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Recollection
By Taleya
Chapter Twenty-Three
Outside the infirmary, a gradual Brownian motion had pushed
various members of staff into the small waiting room. Some sat, some paced,
others made small talk amongst themselves. It was like a stilted, formal
party, awaiting the guest of honour.
Which, Dumbledore mused wryly, it rather was.
The headmaster winced as another hoarse yell boomed into the room. Poor Severus.
He had suffered so much in his life, was it too much to ask that the birth of
his child be without pain? Part of him wished he was in there to comfort his
one-time student. The larger part, however, was simply glad to be out of it.
He’d heard the stories.
Hundreds of babies were born every day, without complication, and although this
one was admittedly rather unusual, careful prodding of Poppy during the course
of the potion master’s pregnancy had left his mind easy at leaving it in her
hands. So to while away the time, he sucked on a gobstopper, amusing himself by
occasionally poking his tongue out to see what interesting new colours it had
turned as he worked through the layers.
Carefully brushing his whiskers out of the way, he tugged down a little on his
beard, crossing his eyes as he tried to determine if his tongue had turned
pinky-red, or if the last of the colouring was simply wearing off as McGonagall
stalked past his vision again.
“Nmy beah Nminerfa,” he said indistinctly before releasing his tongue. “Do sit
down. It comes of no good to anyone whatsoever if you wear a hole in the carpet.
Except possibly the house elves, but as I understand it, they’re busy as bees
running messages to the Slytherin dormitories.”
“Albus, there are times when your sense of humour is delightfully refreshing in
a situation. This isn’t one of them.” As soon as the words were out of her
mouth, McGonagall sighed in apology. The headmaster beamed and patted the side
of the couch next to him, and she sank slowly into the seat, hands folding in
her lap. “I just wish we knew what was happening. For goodness sake, I think the
students are better informed than we are, with those wretched house elves
popping back and forth.”
“It’s rather like waiting on the birth of your grandchild, isn’t it?” Dumbledore
reflected, carefully avoiding the gaze the witch shot him.
“I don’t consider Severus to be a child at all. Let alone my own…” she
hesitated. “Do I?”
“Of course not.” Dumbledore said soothingly, settling back a little more
comfortably and appropriating some of his deputy headmistress’ cushions as she
stood and once more began to pace. “Just the same way that Hagrid thinks I don’t
know about that little crop of marijuana Professor Sprout is growing for his
Rattusai,” he whispered with a little smile, investigating his tongue again.
“ooh, purple, such a delightful colour….”
Time ticked, carpet wore away an infinitesimal fraction, Dumbledore’s tongue
turned a variety of delightful colours and Sinestra took extreme pleasure in
letting Trelawney know that her prophesy of Severus’ labour was incorrect. By
three hours. And counting.
Filch had slouched in, cat in tow and set up his own little corner of
I’m-the-caretaker-and-you’re-not-and-I-don’t-give-a-damn-who-you-are-we-don’t-need-another-brat
glowering. Binns and the Baron were floating quietly in another corner, the
history professor looking rather ill at ease with the other spectre. McGonagall
paced back and forth, crossing paths occasionally with a now-return and much
chastened Sirius. Hagrid was worrying with an old dog biscuit, walking it over
his fingers and apologising as the crumbs spattered the head of a rather
irritated-looking Flitwick, while Sprout, Vector and Pince were trading horror
stories in quiet tones.
“…poor thing, she never really did get over losing the baby so late…” The dog
biscuit snapped in Hagrid’s giant paw, an explosion of crumbs showering the
room.
Another scream ripped through the air, but there was something wrong with this
one. It wasn't the yell of someone under great pressure and effort, this one was
pure pain.
Filch leaned against the wall and let an expression of bliss cross his face as
the moment he’d been waiting for finally arrived. "Ahh there it is. God I've
missed the screaming..."
Minerva McGonagall, the epitome of eternal grace, head of the proud house of
Gryffindor and dignified lady turned to face him.
“oh dear me…” Albus backed away and surreptitiously tried to find a convenient
statue to hide behind.
Filch’s mental radar wasn’t quite that sensitive.
The bunched fist that punched him in the nose came as a complete and utter
surprise to the caretaker, bouncing his head off the stone wall and sending him
stumbling forwards, tripping over Mrs Norris and landing in an undignified
sprawl on the floor.
Unfortunately the witch did not follow it up by fulfilling the dream of hundreds
of students and administering a kick to his moth-eaten cat. She did however,
take the opportunity to put her foot in a place many of her students would have
been astounded she even knew existed before stepping over the writhing man and
entering the infirmary.
Pomfrey didn't even look up as she entered the room, but Hooch did, gracing her
with a bare nod, no joviality now, face serious and hands steady as she helped
the mediwitch. Not that Minerva even saw it, her eyes drawn to and locked onto
the man curled painfully on his side on the bed.
Remus automatically moved to one side as she knelt beside him but didn't look
up, entire being focused on the man before him, fingers wrapped around long pale
ones, golden eyes tight with worry.
"He can't push, not yet, not yet," he whispered frantically, panic glimmering
under the surface. "The cord is wrapped around the baby's neck." Minerva cast
an alarmed look at Snape but he didn't seem to have heard the words, eyes closed
and chest heaving under a face twisted with agonised pain. Fear gripped her
heart. Oh no, not after all this, please...
Severus jerked, a whimper breaking through his teeth and Remus pushed closer,
almost desperately clutching the fingers in his, reaching out to stroke the
other man's temple, his cheek. "No Sev, please, don't move, you can't move, not
yet," he kissed the fingers of the hand clutched in his, then the back. "Just a
little longer, I promise, please, just hold on, hold on..."
Behind the labouring man both Pomfrey and Hooch now had their wands out, rock
steady, eyes tightly narrowed and lips moving rapidly but silently. It was
incredibly fine work, taking almost all their strength and focus as they
delicately worked the umbilical cord away from the infant's neck. One wrong
move would either strangle the fragile life they were trying to save, or worse,
rupture the cord itself, a move which most likely would kill both Severus and
his child.
Snape jerked again, the move seeming involuntary and it took all that Minerva
had within her to close her eyes and calm herself. Reaching out, she gently
stroked the side of the suffering man's face then took his hand in hers. "Severus,"
she called softly, calmly, calling on all her years of experience to sound
sensible and reassuring. "Severus, look at me..."
Pain-drugged eyes drifted open and floated almost uncaringly over to the elderly
witch, a sluggish, exhausted blink the only motion beyond the pain. But he was
listening.
Minerva gently squeezed the hand in hers. "I know this is hard, Severus," she
continued in a low, calm voice that betrayed nothing of the fear swirling
through her soul. "And I know it hurts, but you need to be strong. Your daughter
needs you to be strong for her."
"We love you, Severus," Remus added his own gentle plea, stroking the
sweat-matted face away from his lovers eyes. "We love you, we love you so much
and you're being so brave, please, just a little longer, please,"
Behind them, Harry’s hands wrapped and twisted about each other, reaching out
and drawing back, lost and alone in this vision of a moment long gone. Kneeling
beside the bed, he reached out, hesitantly at first, then faster, reaching out
to curl his hand around Severus’.
“I’m here,” he whispered, the sound lost under the murmur of other voices, three
years into the past. “I’m here Severus, I’m here…”
His fingers passed right through Snape’s, as insubstantial as morning mist.
Minerva stroked back the potion master’s hair with a gentle touch, brushing the
backs of her fingers over a heated cheek, and Harry’s fingers itched to do the
same. His arms curled around himself in a desperate attempt at self-comfort,
mind disjointed, unconnected with reality. He knew it would be all right, he
knew how it ended, but god, oh god…
“Steady…steady…nearly there…” Hooch’s voice was soft, coaxing as the duo
continued their intricate work.
Severus almost crushed her hand in his own and she didn't flinch, wrapping her
other hand over the top of his in a reassuring squeeze.
Remus reached out a trembling hand and curled it around Snape’s free one, thumb
gently stroking his wrist. He’d never felt so helpless in his life, forced to
sit by, impotent, useless. The comforting words dried in his throat, leaving
him voiceless and afraid as his lover suffered.
“Clear!” Hooch’s voice was large with relief as she drew her wand away with a
flourish. Poppy wasted no time on theatrics as she tossed her wand aside, one
hand resting on the small of the potion master’s back, the other stroking
against his temple. “Severus,” her voice was gentle, but commanding, drawing his
attention to her face. “Severus, it’s all right now. You can push. It’s safe,
your daughter is safe, I promise.”
Confused dark eyes drifted away to her and back to McGonagall, who smiled
reassuringly. “Push Severus, your daughter needs to be born.”
Drawing in a shaking breath, Snape clutched at the hands entwined with his.
And pushed.
A ragged cheer broke out in the waiting room as the cry of a newborn baby girl
wailed lustfully through the air. Scrabbling for a tissue, Hagrid blew his nose
with a trumpeting noise and snatched poor Flitwick into a bone-crushing hug as
Sirius sighed in relief and the female teachers all happily turned to talk of
babies and childrearing.
And seated serenely on the couch, Albus Dumbledore clapped his hands in delight
and chortled in pure glee.
“I’m a grandfather!”
“Oh my…”
“She’s gorgeous, Severus. Absolutely perfect.” Minerva beamed down at the newest
addition to the Hogwarts family as she bawled in the mediwitch’s arms.
Sweat-slimed and exhausted, Snape slumped heavily on his back in the bed and
stared incomprehension at the now-clean and swaddled infant as she was laid in
his arms. So tiny. So very very tiny. A stained finger ghosted over the form,
not quite daring to touch, hovering over the tiny, perfect fingernails, the
perfect little rosebud lips, staring helplessly into the emerald green eyes, so
big in the miniature face as they blinked open and held his gaze.
Congratulations and voices faded into the background, inconsequential noises as
they studied each other in wonder. A little life. She had lived within him,
grown within him, he had carried that tiny, perfect being inside him for so long
it seemed impossible she was born and in his arms.
He tore his gaze away from those eyes and rose his own to meet the smiling gaze
of Remus. “mine?” he whispered plaintively.
Remus reached out and touched his cheek. “Say hello to your daughter, Severus,”
he said softly.
And Severus Snape reached out with shaking fingers to touch his daughter for the
first time.
Afterwards Harry had quietly gone and sought the potions master out. The moon
was high and full in the sky, and he knew that Remus wouldn't be there.
Despite the sturm und drang of his speech, Snape was far from fully healed. He
was well enough to stay in his own his rooms, and well enough for short walks
and the like, but he was still travelling the long road to recovery and tired
easily. Harry found him comfortably ensconced on the lounge, book dangling from
his fingertips, drowsing in front of the fire with Araminta asleep in his lap.
Harry found himself hanging in the doorway for a moment, just watching them. He
found his nails scratching lightly against the wood of the doorframe, reassuring
himself that he could touch, that this was reality.
Which was silly, this was reality.
Right?
He stepped quietly across the room and gently lifted his daughter into his arms.
Alive. Healthy. Real.
Snape’s eyes startled open, then relaxed at the site of the Auror. Smiling
briefly at him, Harry gently carried his daughter into her room, tucking her up
in the bed in the corner, a brief spell to caress the room with enough dim
ambient light for her to find her way if she needed her parents during the
night.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment and just watched her, trailing a
gentle tip of a finger along her cheek. He'd almost lost her. More than once,
but now he knew he could have lost her before she had even taken her first
breath.
Leaning back, he stared out the window at the moonlit sky. He could have lost
her before she was born. He could have lost her to the death eaters. He could
have lost her to simply never knowing the fact she existed. So many times, and
yet, he hadn't.
He was a very, very lucky man.
Pressing a soft kiss to his daughter's forehead, he gently furled her fingers
around a stuffed green snake before quietly sneaking back out of the room.
Snape had pushed himself up to a sitting position on the lounge, book beside him
on the cushions. He was rubbing sleepily at the back of his neck, then looked
surprised as Harry carefully moved the book to a nearby table, sat down on the
couch next to him and wrapped his arms around the potions master. "..Harry?"
The Auror squeezed him tighter. "Hooch showed me the pensieve," he said simply.
"Ah." Those five words were all the explanation he needed. He remembered the
pain, and desperation, and winced in sympathy. He remembered how panicked Remus
had been – and he'd been there, and been prepared. For a long time afterwards
neither of them had slept well, terrified by every childish hitch in breath,
listening all night until they'd finally given in and moved her to their own
bed. There were charms against what muggles had termed sudden infant death
syndrome, but none it seemed to ease the panic of a new parent.
Hesitantly, his arms crept up to return the embrace. If it had been demanding,
or sexual, or even pleading, he would have pushed the other man away, fought
against it. Perhaps, even three years ago he would have no matter what the
motivation.
But his years as a father had tempered him a little. One hand gently stroked up
and down the Auror’s back, comforting, soothing.
“I almost lost her.” Harry whispered into his chest. “She was so beautiful, so
tiny, so perfect, I wasn’t there. I’m sorry Severus. I’m sorry I wasn’t there….”
The potions master made a soft, comforting noise and held him a little tighter,
letting the other man rest.
After a while, Harry stirred against his chest, raising a tousled head. “Thank
you,” he whispered. “For my daughter. For everything.”
Then he kissed him.
It was gentle, it was shy, offering, not demanding, waiting for permission,
soft, caressing and…and….
no
Severus’ lips gently opened.
It was soft, and sweet, and everything it had been, so long ago. No demands, no
pressure just acceptance, pure acceptance, not looking to change, just to love.
It was everything he had lost, and everything he had gained anew with Remus, yet
different. It was the way things were, the way some part of him still wished
they were and…
no.
Severus gently disengaged himself. “No, Harry,” he said quietly.
Green eyes peered up at him, soft and mournful. “No?” Then they looked away.
“No. You’re right. No.”
He got up and left the room, leaving Severus to stare into the fire and run his
fingers across his trembling lips.
Chapter Twenty-Four -->
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