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Chapter Text

Severus Snape wanted a baby.

The desire had been creeping up on him slowly over time.

At forty it had been the unbidden thought, popping directly and unexpectedly into his mind, that the small room at the end of the hall on the first floor of his house was the right size for a nursery.

Forty-three and brewing a potion, his imagination had slyly presented the image of a small girl with black hair like his, standing next to him and watching him stir. He realised, with a pang, that it was something he was unlikely to experience.

By forty-seven the thoughts were more intrusive.

Gathering ingredients he wondered what it would be like to explain to someone the best places to find the most potent shrivelfig. And how to identify whether the white spots on dittany leaves were enhancing or inhibiting. His imagination supplied a lanky boy with his unfortunate nose, who held his hand as they walked to the edge of the forest.

He sat in front of his fire and thought it would be nice to have someone snuggled up on his lap, pointing at the pictures in his book as rain tapped against the windowpanes. And the bakery that had opened down the road had gingerbread faces now. He could easily buy the one with the chocolate bud eyes and liquorice hair and they would laugh at how close the resemblance was.

By forty-eight, Severus began to research options. He knew how the basic process worked, obviously. Insert Tab A into Slot B with some attention paid to Tab C if required. That was no issue. He had a Tab A. It was functional. He even had good methodology around Tab C if the right person came along.

However, the most commonly used option to produce a child—finding a woman who was heterosexual and willing to combine any of their respective tabs and slots— was not so easy. That had a lot to do with the fact that he wasn’t actually very nice, people in general were irritating, and most of them pissed him off after ten minutes of conversation. Severus went on a few dates, and there were tab moments, but statistically speaking he needed someone to stick around for more than one occasion. And also, to be blunt, be equally interested in promulgating their combined genetic offerings.

The next option was adoption, which was basically impossible for a single man of his age and reputation. The only possibility that remained was surrogacy. It was his last chance. He needed to find a woman who was happy to have his baby, hand over parental rights with a smile and a wave, who was also bringing some useful genes to the baby-making party. Intelligence, obviously. Magical ability was desirable but not essential. Appearance was not really a consideration. Glass houses and all that.

Severus pored over his address book, dug through Hogwarts alumni records and even tried casually asking acquaintances if they knew anyone who might consider it. No one did.

Except... there was someone. Someone right under his nose that he hadn’t even considered. It was three days after his forty-ninth birthday that he took the plunge.

“I want to be a father,” he said.

The woman didn’t raise her head but put her pastie down on a plate to turn the page of the book she was reading. There was a smear of tomato sauce on the back of her wrist.

“Of course you do,” Hermione Granger said. “But you’ll never get further in your research if you continue to take on projects. Honestly, your dogged determination to be a grumpy old hermit will be your undoing.”

“No, not further. I said father. I want to have a child,” Severus said.

Hermione looked up this time. She had tomato sauce on the side of her mouth. Two pencils were stuck in her hair.

“What?” she asked. “Have you been drinking?”

He felt a warm feeling creep up his neck, and he cleared his throat nervously.

“No. I want to have a child. And I would like you to be the mother,” he blurted out.

“You have been drinking,” Hermione said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous. Wanting to procreate is a completely understandable biological urge,” he argued.

“Sure. But this is not an urge I have. In fact, I have the opposite urge. And that urge wants me to be as far away from children as possible. For my survival. The survival of my mental health.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to have to raise the child,” Severus said. “I would look after everything. ”

“As flattered as I am to be asked to be a rent-a-womb, on this occasion I shall graciously decline,” Hermione said. She returned her attention to the book and took an enormous bite of the pastie. Severus noticed idly that she made annoying smacking noises with her mouth when she chewed, and all the fingernails on her hands were bitten, almost to the quick.

“It’s not just the current vacancy status of your womb that prompted me to ask you,” Severus said. “You are in perfect health. You are intelligent. You don’t have any obvious genetic defects.”

Hermione barked a laugh, projecting pieces of pastry onto the table. “Oh my god, Severus! Only you would think any of that would be a convincing argument to the prospective mother of your child. You really are a bizarre human being.”

Severus sighed. This was obviously a big fat bust. It was back to the lonely old drawing board.

“Would you like to compliment me on my lung capacity? Perhaps I could open my mouth and you could get a good look at my teeth,” Hermione said sarcastically.

“Teeth are not an issue I am concerned with,” Severus said grimly, making sure his lips were concealing his own disastrous dental examples.

“And what about if the child inherited my insufferableness? Or my hayfever. Or worst of all, my hair? There’s no going back to brushes if that happens,” Hermione said.

“I can’t imagine I’d dislike any part of you that was reflected in our child,” Severus said truthfully. “You’re one of the few people I can stand to be around for any length of time.”

Hermione blinked twice and stopped talking. She put down the pastie and frowned at him. The minutes ticked by agonisingly as she studied him thoughtfully.

“My research would suffer,” she finally said. “Not to mention the stress and strain that pregnancy would bring.”

“I’ll cover all your medical expenses of course. And brew special potions that will reduce any long-term negative impact of the pregnancy on your body,” Severus said.

“Why me? What about whatshername…um…Genevieve?” Hermione asked.

“We aren’t together,” Severus said. He was slightly annoyed that Hermione had remembered Genevieve. He had always believed she half-listened to anything he said in their shared laboratory space. Now and then he had mentioned updates about his personal life but had felt confident that it had all gone in one ear and out the other. Apparently not.

“I didn’t know that. Sorry,” Hermione shrugged. “To be honest, she had a weird way of flaring her nostrils when she talked.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Severus said dryly, covering for the fact that he had noticed and it had driven him absolutely up the wall.

“Beyond me being intelligent and not melting into primordial ooze in front of your very eyes, what else?” Hermione challenged.

“I don’t feel terrified about being irrevocably linked to you through this child for the rest of my life,” Severus said.

Hermione’s frown deepened somewhat. “That’s comforting.”

“I think you’re slightly less imbecilic than most anyone I have met,” Severus said.

“You charmer,” Hermione scoffed.

“I have a deep respect for you,” Severus said. “And you respect me, I think. Two people that respect each other? That’s more than a lot of children get.”

The frown’s furrow was now cataclysmic.

“Whether I’m there or not it would still be my child. How can I trust you to be a good father?” Hermione asked.

Severus shrugged. “You can’t. I'm not sure I even know what a good father is supposed to be. But I do know what a bad one is, and will do everything in my power not to be that.”

Severus watched as Hermione repeated her double-blink experiment. She rubbed her palms across her face and then put them on her lap. The sauce had been smeared away from the corner of her mouth up onto her cheek. Finally, just as Severus was about to pick up his plate and leave, she crossed her arms over the thick woollen sweater she was wearing and blew out a long breath.

“During the gestation period,” Severus blurted out, “I’ll put all my projects on hold and work as your assistant. That way your current research won’t be impacted.”

Hermione’s face turned from thoughtful to calculating, then to cheerful in an instant.

“Alright. I’ll do it,” she said.

“What?” Severus asked, excitement rising in his chest.

“I’ll have your baby. So. What’s your plan? Are we going to…” she made an odd little waving motion between their respective bodies.

The heat on his neck came back with a vengeance and rushed up into his face. “No! No. There would be no need for…er…intercourse. There are insemination spells,” he said, flustered by the turn of the conversation.

“That’s very like you to take the only fun part out of the deal,” she said, but when he looked at her sharply she grinned at him and he relaxed.

Ah. A joke. But still…maybe she would have? Never mind.

“My preference would be to move reasonably quickly. But, of course, it would be up to you,” Severus said.

“You’re really keen,” said Hermione. “I can’t imagine why. Children are ghastly. Harry has two and they are either screaming or expelling things from any number of orifices at any time of the day or night.”

“You’d be surprised how terrible most parents are at being parents,” Severus said in a conspiratorial tone. “I met a considerable number if you recall. So I have a sample size I’m confident from which to draw an empirically sound assessment.”

“Hmmmmm,” said Hermione. “So you predict you’ll be able to handle an infant.”

“Hermione. I am ready. I’m nearly fifty. This is my last chance,” Severus said. “I managed to keep Potter alive, didn’t I? And I can only assume a newborn isn’t always attempting to put itself in mortal danger.”

She sniggered somewhat. “Maybe a newborn is fine, but James is always endangering himself. At least that’s the impression Harry gives me.”

“You know how much I enjoy our Potter discussions,” Severus said, rolling his eyes.

Hermione shrugged and started to stack the books she had brought. “Alright. And what can I tell people?”

“The truth. A lie. Whatever you want,” he said.

“I think I’ll just tell people to mind their own business,” Hermione said.

He laughed. “Of course.”

“So while I’m pregnant you’ll be my research assistant?” Hermione asked as she picked up her books.

“Yes,” he said. “That is the agreement.”

“Well let’s get this spell happening! I’ve got a lot of work for you to get started on,” she said with a grin.

Chapter Text

Severus stirred the cauldron in a clockwise spiral twenty-three times, then swapped hands and stirred four times anti-clockwise. The potion burped at him and settled into a simmering boil, occasionally fizzling with little irritated sparks. He felt a kinship with the potion, having himself experienced many little irritated sparks recently.

“Rightio, how is it looking?” Hermione’s cheerful voice rang out across the lab.

“Much better now I adjusted the fluxweed,” Severus said as he concentrated on the cauldron in front of him.

“Oh yes that looks perfect,” Hermione said as she leaned past him to look at the bubbling liquid. He could feel the hard press of her stomach against his back. His child. Their child. “I don’t remember there being any fluxweed in it.”

“That was the problem,” Severus pointed out. “So I adjusted the fluxweed from zero to three stems.”

“Hmmmm interesting. What made you try that?”

“Natural acumen. If one has it, one knows. And for those that don’t have it…,” Severus shrugged his shoulders as he withdrew the stirring rod and adjusted the flame down to a small, orange flicker.

She laughed out loud, then suddenly stopped. “Blast! Don’t make me laugh, Severus, my pelvic floor is cactus.”

“What a wonderful thing pregnancy is,” he said dryly.

“What a bloody horrid thing it is,” Hermione corrected cheerfully. “But my hair is glorious and my boobs are absolutely enormous.”

“Er…,” Severus had noticed the breasts, but not really the hair. He stared critically at her. Truthfully, her hair did appear to be thicker and more glossy. He wondered if that particular hormonal state could be replicated in a potion without the other side effects like an unexpected baby, or a disastrous pelvic floor. He would make galleons hand over fist if he could promise women lustrous hair and cleavage all in one flask.

“Your expression suggests you are ruminating on something morally dubious,” Hermione said.

Severus attempted to conjure an expression of wounded innocence. “Not at all. I was wondering how your lunch with Potter and Weasley went.”

“Today was an exciting day,” Hermione said as she sat down on the comfortable chair Severus had put in the corner of the laboratory room.

Severus cancelled the stasis charm on the potion. Hermione smiled broadly as he delivered to her a steaming hot cup of tea on a blue china plate that also held two fresh cinnamon scrolls.

“How so?” he asked.

“Harry tried the Worthington variation of Finite this time. It smelt like cloves and thyme,” Hermione said.

Severus watched in disgusted fascination as she dipped a section of one scroll in the tea and then attempted a bite. She failed to capture all of the pastry and it fell into the mug. Her expression suggested she did not mind this development.

When her pregnancy had become obvious to all but the most bonehead observers, friends, well-wishers, and not so well-wishers had cautiously approached Hermione about the identity of the father. She had mulishly told anyone that asked that ‘Severus Snape’ was the father and refused to acknowledge any follow-up questions. Since the announcement, Potter and Weasley had, at regular intervals, attempted to free her from the compulsive curse they were certain she was under.

“It would be easier for you to tell them the truth,” Severus said. “And would save their microscopic brains from the effort of finding increasingly more niche curse-breaking cures.”

“Or,” countered Hermione, “they could just shut up, stop interfering and instead give me biscuits and rub my feet.”

“Was that a passive-aggressive way of asking for a foot rub?” Severus asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said.

His gaze dropped to her feet, clad in green dragon-hide boots laced up to her calves. The tops of some lolly-striped socks could be seen over the top of the leather. He had no doubt her feet were very sweaty underneath it all. A small shudder ran through him.

“Severus. I’m joking. Don’t stress,” Hermione laughed.

“I would have capitulated,” Severus said stiffly.

“All my life I have longed for someone to capitulate into doing something nice for me,” Hermione said.

“One day you will find a man with no sense of smell who will want nothing more from life than to touch your feet,” Severus promised.

“My heart's desire,” said Hermione. She winked at him in a manner he found most alarming as she took another enormous bite of scroll.

“Are you going to spend the afternoon resting?” Severus asked. A fruitless question he knew, as she rarely rested and often fell asleep in the lab. Initially, he would Apparate her back to her house to put her to bed but very quickly his lower back could no longer stand the strain. He instead made the chair into a portkey. He merely had to touch the recliner button and she was immediately whisked away from volatile potion ingredients to her own house. She also snored, which was a distraction to his brewing, so they both benefited.

“I’m going to Slug and Jiggers,” she said. “I ordered some ingredients and I want to check on their quality.”

“Let me do that,” Severus said.

Hermione waggled a finger. “No, no, no. I also may have ordered something for you. And I want it to be a surprise.”

Severus rolled his eyes.

Hermione often presented him with things, with no obvious reason why. It was never on a birthday or any other type of celebratory occasion. Sometimes it was a book she found in an antique store, more often a rare ingredient she’d spotted while harvesting for her own stores. On one memorable occasion, it had been a plain black t-shirt that said “My shitty attitude is none of your fucking business”. He wore it regularly around the house. Severus hadn’t quite figured out her long term strategy behind the gifts, but he’d accepted them to this point, assuming her motive was probably harmless.

“Severus, look!” Hermione called. He saw she had balanced the mug on her stomach and it was jiggling from side to side, slopping droplets of tea on her robes.

“Stop annoying the baby,” he joked.

“He likes to kick it. I’m helping him exercise. He will come out with wonderfully developed quads,” Hermione said.

“Be nice,” Severus said. “What if he remembers it?”

“I hope he does,” Hermione giggled. “I’ll be the fun mum. You can be the grumpy dad who doesn’t let him use the good knife.”

“I’ll Apparate over later with dinner,” said Severus, successfully ignoring her goading.

“Extra spicy?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“Extra spicy,” he confirmed. “Although there is no empirical evidence to support your theory it will expedite labour.”

Hermione put her empty teacup and plate to one side and leveraged herself up.

“There’s always a good, hard shag,” she suggested with an eyebrow waggle.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Try not to shag Slug or Jigger in the brief time you are there. I do have a reputation you know.”

“I do,” said Hermione. “Hence my offer. This could be the moment, in the public eye, that you change from being a sullen, reclusive hermit into a salacious love machine.”

“Go and get your potions,” Severus said, shooing her away from the lab table. She snickered at him.

Severus shook his head in amusement. Hermione was a bit of a slob, but she was brilliant and never failed to make him laugh. Perhaps most of her mind was concerned with things other than order. For example, her general pursuit of chaos was never reflected in her precise work in the lab. He turned back to the potion after Vanishing the pile of crumbs she’d left on the chair. There was a large tea stain on the cushion. He sighed.

An hour later Severus was cleaning his workbench when an owl pecked at the window. He took the note, tossing a mouse spleen to the bird.

Your wife is here with your son.
Agnes Gergen, Maternity, St Mungo’s.

“What?” Severus said aloud.

It was a shaky Apparation to St Mungo’s, excitement coursing through him and nerves firing every which way. She was there with his son. His son! This was the day his life as a father would begin. He strode towards a small room at the end of the hall. Inside, Hermione was reclining on a bed, holding a small bundle (his son!) in her arms.

“Are you alright?” he heard himself ask. Which was strange, as he thought he had wanted to ask about his son first but the words just tumbled out.

“I’m fine,” she said. “You will never guess what happened to me.”

“You gave birth to a child and it was horrific,”Severus guessed .

“Not even close,” she smirked. “It was a doddle. He Apparated out.”

“Excuse me?” asked Severus, who suddenly decided he had gone mad.

“I was standing at the counter at Slugs,” Hermione began, “and then I felt him move. There was a heavy pressing feeling, and I started to get cramps.”

“Labour pains,” Severus guessed.

“Yes. Thank you Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said sarcastically. “Anyway, I thought I’d better get to the hospital and suddenly he was on the counter. By the way, Mister Chantelle was not happy. I don’t think we’ll be getting our usual discounts for a while.”

“Who was on the counter?” Severus asked, confused.

“The baby! I don’t think he was keen on the other option. Maybe my birth canal looked a little squeezey so he took the alternate route. It’s pretty impressive wild magic. Maybe he’s gifted,” Hermione beamed.

“Gifted?” Severus repeated.

“What about you say hello to your father?” Hermione whispered to the child in her arms and held him out. Severus took the infant gently.

He was entirely the ugliest thing Severus had ever seen, but also ultimately the most beautiful. The red, squashed face was crowned with a thin slick of dark hair. The baby briefly opened his eyes and closed them again. Severus felt utterly unbalanced by the experience and very underprepared. How could he keep this small, fragile person protected?

“He’s so small,” Severus said.

“I think we should call him Sorensen,” Hermione suggested. “It means ‘son of Severin’, which reminds me of you. And it has three syllables, which I think makes it a superior name.”

Severus placed a finger in his son’s small hand and the fingers curled around it reflexively. He glanced up at Hermione.

“Thank you,” he said. “He’s lovely.”

“He has a dear little face,” said Hermione fondly. “He does look a bit like a dried apricot, but I do think he’s more symmetrical than other babies I’ve seen. It must be the superior genetics.”

As the baby whuffled quietly to himself and lifted a tiny fist to his mouth for a gnaw, Severus felt himself struck with a wave of uncertainty and fear.

“I was wrong. I don’t know how to be a father. I don’t know anything,” he said. “What if I’m terrible at it?”

“You won’t be. And think about it. You’re both starting from square one. You’ve never been a father before but he’s never been a person before. You’re already ahead,” Hermione said.

Severus nodded. He already felt calmer listening to her.

“The hospital said my wife was here,” Severus suddenly remembered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “They’re so old-fashioned here; the idea that I was unmarried with a self-delivering baby was too much to handle, so I just said to send an owl to my husband. We can put it down to baby-brain. I read that it was a thing.”

“Hmmm,” Severus said. His attention returned to his son. His son had long, dark lashes and rose-pink Cupid’s bow lips. There was no way of knowing how the genetic lottery that had spun the wheel of his and Hermione’s respective DNA and produced the utterly perfect child who lay in his arms.

“They said you could take him home after a few more hours. Everything is fine. And I’m going straight to bed,” Hermione said.

“You can visit him if you want,” Severus heard himself offer.

Hermione yawned and stretched. “I think I will. He’s sweeter than I thought he’d be.”

Severus nodded. Of course he was. Sorensen was already the most perfect child Severus had laid his eyes on. And obviously intelligent. Vastly so, if the wild magic of his birth was anything to go by. Yes. His son would follow in his parent’s footsteps. A brilliant wizard.

He smiled down at the baby, who snoozed contentedly, blissfully unaware of his father’s thoughts.

Chapter Text

The secret to managing a newborn, Severus told himself smugly, was routine. Get the child on a routine as soon as possible. Feeding, napping, playtime, feeding, napping and so on and so forth. He had spells in Sorenson’s room set up to alert him if his son was fretting or in distress, and there were warming charms everywhere. He wasn’t going to co-sleep; it was better that his son learnt to self-soothe as fast as possible.

In the kitchen was a small refrigerator, a blue light glowing on top of it. Severus smiled. The blue light meant that Hermione had put expressed milk in her matching appliance. The items were linked and transferred objects between them. She had offered to express milk once she discovered she had quite a lot and naturally she’d managed to invent a spell so she could express while reading and eating a hobnob. Know-it-all.

He yawned. Sorensen had only slept for a few hours the night before, but Severus was confident that once the routine was in place everything would be fine. The leftover curry from the previous night was still delicious, and after dinner, he sat in his armchair in front of the flickering fire with his son in his arms. Everything was exactly how he had pictured it. He was a father. This was his son. They were a family.

After a bath, bottle (warmed exactly to body temperature), and clean nappy, Sorensen was swaddled and placed reverently in his cot. Severus allowed himself a few minutes to admire the sleeping child. So beautiful. So perfect. He was deliriously happy.

Floating on this wave of fuzzy, paternal adoration, Severus got into his own bed, checked his wards were in place and fell instantly and soundly asleep.

He awoke suddenly into a nightmare. He was back in the Bad Old Days, trapped in one of the cages that Riddle forced recalcitrant followers into until they became calcitrant. His neck was bent in a strange angle, aching terribly, and his cheek was pressed hard into one bony shoulder. A small whimper escaped his lips as he fought to drive back the wave of terror that rose up inside him.

Severus tried to move a leg, and there was a small squeak as his bare shin kicked something soft and fuzzy. Severus gamely opened one eye.

There was no cage. Instead, he was pretzeled inside Sorensen’s crib.

Fuck. He must have Apparated within his bad dream. If he had hurt the baby he would never forgive—

A whining cry began to emit from a swaddled form tucked against his torso. Sweet, sweet relief coursed through his veins. Fine. Everything was fine.

Severus carefully extricated himself from the crib and lifted the child. There was a wet nappy situation to deal with, and he was probably hungry. Severus hummed to himself as he transferred a dry nappy onto the boy and obtained a bottle from the fridge. Then a simple burp (he was good at that!) and a tight swaddle and the boy was fast asleep again.

It was all about routine.

His own bed was gratefully returned to and he felt the darkness of sleep overcoming him before—

He was back in the cage. Merlin help him. This time, Riddle would have no mercy.

Severus blinked his eyes open. Ah. The crib. He had never Apparated in his sleep before but given he’d done it twice in one night, it was something he should probably address. He didn’t want it to get out of hand. He had responsibilities now. A child was dependent on him. There was no time for post-traumatic Sorensen stress disorder shenanigans. Sorensen began to cry. Severus yawned and clambered out of the cot. He checked his watch. He’d been asleep for only twenty minutes.

That was fine. Early days. A bit of difficulty before the routine fell into pace was expected.

Nappy was fine. Swaddled again, Severus began to gently pat Sorensen and the baby’s eyes closed and he appeared to be asleep. Severus yawned and made his way to the bathroom. He had just begun to direct his stream into the porcelain bowl when his stomach squeezed and he found himself next to the cot. Only years of being Summoned by the Dark Lord mid-embarrassing personal task prevented him urinating all over his favourite rug.

What the actual fuck?

Severus tucked himself away and walked back to the bathroom to wash his hands. He soaped his palms, rubbed vigorously and turned the tap on to wash them and he suddenly was beside the crib again. He staggered and grabbed onto the crib railing, dizzy from multiple Apparitions within such a short time.

Sorensen made a slight mewling noise and Severus looked down into the dark, slightly unfocused eyes of his son.

A dawning feeling broke into his mind like a glorious sunset. It was the baby. His son! Instead of crying, the baby had brought him physically to the crib. It was Impressive magic and despite the nausea from the unexpected Apparitions and growing fatigue, Severus felt proud. Of course his son was going to be the most gifted wizard of his time.

Of course.

But wild magic was unpredictable and potentially dangerous. It had to be addressed. Still, it sounded like a problem that would feel easier to approach in daylight hours, so Severus abandoned the idea of self-soothing, picked up his son and took him into his own room. He tucked the baby into bed beside him, and Severus fell into an exhausted sleep.

He awoke to find the bed collapsing beneath him. They were in the kitchen. The splintering remains of the bed, which had not enjoyed the Apparition, scattered on the tiles. Severus sat upright and panicked. But Sorensen was safe, lying on his lap and blinking up at him. Severus’s watch helpfully advised him that merely forty-five minutes had passed.

Severus cradled Sorensen and levered himself upright. He fumbled around in the darkened room until he caught the catch of the fridge. His desperate prayers to any deity that was listening had been answered and Hermione had put another bottle in there. He grabbed it, sat down on a chair amongst the broken wood and fed his son.

His son suckled on the bottle contentedly and the sucks grew softer and more infrequent until his mouth fell open and the milk had done its soporific job. Severus allowed himself a light doze; the same half-anxious and fitful sleep that had been the stalwart of his years at Hogwarts, where he was afraid to allow himself to fall into the more restful REM levels and the slightest noise would bring him into complete alertness.

When the rosy blush of dawn began to seep across the sky, Severus was still sitting amongst the blitz-like remains of his bed in the middle of his kitchen. His eyes felt like they’d been coated in sand and the general queasiness that accompanied extreme fatigue had set in.

The baby slumbered in his arms.

As he stood up, his back cramped suddenly, voicing its complaint about being near fifty and being treated in such a deplorable manner. Men at his age should be becoming obsessed with cycling or buying sports cars with their half of divorce financial settlements, not trying to look after a baby. But, Severus reminded himself, he was not every man. He was Severus Snape. This was his son. And by Merlin, he would figure it out.

Days three and four resembled day two in a lot of ways—all of them unpleasant. Sorensen continued to Apparate Severus instead of crying and Severus was slowly losing his mind. Fuck Azkaban. They should have just given each Death Eater a baby to mind and they would have been a gibbering mess within days. The only steady, reliable part of his life was Hermione’s milk supply. Each time he staggered to the fridge, praying there was something there, she’d expressed a bottle’s worth. Severus nearly wept every time.

Mid-morning on day five there was a knock at the door. Severus headed for the door, hoping against hope it was someone he had wronged who had finally tracked him down for revenge. And then there would be the sweet peaceful rest of the grave. He tied the previously loose belt tightly around his waist and unlocked the deadbolt. Standing on his front step, clad in the palest blue silk robe, was Lucius Malfoy.

“Good gracious Severus, you look ghastly!” Lucius exclaimed.

Severus blinked blearily at him. “Hello,” he said. “Also, kill me. Please.”

“Draco was a fussy baby too,” Lucius said conspiratorially as he swept past Severus into his house. “Three house elves, around the clock, to keep us all functioning. You really should think about getting one.”

“I’ll be dead soon,” Severus groaned as he walked into the sitting room and collapsed on the couch. “Dead men don’t need elves or clocks.”

“And this is your son?” Lucius asked as he peered into the cot that only moments before had relocated itself into the living room.

“Yes,” Severus said.

“He’s a fine-looking boy,” Lucius said. “Much more of you in him than his mother, which is something in his favour.”

Severus wanted to tell Lucius to shut up but he also wanted to fall asleep. So he instead just grunted in what he hoped was a disapproving manner.

“You need help,” Lucius observed. “And not only with whatever is happening with your hair. Bunty!”

A house elf suddenly materialised next to Lucius. Severus found he didn’t care at all about anything that happened so long as they didn’t wake Sorensen.

“Bunty. Stay here and help with the baby,” Lucius ordered.

The elf walked over to the cot and looked down at the small, gently snoring baby. She reached forward with one thin finger and touched Sorensen in a soft, careful manner.

“See? They love babies,” Lucius said.

The baby sneezed a tiny, perfectly adorable sneeze and an enormous bottle of milk suddenly appeared in the centre of the room. The rubbery teat of the end was bent against the ceiling. The milk sloshed from side to side, the only sound in the room as everyone stared.

“Oh my,” said Lucius as he took in the new room decoration.

“Bunty not good with this type of baby,” the elf announced and promptly vanished.

“Take me with you,” Severus pleaded weakly from the couch.

“Well she’ll definitely be getting a sock later,” Lucius said. “Go clean yourself up, old man. I’ll mind the baby. I kept Draco alive, didn’t I?”

Severus did not argue with this direction, nor the outrageous claims of competent parenthood that had no basis in reality. He managed to make his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the warm water sluiced over his forehead he sighed. That was better. Immediately better. Over the sound of the spray, he could hear Lucius explaining to Sorensen who he was, who the Malfoy’s were in society, and the many benefits to being a pureblood wizard.

By the time Severus was clean, freshly shaved, and in clothes that he hadn’t slept in or were spotted with baby vomit, Lucius had finished his lecture. Severus walked out into the living room to ask whether Lucius would like a tea when he discovered a panicked Lucius, sitting on the couch and missing a mouth.

He stopped suddenly. Lucius began gesturing wildly at his mouth then towards the cot. Severus drew his wand and muttered a very complex counter-spell and the scent of cloves and thyme suffused the room.

“Your son!” Lucius choked out. “Your son cast a spell! I was in the middle of a sentence and my mouth vanished.”

“He seems to be somewhat precocious in that regard,” Severus said defensively.

“You’ll need to find someone to help,” Lucius said. “Child magic can be dangerous.”

“You don’t say,” Severus said.

“I’m going home. Good luck with that,” Lucius said, indicating towards Sorensen. “Bunty can make me a strong drink.”

“I thought she was getting a sock,” Severus reminded him.

Lucius sniffed delicately. “I’ve changed my mind. She’s an eminently sensible elf.”

And then he was gone, the whirling air from the Apparation flickering the pages of last week’s discarded newspaper. Sorensen gurgled contentedly from his crib. The enormous bottle of milk burped a white, slightly translucent bubble.

Severus sighed.

Chapter Text

He was dying. Time had no meaning. Day. Night. They existed as words only. The sun rose and set pointlessly and the moon hung in the sky mockingly. He was bound to his new master: a diabolical being that was constructed from regurgitated breast milk and slightly liquid shit. A being that could maintain an alert and wakeful state for hours, and yet was entirely refreshed by only twenty minutes of sleep.

He was, Severus admitted to himself, in over his head.

The house was not in too bad a shape, as Severus had regularly repaired walls, returned giant bottles to their normal size and kept things tidy. Sorensen was in perfect health, and his thin arms and legs were beginning to fill out. The baby opened his eyes more now, fixing Severus with a cross-eyed unfocused stare that completely undid him.

The wreckage of the moment was Severus himself. He hadn’t showered in days, since leaving his son’s side even for a few minutes ran the risk of an unexpected Apparation. He’d already lost his left eyebrow from being Splinched after daring to take a few minutes to brush his teeth. He ate what he could. Often it was a piece of bread, a hunk of cheese within. The lack of sleep was destroying his mental capacity. He dropped a bottle of milk once and wept for almost half an hour.

He could entirely blame being half-mad from fatigue when he wrote on a piece of parchment one word — HELP. Surely it was the effect of no longer having even a minute to himself that maybe caused a tear or two to creep out and leave a dark splat on the paper. Or the awareness that he had once more picked a path that had ended at a cliff edge; he was terrified of staying where he was but equally afraid of letting himself fall.

“Hello! I wasn’t going to visit for another week as I wanted to give you some time to—oh Severus,” Hermione began talking immediately as she appeared in his kitchen. He watched the beaming smile drop from her face as she took in the stack of garbage in front of her that used to be Britain’s most powerful wizard (well he was).

“I don’t think I’m good at this,” he admitted.

“Nonsense,” she said dismissively. “You are good at everything. You just need a nap.”

“I do,” he said. “I want to go to sleep very badly.”

“I’ll look after him,” said Hermione. “I’m not good with babies, but I know you put milk in one end, keep the other end clean, and then tell them they look beautiful even if they look like a smashed pie.”

Severus nodded mutely. He had honestly missed her. She was flippant and brusque and overconfident. And on more than one occasion he had found discarded apple cores in his ingredient drawers as if she had forgotten that she’d been eating while “borrowing” from him. But she always helped him. Whether it was by telling everyone he was away on his birthday (he never was), by submitting his research paperwork when he forgot, or by never mentioning anything to do with the war in his presence.

He held Sorensen out to her and she took him gingerly. Hermione immediately stuck her tongue out at the baby and crossed her eyes. Severus held his breath as he waited for her to vanish.

“Hello Sorry! I’m here to help out. You don’t look like a dried apricot anymore. There has been some definite rehydration happening. Oh, look at your little face. You are very sweet. Come with me and let’s have a sit down on the couch, and we’ll let your dad get some sleep,” Hermione said.

She looked back towards him and raised her eyebrows. “Well? Go on.”

“And you’ll be alright?” he asked.

“I assume so,” she said. “I guess if either of us starts screaming then that’s your cue to come back out.”

In all honesty, Severus had no conscious thought of how he made it to his bedroom but he was in there and getting into his bed. There was just enough energy left in his body to pull the blanket up and close his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, the clock by the side of the bed suggested he had been asleep for hours. At least five. Merlin. Hermione was definitely dead. He was sure of it. He threw back the blankets and ran out into the sitting room. Hermione was reading The Prophet and rocking a bassinet with her foot.

“So, Gilderoy, you remember me telling you about him earlier, has been writing books again,” Hermione was saying. “I’m sure they will be absolute trash but he looks like an angel and he can spin a tale. Don’t tell your father but I will probably buy a copy.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine!” Hermione said. “We had two bottles, I changed him three times. I assume baby poo is supposed to be yellow? Otherwise, he is a troll, I guess. Also for your information, he appears to enjoy trashy gossip.”

She held up the copy of The Prophet she was reading.

“Nothing weird happened?” he asked.

“I think everything babies do is weird,” Hermione said. “I only put a little bit of milk in, but at least three times that amount came out. Who needs a duplication spell when you have an infant?”

“You still have a mouth,” he said unnecessarily.

“Er,” Hermione gave him a puzzled look, “I do. Is that a problem?”

“On the contrary,” Severus sighed in relief.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

Severus nodded. He felt almost human. Renewed.

“I made dinner,” Hermione said. “And by made, I meant I ordered food and it turned up. It’s in the kitchen under a heating charm.”

“Thank you,” said Severus.

“I ate five spring rolls,” Hermione admitted. “But I ordered eight. And a range of dishes, some spicy and some extra spicy.”

She could have eaten everything in the house and he wouldn’t have cared. He did not believe in any type of religion, but at that exact minute he would have completely believed the young woman sitting on his couch in purple leggings and a grey hoodie was an angel.

“Well, I might go,” Hermione said. “Oh before I forget, I expressed more milk as well. Because he’s a greedy guts.”

Severus watched her stand up and bend over the bassinet.

“Aren’t you? Greedy, greedy guts,” she crooned. “I’m Sorry, so Sorry, that I was such a fool.”

“You’re singing?” Severus asked. What had happened while he was asleep?

“He likes it. I think,” Hermione said. “I do enjoy a captive audience.”

The bizarre alternative universe that Severus found himself inhabiting increased in oddness when Hermione walked over and hugged him.

“You’re doing great,” she said. “And next time don’t wait so long to ask for help, you dolt.”

Severus nodded and she winked at him and spun out of the room. He sighed. The room felt a little bit empty without her bright and boisterous energy. But there was dinner, so Severus wandered into the kitchen and put the last three spring rolls on a plate. The trail of deep-fried shards of pastry on the floor leading from the kitchen into the living room suggested Hermione had not used a plate. He rolled his eyes and Vanished them.

He wandered back into the living room just as Hermione re-appeared.

“Did you forget something?” he asked.

“Er. No,” she said. “I’m not sure what happened. Sorry about the intrusion.”

She Apparated away.

Then reappeared.

“Um,” she said. “Do you have some wards you haven’t told me about?”

“No, “ said Severus. “But—.”

She Apparated.

And then came back again.

“It’s Sorensen,” Severus said. “He does it with me all the time.”

“Does what?” Hermione asked.

“Apparates me to him,” Severus sighed. “He must like you.”

“Fascinating,” Hermione said. “Firstly, that he likes me. As babies don’t tend to. But secondly, amazing wild magic. What an interesting baby.”

“You could be trapped here until he decides to let you leave,” Severus apologised.

“I see,” Hermione said. She wandered over to the cot and leant on it. “Honestly Sorry if you wanted more Prophet gossip you just had to ask. There’s no need to start arbitrary detention. There’s more than enough Gilderoy to go around.”

Severus watched her stick out her tongue again. He wondered how she was still alive but obviously, the child liked what was happening.

“Come on you high maintenance thing,” she said and picked him up and sat back on the couch. She Summoned the newspaper. “Right. So let me read you this very juicy story on Pansy Parkinson. She’s a stuck-up mole from my year who is disgustingly rich but has been having an affair with the Keeper from the Kestrels. Her husband is livid.”

“Hermione,” Severus interrupted. “Are you not concerned with what is happening?”

She readjusted the baby and paper so he sat snugly within her arms and the Prophet levitated to eye height.

“There’s nothing you can do about wild magic,” she said. “James once made Harry’s left ear turn blue for a week. I assume I’ll be here for at least the night. You should probably make up the spare room.”

“I don’t have one,” Severus said.

“Then you should probably make one,” Hermione laughed. “I’ll mind the spring rolls while you’re busy.”

Severus drew the plate towards his chest protectively. “I’m weak from hunger,” he said. “I need all of them.”

“What a greedy guts,” Hermione whispered conspiratorially to Sorensen.

“You had five of them!” Severus pointed out.

“I was referring to myself,” she grinned. “It runs in the family.”

She smiled down at the baby and stuck out her tongue again. “What about you, you greedy sod? Do you want some more milk?”

Severus rolled his eyes and decided to eat the food while there was still some available. He sat down on the couch. Hermione leant against him. Sorensen opened his eyes and Severus smiled.

Smiling seemed easier after five hours of sleep. And having Hermione here made everything seem easier. She accepted strange things with a shrug. After all, she’d accepted him hadn’t she? Everyone else always found him awkward and stiff, yet Hermione apparently found him completely affable. Maybe she had an affinity for odd things.

“Apparently the Ministry is expanding. Typical bureaucratic nonsense,” Hermione scoffed. “Don’t ever work for the Ministry, Sorensen. Or I shall be very cross.”

“He strikes me more of an anarchist than a government loyalist,” Severus drawled.

“Of course he is,” said Hermione. “It’s in his blood.”

Severus smiled. Sorensen yawned, and a bottle appeared on Hermione’s lap.

“How handy,” she said. “A self-feeding baby.”

Chapter Text

It was Hermione that started calling him Babymort. She explained that Sorensen was an extraordinarily powerful being—slightly funny looking—that screamed when he didn’t get his way and had devoted followers that answered his every whim. Severus couldn’t really argue with that.

One night had turned into two. Two had become three and soon enough four months had passed. Hermione had not been able to leave the house. As with everything else, she took this reality with a shrug and set up in the new (previously non-existent) spare room. Severus had opened the door once and the sight of discarded clothes on the floor and stacks of books on the table with numerous half-drunk cups of tea had left him slightly nauseated. He hadn’t opened it again. She humoured his fastidious nature in the shared areas by restraining her own chaotic approach to domesticity, and he was grateful for this.

Hermione had suggested a babysitter, positing the idea that if Sorry found more people he liked, then he would let Hermione go. Severus agreed and began sending owls to anyone that seemed suitable.

The first applicant, a cheerful witch with excellent references, lasted an hour before being Apparated to Skegness. She sent an owl clutching a message that politely turned down the position and requested not to be contacted by them again.

The second applicant, a young wizard who seemed sensible and unflustered, vanished for three hours. When he re-appeared in the house he was covered in dust, dragon scales and ash, appeared exhausted and immediately handed in his notice.

The third potential didn’t take too kindly to being given a set of flippers.

The fourth, well, that was St Mungo’s problem now.

Sorry had apparently inherited his father’s very specific taste in people. And that taste was currently limited to two people. Two very tired people. Two very tired and grumpy people.

“This is how we live now,” Severus said. “Maybe he’ll let us leave when he’s eighteen.”

“Maybe,” said Hermione as she wiggled her fingers at the baby lying on the soft rug. Sorensen giggled and Hermione suddenly had two more fingers on each hand. She shrugged and kept wiggling. The baby laughed again.

“Now your gloves won’t fit,” Severus pointed out.

“And my nail polish costs just increased,” she said.

“He’s getting more unpredictable as he gets older,” Severus sighed. “Soon he’ll be dangerous.”

“Oh don’t be—,” Hermione tutted then she suddenly stopped. “Hey!”

“Hay is what horses eat.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Hermione said. “Keep him entertained while I send an owl.”

Severus moved across on the couch and sat so Sorensen could see him. An enormous smile bloomed on his son’s face and Severus felt a warm glow suffuse him. He wiggled his fingers and Sorry kicked his chubby legs and waved his arms furiously like a joyous, baby windmill. Becoming a parent was simultaneously the most terrible and wonderful thing he’d ever done. But he also missed his pre-Babymort days. Even teaching potions to incompetent pre-teens had been less mortally precarious than being a father.

Not for the first time in the last four months, Severus wondered if he was in over his head.

“I’ve organised a babysitter,” Hermione said breezily as she walked back into the room. “He’ll be here soon.”

“It’s not Potter is it?” Severus asked.

“No,” Hermione said. “Since I’ve been staying here he and Ron send bezoars all the time to neutralise whatever they assume you’ve dosed me with. I don’t want them to get even more worried by actually introducing them to Babymort.”

Severus returned his attention to the baby. He played peek-a-boo for what seemed like an eternity while Hermione read a book on the couch and occasionally cooed at Sorensen. Regular bursts of attention towards him were the only protective measure they had.

He stopped peek-a-boo halfway into a peek and well before the boo as another thought occurred to him.

“Minerva?” Severus guessed.

There was an irritated squawk from his son and Severus was flipped upside down, his back almost touching the ceiling.

“I doubt Minerva is coming back for Babymort seconds. She hasn’t quite gotten over the whole tentacle situation,” Hermione said as she looked up at him. “Is it fun up there?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“Oh is Daddy upside down? Silly daddy!” Hermione crooned at Sorry. The baby smiled a drooling gummy grin at her and kicked his legs. Severus was returned to the couch. He slumped forward onto his knees and groaned.

Hermione patted his thigh in a comforting manner. “Don’t worry. We’ll both die eventually.”

Severus laughed grimly. “If you die first I will never forgive you.”

“I promise,” she said. “Oh! I have half a biscuit in my robe!”

She withdrew a Jaffa Cake and blew on it. Small pieces of lint tumbled off onto the tartan blanket on the couch. A gift from Minerva that was colourful and a little scratchy if you were near it too long. Just like her. The tentacle-free version that is. And now it had Jaffa crumbs embedded in-between the soft woollen threads. They’d be very annoying to Vanish later.

He watched in slightly horrified fascination as Hermione bit into the biscuit. She noticed him watching her.

“What?” she asked.

“How old was that?” he asked, motioning towards the biscuit.

“Not sure. Maybe a few days. But their composition is almost ninety percent preservatives. I don’t think they can get old,” Hermione said and the rest of the biscuit was shoved into her mouth. Severus was treated to her standard wink and eyebrow raise.

This time when she did it, something warm and lovely settled in the pit of Severus’s stomach. And that was disturbing. Maybe sleeping in one to two-hour bursts for the previous four months had finally destroyed his mental capacity. Or this was what respect felt like. Or maybe gratitude. He was just grateful after all. For giving him Sorensen, and then helping him with Babymort. Nothing else. Just plain old gratitude.

Hmmmm.

A large backfire distracted him from examining this uncomfortable thought. Hermione clapped her hands and stood up.

“Here we go!” she said. “Salvation.”

She returned with the last person Severus expected. He wasn’t quite sure what to say and merely gaped somewhat inanely at the most illogical choice for a babysitter he could possibly imagine.

“‘’Ello Professor,” grinned Hagrid.

“This is Sorensen,” Hermione said, and before Severus could do anything she had scooped up the baby and placed him in Hagrid’s shovel-like hands.

“He’s a little beauty,” boomed Hagrid.

Sorensen kicked his legs and Hagrid’s beard caught on fire. Severus watched as Hagrid calmly doused the flames with a pat of a huge palm.

“And clever just like his mummy and daddy,” Hagrid beamed. Severus could see the top of Sorry’s toes as the baby kicked his legs in the vast cavern of the half-giant’s embrace.

“Why don’t you take him outside and show him your motorcycle?” Hermione suggested.

“Come on Sorry. You’ll love my bike,” Hagrid rumbled and ducked under the doorframe as he left the living room.

“Have you lost every brain cell in your cranium?” Severus demanded.

“What do you mean? He’s absolutely perfect!” said Hermione.

“Oh yes, perfect. Perfectly suitable to entrust an infant to. You and Albus: choosing the most particularly bizarre guardians to put your faith in.”

“Stop spouting off for two seconds and listen,” Hermione said, so fiercely that Severus did exactly that. “Hagrid is half-giant, so he has a natural immunity to spells. And, most importantly, he holds nothing but the deepest love and affection for dangerous magical creatures.”

“Ah,” said Severus. “I see.”

A shout from outside motivated both of them to dash out onto the back porch. Hagrid’s motorcycle and sidecar were levitating two feet off the ground. Hagrid was holding Sorry and watching the machine hover, with a broad smile on his face.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked.

“He’s as powerful as Professor Dumbledore,” said Hagrid proudly. “Gryffindor for sure.”

“Excuse me!” said a scandalised Severus. “Over my dead body.”

“You promised not to die first. Don’t go keeling over just yet,” said Hermione. “At least not until he is eighteen.”

“Do you think he’d like to meet a manticore?” Hagrid asked, gently moving the squirming baby around.

“You would really need to check with the manticore,” Severus said. “It probably would have serious safety concerns about being in close proximity to Sorensen.”

“He’s just a baby,” Hagrid said. “He doesn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

Hagrid’s beard began smouldering again before merely turning bright green.

“Told you. That’s Slytherin green,” Severus observed smugly.

“What a clever little lad,” said Hagrid indulgently.

“I think you’re hired,” Hermione said. “Could you start straight away? Mainly so I can see if I can go home?”

“We can look around the garden,” Hagrid said. “C'mon Sorry.”

Severus followed Hermione back inside, and to the spare room where she began to pack her personal belongings into a small, pink bag. As she directed items with her wand, Severus was gripped by the sudden realisation that he didn’t want her to go. And it wasn’t gratitude. It was something else entirely.

“I am very optimistic about leaving, but very sure my houseplants are dead,” Hermione said.

“Thank you for everything,” he said.

“I’d always help you,” Hermione said as the last few pieces of clothing shrank and folded themselves. “We’re friends after all.”

“Just friends?” Severus asked haltingly.

The clothing dropped mid-air and she turned to face him. “Well. Yes. But we could be more.”

She leant into him, and he was very aware of her breasts pressing against his chest. Forgetting that he most likely had atrocious coffeebreath and not to mention the lank and stringy condition of his hair, Severus put his arms around her. She looked up into his face and winked.

“Oh hello,” she said. “This is a bit saucy.”

He wiped a smudge of chocolate off her lip and kissed her. Coffee breath and all. And she kissed him back. As their eager hands began to disrobe each other he discovered that she favoured cotton underpants dotted with comical cats that were half-avocado. She also had two fruit salad sweets tucked in her bra which she breathlessly told him were “for later”. Underneath she was soft and utterly perfect and felt wonderful. He had no time to even worry about his own skinny frame as she pulled him onto the bed, and then he lost all capacity for thought.

Afterwards, he lay, exhausted but happily so, as Hermione buttoned her shirt back up. She was chewing on one of the recovered fruit salads. Like everything else about her, Hermione’s boudoir style had been enthusiastically boisterous, and Severus had just tried to keep up. Whatever he had done seemed to have worked, as she seemed satisfied during and after.

“That was nice. Maybe we can do it again sometime,” she said.

“I’d like that,” Severus replied.

With that, she Apparated out of the room. For the first time in four months, she wasn’t immediately returned to the house. He didn’t feel as sad as he had earlier before she had pressed her legs against the sides of his head and shouted his name. He felt optimistic. Everything was fine. He had Sorensen. He had Hermione. He had, bizarrely, Hagrid.

The feeling of optimism bled into the next two months, as Hagrid turned out to be the best babysitter he could have imagined. Hermione returned regularly, to see Sorry and also Severus. Managing an all-powerful and unpredictable infant wasn’t so daunting with help. There was absolutely nothing that flustered Hagrid, and he turned up every other day with a cheery smile and a plate of inedible cakes. And at night, when Sorry stirred, often Hermione was there and getting back into bed and into a warm embrace was far easier than sleeping in an exploded cot.

Everything was almost perfect. He could do this. He could!

Even his relationship with Hermione had seemingly been accepted. Minerva visited twice and retained her limbs on both occasions. Potter and Weasley had given up on trying to break the non-existent spell and instead sent infant-sized quidditch paraphernalia on a disturbingly regular basis.

That’s what he thought the owl was delivering when it popped into his living room, but he saw instead it was a note from Hermione. He unrolled it and immediately felt dizzy as he read the contents, which were penned in purple ink.

I’m pregnant.