry. She too had frozengerngers, and a rather thinner dress than Madam Danvers; Harry felt his patience with Fudge drop a little more. "And finally the footman--" "Stan isn't it?" said Harry. "Stan Shunpike?" Stan blushed and shuffled his feet. "You used to work on the Knight Bus, didn't you?" "I didn't think you'd remember, Mr Potter, sir." Stan looked down at Harry's stomach. "Madam." Harry smiled at him. He didn't know which would be better, either. Having been considered male most of his life he would prefer sir, if anyone had to be that formal. But then, there was this pregnancy. He sighed. They went inside at last, and the butler brought tea and cucumber sandwiches into the large sitting room off the main hall. Harry was glad to sit down at last; walking was increasingly tiring. "This place it's... Wow!" said Ron. "Yes." Harry was rather less enthusiastic; he could see himself rattling round this place like a pea in a biscuit tin. "It's very...nice." What he meant was, it's very large. His bedroom turned out to be huge, too, with a massive four-poster bed - the wizard world seemed to have no other kind. The only person he'd ever met with an ordinary bed was Snape. Suddenly, and rather stupidly in his opinion, Harry wished that Snape were with him. Each of the little panels in his room was decorated with a painting, thankfully none were moving but even so Meynell's insanity was partially explained in Harry's eyes if he had lived all his life in this riot of colour. Even the hangings of the bed were decorated - dark blue with little fleur-de-lis and gold tassels. There was a knock, Hermione put her head round the door and Ron followed her in. "Are you really going to live here?" she asked. "Do I have a choice?" "You could live in one of your other houses," she said. She sounded curiously reasonable. "There are more?" Harry must have missed that bit of the conversation. Not that he'd been listening all that hard, he was too tired. "Two, Madam Danvers told me. There's one in London and one in Scotland, not all that far from Hogwarts. The Scottish one was given to Meynell by Mary, Queen of Scots for 'services rendered'. Apparently Queen Elizabeth wasn't very pleased, but didn't dare upset him. They shared lovers, you know." "Who?" said Harry. "Mary and Elizabeth?" "No, Elizabeth and Maynell." "Well if the Queen offers me Prince Philip I'll refuse. He's far too old for me." "I thought you liked older men." Ron was examining the firep, he, he didn't say what for. "Not that old." Harry was getting crabby and he knew it. If he hadn't had his friends with him Harry would have found the next few days intolerable. As it was they were hard going. He didn't know why that should be, everyone was perfectly pleasant and friendly, but it was all rather formal, and formal meals with Cornelius Fudge - even when accompanied by his charming and rather young wife - lacked a great deal by way of entertainment. The last day, curiously for March, was warm and sunny. Harry saw Ron and Hermione in a romantic clinch in what would be a very pleasant rose arbour later in the year. Oh, he thought. They want to be alone. He strolled - or rather waddled - through and into the walled herb garden. He'd noticed it before, a seat like a larger version of a throne in a nook at one end of the garden. It seemed a strange place to put it, but he did need to rest before returning to the house. Harry sat down and stretched out. All he could hear was the birds singing. He closed his eyes. The birds stopped singing. Harry opened his eyes again. He wanted to stand, he tried to, but he couldn't. The chair held him in place. Initially, he felt nothing, no pain, no fear. Then he was grabbed by a pain deep inside him, a strange grasping push, one he couldn't mistake. Voldemort stepped into view. "Welcome, Harry Potter." Harry remembered the cold clear voice all too well, and shivered. Curiously, there was no pain from the scar, only from the contraction of his body. He became aware that his robe was wet, where he was sitting on it. Yeuch, he thought. He said, nothing. There wasn't much he could say. "How fortunate," said Voldemort, "that you survived our previous meeting." Harry continued to stare. Silence still seemed the best policy, at least until he worked out what the hell was going on. "I should like to conduct a little experiment." Voldemort looked at the assembled Death Eaters. It was difficult for Harry to tell, the robes and masks hid all, but he could feel fear on the air, almost taste it. "Goyle?" said Voldemort. "My Lord?" The voice was that of a man, not a boy. "Kill him." "My Lord?" "Do it!" "At your command." Goyle raised his wand. It was perfectly steady. He really must have all the imagination of a caravan site, thought Harry. In his condition, even if he'd been able to stand he couldn't run. As it was, he could do nothing. "Avada Kedavra!" shouted Goyle. The green light Harry still saw in dreams ripped out of Goyle's wand and hit. It hurt. It hurt like being hit by a bludger. A second later Goyle lay on the ground. His mask fell away, and Harry could see that he was - had been - very like his son. His eyes were open, as Cedric's had been, and Harry was sure he was dead. Harry felt sick. "No need to write up that one, I think," said Voldemort. He twirled his wand. "So, that's how you survived me. Not who you are, but what you are. Your parents were right to trust no-one. Wormtail here swears he knew nothing--" "Nothing at all, my Lord," Wormtail's voice came from somewhere behind Harry and to his left. "Silence! They didn't tell the werewolf or that...or Black." Curious, thought Harry. I wonder what he was going to call Sirius. Voldemort went on, "They didn't even tell Dumbledore - showing uncommon good sense for once." He stepped away. "Enough of my rambling. Wormtail?" "My Lord?" Wormtail's voice was shaking. He stepped over the body of Goyle to reach his master. "Fetch me the knife and the bowl." "At...at once, my Lord." He scurried off. "I'm glad you didn't dress up," said Voldemort, sounding almost amused. "This is a come-as-you-are party. But you won't be leaving in the morning." Harry drew the obvious conclusion. "You're going to kill me." "No, no, dear child," in that moment Voldemort sounded like Quirrel and Harry felt a bit sick, even through the pain of another contraction. "You're far too useful to kill. We're going to become...great friends." Harry shivered. ** A moment later Wormtail was back. Harry wanted to run, but the chair held him fast. Wormtail held a bowl, wide and shallow rather like Dumbledore's Pensieve, and like it covered with runes, but these almost seemed to move in the light. Across the bowl Harry could see a knife made of some dark grey stone. All Harry could do - and it took all his strength and concentration - was to uncurl the fingers of his right hand. Once he'd done that, he relaxed for a moment, gathering himself. Voldemort was speaking, an incantation in some language Harry didn't know. Not Latin, he'd learned Latin, or Greek, a few spells were in Greek, but something liquid. Strange and somehow cold. A shiver seemed to go around the assembled Death Eaters, and the sense Harry had of overwhelming fear increased. The knife by now was shivering, it rattled against the bowl, and Voldemort picked it up. His face had a gleam of triumph as he cradled it close, then he turned to Harry. A wave of Wormtail's wand, and Harry's left arm was freed; Wormtail grabbed Harry's wrist in his silver hand and Harry tensed. It was painful, Wormtail's grip was powerful, but it was more than that, an aching cold travelled up Harry's arm to his shoulder. He whimpered with the pain, hating himself for his weakness. Wormtail pulled, so that the arm was stretched out straight and Voldemort advanced with the knife and bowl, still chanting. Harry clenched his teeth as Voldemort raised the knife and cut him at the crook of the elbow. Blood dripped slowly into the bowl. Harry watched, fascinated, the pain was less than he would have imagined; perhaps the other clenching pain within him distracted him from the sharp pain in his arm. He moaned, softly. He willed himself to be calm; somehow he felt that would help, though it was difficult to see how. Cold horror filled him, Voldemort had said only that he wouldn't kill Harry himself, and suddenly Harry had an idea what he might mean. Voldemort opened the wound a little wider and Harry clenched his teeth again. He tried to move his arm but Wormtail held him firmly. Harry flexed the fingers of his other hand. The spell he wanted wasn't difficult, but it would require concentration. "Heal him!" said Voldemort. He stepped away from Harry's arm and lowered the bowl. Harry gasped as Wormtail reset the spell holding his arm to the chair. The blood in the bowl was not red but the grey of the knife, with silver patterns, like those in Dumbledore's Pensieve, or clouds driven by the wind. He swallowed. Was that an illusion, a result of the enchantments on the bowl or was that...stuff...his blood? Harry readied the spell. He concentrated, waiting for his chance. Voldemort was now crooning softly to the bowl of blood, rather as Hagrid did when some 'interesting creature' needed taming, and he walked round in a circle, spilling a drop of blood at each of the compass points. As he did so, Harry noticed the swirling pattern was repeated on the ground rather as if someone had pulled a plug on the earth. A line from Meynell's book came back to him, 'The Old Ones come when called, but are hungry'. He took a deep breath, and another. He remembered the arrival of the ship from Durmstrang, but he knew beyond any doubt that he did not want to see what was going to travel up that path. Voldemort walked to and fro, still singing. Harry sensed realisation behind the Death Eaters' fear. He would only get one chance. "Petrificus totalis!" Not perhaps the most satisfying spell, but Harry had no idea what casting Avada Kedavra might do to the unborn. Voldemort froze. The bowl fell from his hands and the blood splashed everywhere. There was a moment of stillness, as if a reel of film had frozen. Freed from the chair, Harry stood at last and took a step forward towards that still swirling nothingness. "No! A Death Eater grabbed Harry around the waist. He tried to pull free. Voldemort's frozen body topped forwards. A long tentacle, dull green and black, snaked lazily out of the swirling nothing. The tentacle encountered Voldemort's frozen body, curled round it, and pulled it into the void. Harry yelled, "Go back! Go!" He didn't know what possessed him, and knew he must have sounded really stupid. Harry swallowed bile. "Where's he gone?" "To the domain of the Old Ones," said the Death Eater. He hadn't let go. Harry looked at the mask, but saw The world smelled different, and "Where are we?" said Harry. "The Forbidden Forest," said Snape. "Not where I was intending to be." "Ow!" Harry clutched at his stomach, as the grasping pain took hold of him again. "Bloody hell!" "What?" "I think," Harry gasped for breath. "My children are impatient." "This isn't a very good place for you to be in labour. I should apparate us to Hogsmeade." "Where you intended us to be?" asked Harry. "Yes," said Snape. "What happens if we end up in Outer Mongolia? That would be fun." Harry couldn't help the sarcasm. Snape looked at him assessingly, then said, "Very well. Are you able to walk?" "I'll do my best." Snape put an arm round him and supported Harry as he walked. His best was very slow, but complaining would do neither of them any good; there wasn't anything that could be done to alleviate the pain. To take his mind off it, Harry asked, "What are the old ones?" "'Once worshipped as gods'," Snape was clearly reciting this from some old text, "'they are a primordial evil which dwell in an alternate dimension.' Voldemort believed that they would share their immortality with him if appropriately propitiated." "And would they?" "It's possible." They walked on for a while in silence. Finally, when it became clear Snape wasn't going to explain further, Harry asked, "Why did Voldemort need me?" "Any fool wizard can summon the Old Ones," said Snape. "Longbottom could do it. Even Muggles can do it, given sufficient study." "Go on," said Harry, because Snape seemed to have stopped again. "The trick is in being able to dismiss them once they have done your bidding. If they do it, of course, which is possible but unlikely. The only wizard who can dismiss the Old Ones is a hermaphrodite. You." "But... I don't know how." Harry was aghast. "There's no trick, you just did it. You just tell them to go and they go." "Just, 'begone' and they go?" "Yes. The difficult part is being in the right place at the right time." "I hope we never have to test that theory again... Oh! Ow!" Harry stopped, while the pain passed over him again. "I hope so, too." Snape pulled Harry closer, and Harry leaned against him while he recovered. "What happens if the Old Ones don't go?" "If you don't dismiss them, they take over the earth and kill every living thing except you. You become one of them, eternally sentient, eternally hungry." "Oh," said Harry. He felt as if someone had dipped him into cold acid. "I have always thought that one of the most comforting things about life is that it will end." There was a pause, and Snape said, his voice curiously soft, "'We thank with brief thanksgiving, Whatever gods may be, That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river, Winds somewhere safe to sea'." "Yes, something like that. Who wrote it?" "A Muggle poet called Swinburne. It's from something called 'The Garden of Proserpine'." There was a silence. Harry's next remark was another, "Ow!" which rather broke the mood. "I wish there was something I could do," said Snape. He sounded as if he meant it, which surprised Harry. "You can't. I just wish I had dry robes." "Your waters have broken? When?" "You know about that?" "I'm not a complete fool." "I never thought you were. Though you sometimes act it." Harry was irritated as well as in pain, mostly at himself because he had no idea when it had happened. "Oh, go on," he said. "Take twenty points off "Don't be absurd. This isn't the time or the place to be worrying about things like that. It's not as if I care anyway." "Could have fooled me." Harry leaned against him harder, and they walked on a little further. "So, when "You've read Meynell's book?" Snape seemed to seize on the change of subject. Harry gathered that Snape was as worried as he was, and took comfort from it. "Then you'll know he dismissed the Old Ones some twenty times. Did it never occur to you to wonder why the wizard world practically worships hermaphrodites? Why they would bother supporting them in the way they do?" "Since I didn't know they did until this year, no. Oh! Oh, damn that hurts!" Snape waited until the pain had passed. "Many wizards don't know. But if some wizard decides that his powers aren't sufficient, or wants to rule the world, or live forever or something equally asinine, and calls the Old Ones for help - it happens - with no hermaphrodite, the world may end." "You don't need to hammer it home, I get the picture. And can I call these Old Ones?" "Yes, but--" "I was just considering feeding Fudge to one of them, except he would gum up its teeth. Assuming they have teeth. If it wasn't for that stupid bastard I wouldn't be having twins at midnight in the middle of a forest." "It's not midnight." "Don't be such a fucking pedant. What time is it?" "Two am," said Snape. Harry was surprised how well Snape was taking being berated and sworn at. Then the information penetrated. "What? It was lunchtime when Voldemort took me. Where was I for all those hours?" "I've no idea. He said only that you were safe." Harry heard more than simple information in Snape's words, and was curiously warmed. "Was I in some kind of enchanted sleep?" "Possibly." Harry stopped again, gripped by pain. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to walk," he said. "This isn't a very good place to rest," said Snape. So far as Harry could see him, he looked concerned. "I wouldn't call labour restful." "Lumos." Snape examined Harry's face by the light of his wand. "Have you ever delivered a baby before?" asked Harry. "No. You are more the expert here than I am; Poppy will have told you what to expect." "And I've read a lot of books. Ow!" Snape checked his watch. "They're about three minutes apart." "We will have to stop here." "Very well." Snape didn't sound pleased, but he removed his cloak and spread it on the ground. "Unless you want to give birth straight onto the ground," he said. Harry knelt on it, and leaned against a tree. This was not the infirmary, he could tell by the smell. Harry opened his eyes. He was in his room at Hogwarts, the gaudy gold curtains were unmistakeable. "How did I...?" he asked. Madam Pomfrey smiled, "Hagrid found you at dawn. He helped Professor Snape bring you back." "How... Where are they?" "They're here and they're fine. What are you going to call them?" "I don't know, I hadn't thought about it." Harry took the children, one on each arm. Both were quite bald and had blue eyes, which blinked up at him. One yawned, he gathered from the pink shawl that it was the girl. She looked pretty, but then he hadn't put his glasses on yet. "I'll help you sit up so you can feed them," said Madam Pomfrey. "Oh, right." Harry wasn't sure about this, but he held the baby as Madam Pomfrey showed him and sure enough the little mouth fastened to his nipple and started to suck powerfully. "Ow!" said Harry. "What hurts?" Harry blushed. "Right inside me," he said. "Your uterus is contracting. That's quite normal - a good sign, actually. When she stops suckling quite so powerfully, take her off and hold her on your shoulder as I taught you. That's right. Pat her on the back to Harry nodded; he'd grasped that part. Pomfrey went on, "Your nurse starts tomorrow." "My...?" "For the children, for when you go back to school. And when they're old enough, the Ministry will help you find a nanny." "I think I can dispense with their help. Look where that got me." Giving birth in a forest with only Snape for company was something he'd never forget; it had hurt like hell, and he wondered if Snape would ever speak to him again after some of the things he'd said. ** The bedroom door slammed open and Harry jumped, dislodging the second baby from his nipple. He put the baby back, a little impatiently. Sirius was as white as a sheet. "You're all right?" "Yes, but no thanks to Fudge," said Harry. "Are they...?" "The children are fine, too." Pomfrey looked at Sirius disapprovingly, but if she was surprised to see a wanted criminal she didn't show it. "No need to come slamming in here." "Sorry," said Sirius. "And Voldemort?" Harry decided his son had had enough, and held him against his shoulder. He opened his mouth to reply but there was a knock, and the door opened again. Sirius transformed into Padfoot and Harry handed his son to Pomfrey. The welcome visitors proved to be Ron, Hermione, Snape, Dumbledore and Lupin. The unwelcome one was Fudge. Harry heard Padfoot growl, but whether it was at Snape or Fudge he wasn't sure. Breast feeding hadn't produced the adoring protection Harry had expected to feel, but having his children admired, handled by others did. Strange, he thought. Or perhaps not. He was glad Fudge didn't attempt to pick them up - he had no idea what he would have done, but it wouldn't have been pleasant. "What are you going to call them?" Fudge no doubt thought his tone fatherly rather than patronising. "Tarquin and Jessica," replied Harry, without missing a beat. Hermione snorted and Harry very carefully didn't look at her. He could see Lupin's expression; he looked to be biting the insides of his mouth. Ron looked merely puzzled. "How...nice," said Fudge. "You owe Harry an apology," Snape was still standing by the door. Fudge looked embarrassed. "How was I to know--" "You weren't. But to make Harry travel in his condition was incredibly stupid. Anyone could have told you that. They probably did." Padfoot transformed into Sirius, and Fudge backed away. "Black," he said. He pulled out his wand. Harry sat up, and winced. "Accio wand!" he said, his hand out to catch it. "There is something I want to discuss with you, Fudge. It may as well be now. Sit down." Fudge didn't move; he seemed to be rooted to the spot. "You... Where's your...?" "I don't need a wand," said Harry. "I am one. Sit down!" Harry put a degree of command behind his words and Ron, Madam Pomfrey and Sirius sat as well as Fudge. Harry and Snape exchanged an amused glance. Harry turned his attention back to Fudge. "As you well know, Sirius committed no crime. We have three options, a pardon for the crimes he never committed, which would be absurd; a full investigation, which could take years; or a statement from the Ministry - signed by you - stating he was wrongfully imprisoned." "But..." "If you issue a that statement, the Daily Prophet may never find out just how you risked my life simply because you wanted to look good." "You keep some strange company - a werewolf, a murderer and a Death Eater." Fudge indicated Snape. Fudge was no fool, Harry had to give him that. "To my knowledge Professor Snape has never been charged with anything. If he has, you will pardon him." "Now see here... I don't have to take orders from... Dumbledore, what do you say?" "I think Harry is being perfectly reasonable." Dumbledore looked up from tickling the babies. When Fudge had slunk out, Snape said, "You're not going to give my children those names." He looked around, apparently only then "Nothing wrong with Tarquin and Jessica," said Harry, airily. Snape looked at Hermione, who was convulsed with laughter. "Oh. It's some kind of Muggle joke," he said. "What are you going to call them?" "'No' and 'idea'," said Harry. It was true, he really didn't have a clue. Godparents would be another problem, one he was trying not to think about. Hermione asked, "Is You-Know-Who dead?" In the background one of the babies whimpered. "He's petrified and in another dimension," Harry held his arms out for his daughter. "Dead may be too much to hope for." "Does that mean someone could bring him back?" There was a silence. Then Lupin spoke for the first time, "Given sufficient study, a willingness to risk their sanity and possibly bring about the end of the world, yes, someone could bring him back." "I might have guessed you'd know," spat Snape. His dislike of Lupin seemed unabated. "I am a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Lupin's voice was mild. "Is anyone that mad?" said Hermione. "Malfoy?" suggested Harry. "Pettigrew? Some of those Death Eaters... Oh." He suddenly remembered Goyle's father's face and he stared down at the gold flocked white of the bedspread. Dumbledore looked sympathetic. "Professor Snape has told Mr Goyle about his father. He took the news as well as can be expected." Harry said, "I didn't mean to..." "I think you should all go now," Madam Pomfrey shooed them all to the door. "He's tired, and I don't want you upsetting him." Snape hung back a little, but she shooed him out, too. Even after they'd gone, Harry didn't feel much better. ** For the fourth time during History of Magic, Hermione nudged Ron. Harry grinned at her; Hermione didn't like Ron staring at Harry's tits, but she couldn't make him stop for long. The same was true of every boy in the class except Neville. Neville was so determined not to look that he might as well have been looking for all the good it did but Dean's eyes practically stood out on stalks. Harry heard Hermione sigh. He might have done the same but he knew it wouldn't do any good. His breasts were uncomfortable, but he didn't dare touch them; the last time he'd adjusted them in public he'd been sure that virtually every boy in his class had nearly come on the spot. He didn't dare risk it again. It was three weeks since he'd had the babies, and he'd only just been pronounced safe to be around when casting spells. Until this week he'd been in his room with Auntie Molly and the nurse, struggling with homework and motherhood but with his NEWTs so close he didn't dare fall behind with this work and he'd rejoined his lessons. ** "You'll have to make up your mind," Hermione said, later that day. "About what?" "You can't stay unmarried." Harry wanted to say 'wanna bet?' but instead he said, "No," with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "I've been reading up on it," Hermione waved a book. "I know," said Harry. "My marriage will place a geas on men - they'd notice me, but not in the way they do now." Hermione looked disappointed. He'd been giving the problem some thought, but given the life he'd have to lead he was certain no sane man would want him. He wasn't fooled for a minute by Dean's fascination for his breasts; that was curiosity, nothing more. Malfoy's interest was no harder to divine, his lust was for the influence he'd have as Harry's consort - he didn't like Harry himself any more now than he ever had. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Harry came to the realisation that his body had made the only possible choice. One of the children started to cry, and Harry put down his quill. By the time he reached the cot the second one had joined in. Harry picked up his little girl; she was almost always the first to start. "You'll have to wait," he told the other. Of course, he took no notice and continued to scream. Harry unbuttoned his shirt, and undid the nursing bra both without taking his pullover off. He sat down, and the baby sucked at his breast powerfully. He winced. "I should have called you Jessica - and him Tarquin," he said. "It would have Hermione giggled. "You'd make a splendid middle class parent," she said. "One of those who ignores everything their children do, until some stranger tells them off." "You've met them, too," said Harry. "Though the worst example I knew was called Dudley not Tarquin." The nurse came in. "Oh, you've got her. Good." "Yes," said Harry, unnecessarily. "Where did they get her from?" asked Hermione, when she'd gone. This was the first time she'd seen the nurse - in fact, because today Ron was at Quidditch practice this was the first time he and Hermione been alone together since he'd given birth. "Scary nurse shop, I reckon." Harry moved to sit more comfortably. "But she seems very capable." "What happens when you're in lessons?" "Um...the nurse feeds them with milk from me," said Harry. He blushed. "How?" "Breast pump," he said, blushing even more. "I hate the thing." "Sounds awful." "It's not as bad as it sounds, but it was pretty strange the first few times." He'd felt like a cow, but didn't want to say that. He wasn't sure how Hermione would take it. "Did you know Molly went to see Snape?" Hermione twirled her quill and dripped ink on her skirt. "No? Did she say why?" Harry looked down at the baby. Molly had come to see him as soon as she'd heard he'd had them, and was currently staying at Hogwarts carrying on a battle royal with the Ministry nurse over the care of Harry's children. Harry stayed out of it; it seemed safest. "Ron asked her, but she wasn't giving anything away. It wasn't about him." "So it must have been about me." Harry sighed. "What was it like?" Hermione asked, after a moment. Harry didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "It hurt," he said. "Not quite as bad as the Cruciatus curse but close." "What sort of pain?" "Like period pain, only much worse." Harry knew that this was simply Hermione. She had to have information. "And I wasn't at all brave about it." "So what did you do?" "Screamed. Called Snape everything I could think of--" "Like what?" "Bastard. Fuckwit. Creep. Oh, and I broke one of the bones in his hand I held on to him so tightly. Pomfrey had to heal it for him when he got back." Hermione sniggered. "What did he say?" "Nothing. Which was very good of him, really. He did say there was no point blaming him, which is true, he had every reason to believe I was taking a contraceptive. Which I was." "Was it very strange?" "Yes. Especially when they came out of me. I was more relieved than anything by then, though." Hermione's lips tightened. "You know you could have died?" "Yes. So did Snape. I thought I was going to when Voldemort took me. And when I knew I was going to have my children in a forest. I suppose I must be very hard to kill." Silence. Then Hermione asked, "Was Snape pleased?" "Yeah." Harry smiled at the memory. "For a moment I thought he was going to cry." Hermione looked sceptical. "He hasn't been to see you much." "He visits when he thinks I'm asleep - or that there's no-one here." ** The exams came closer, and Harry wished his mind were on them rather than his personal life. Ron and Hermione were studying hard, their future depended on this, but the only thing at stake for Harry was his pride. Nobody cared how many NEWTs he got and his 'career' was assured. Something would have to be done. ** "What on Earth have you brought them down here for?" Snape stood by his lectern for a moment then came to the door. "Come to my rooms," he said. "I brought them to see you." Harry put the children down on Snape's spare chair and sat down on a stool. "What for?" Belatedly, Harry decided on the truth. "It's more that I wanted to see you, and it's the nurse's afternoon off and Auntie Molly's gone to Hogsmeade." Harry saw Snape wince at Molly Weasley's "I see," Snape said. "I want to ask you something." "Go on." Snape was watching the children, his expression one that Harry couldn't decipher. Harry took a deep breath. "Why don't you want me?" He'd decided to ask the most important question first. Snape looked somewhat taken aback, as if that wasn't the question he had been expecting. "It isn't a question of that," he said. "I'm not suitable for you." Stuart whimpered, as if he was about to wake up, and Harry turned to look at him for a moment. The baby quietened. "What does that mean?" Harry asked. "Just what I say. There is no way your godfather - or the Ministry - would countenance your having anything further to do with me." "They wouldn't be marrying you." Harry saw Snape swallow; he said, "I want you to consider it, please." "Why?" Snape found his voice after a long pause. Harry had been half expecting that. "My parents never told anyone about me. What I am, I mean. They didn't even tell Professor Dumbledore." He stopped. "I think they were right." "Why...?" Harry waved his hand and Snape was silent. "I'm not anything to anyone, really, except a symbol, or a pawn. Except you. I mean, Hermione and Ron like me, but they're going to marry each other, and Sirius likes me but he's different. Like my Dad. And anyway, he's got Remus." Harry was pleating his robe between his fingers. He didn't dare look up. "Is this leading anywhere?" "Sorry, yes. I need someone who can help me protect myself from the Ministry and from...anyone else who might want to use me." Snape folded his hands. "And what if I were to 'use you' as you put it? I could." "Yes. But I think perhaps if you'd wanted that you would have told someone about...about being with me. About being Stuart and Anne's father. A long time ago." "I could be playing some very deep game of double bluff," said Snape. "Yes, you could." "And you're prepared to trust me." "Yes." Harry didn't look up. "People will call you a fool." "It would make a change from you doing it." There was a silence. "I have a question for you," said Snape. "What?" "Why did you give my children those Muggle names? I mean, 'Stuart' and 'Anne' they're so...pedestrian." Harry stretched out as well as he could on the low stool. "I didn't want names that reminded me of anyone or anything, and I don't know anyone with those names...not well, I mean. I considered James and Lily, but I couldn't live every day with that reminder." Snape was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I understand." His voice was soft, surprisingly sympathetic. Stuart moved and started to cry. "Hungry," said Harry. "Give me Anne," said Snape. "You can't feed him properly on that stool." It was only when Harry left Snape's rooms that he realised he hadn't had an answer. But then, he hadn't really asked the question. ** Harry didn't quite know what to make of Snape's silence over the next few days. He tried to tell himself that his nerves were from the exams, but that was a lie. Every mealtime his eyes were on Snape - and Snape's were on him, coldly assessing, waiting. ** Harry's last exam was Care of Magical Creatures - the written paper rather than the practical, which had been earlier in the week. The last exam of his final year at Hogwarts. Afterwards he, Ron and Hermione went to his rooms. Harry sat on the sofa; Stuart and Anne were asleep in their cots. Harry didn't know what to do now that he didn't have to study. "I should feel different," he said. "How?" Hermione looked up from "I suppose so. I've made such a mess of everything, I wish..." There was a knock at the door, and Harry got up. "I wish that nurse would remember the damn password." But it wasn't the nurse. It was Snape. Hermione stood up, Harry heard her "You passed Potions," Snape said. "Should you tell me that?" "Probably not." "Well, good. That's good news. Anyway, would you like a drink?" Harry knew he was waffling, but couldn't help it. "No. But thank you." Harry's heart sank a bit. "Why...?" "Why am I here?" Snape paused, as if to think. "To ask you something." He stopped again, then said, "To ask you if you'll marry me." "Oh." Harry was so surprised he hardly took in the question. "Um...yes. Yes I will." "You need to be very sure about this." Snape sounded as if he were about to try to talk Harry out of it. Harry put a hand on Snape'ouldoulder. "What about you? Will your family approve of me?" "I haven't any family, so the question doesn't arise." "You have," said Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry went on, "Anne and Stuart." "Ah," said Snape. "They're almost bound not to approve. 'Why did you marry that horrible man' they'll say." Harry smiled, and moved closer. He rested his head on Snape's shoulder. Gently, as if uncertain, Snape put both hands on Harry's waist. "People will ask you why you're marrying a penniless schoolmaster. What will you say?" Harry pressed a little closer. "There is a rumour that you have fabulous wealth." "False, I'm afraid. So if it is a cunning plan to get your hands on my money I'd suggest you back out now. Harry, what will you say?" "I don't suppose they'd believe me if I say it's because I love you madly?" "Even I don't believe it." "I'll tell them you're the best man for the job. The beauty of it is, it's true, but everyone will think it's a joke." Harry sniffed at the weird chemical smell that always seemed to hang around Snape. It was strangely like coming home. He said, "I suppose it's foolish of me to ask you not to lie to me again?" Snape looked mildly curious. "When you said you didn't love me." "That was stupid. I let myself be blinded by your...perfection. I should have realised what sort of man you needed." Harry choked. "You've spent seven years, almost, telling me how stupid, spoiled, arrogant, ignorant and generally hopeless I am, and now--" "I lied," said Snape. And kissed him. *** The End *** |
Harry potter fanfiction harry gets a howler from voldemort
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