Chapter Text
Operation One-Eighty
Severus Snape regretted leaving his billowing robes at home. He might have promised Hermione to wear the fitted green robes she liked so much, but he always felt ill at ease in the maelstrom of red-haired exuberance that was the Burrow, and the reassuring flutter of his robes never failed to make him feel better. That, and scowling. Unfortunately Hermione had ruled that out, too. She had mentioned that it would diminish his chances of getting laid later, and only the thought of a willing and enthusiastic Hermione naked in their bed as a reward could get him through the day without either going insane or murdering anyone.
The day had started out sunny but soon turned cool and cloudy. Severus wrapped his summer robes tighter around his scrawny form.
Some of the women in flimsy summer dresses had fled from the Weasley garden into the house as soon as the first cloud showed up in the sky and dragged Hermione with them. She had given him an apologetic look over her shoulder and was gone. Severus would have liked to follow her, but the other women had jokingly threatened the men with 'girl talk', as one of her companions had called it, and so successfully kept him from joining her. He cast a non-verbal heating charm and slunk down the garden path to keep warm.
He took care not to come too close to the mob of noisy children running around the pond and the adults playing Quidditch above the orchard. The whole extended Weasley family, which unfortunately through his relationship with Hermione included Severus against his will, had turned up to celebrate Arthur's long-awaited, finally official promotion from head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects to head of the whole Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The host and a number of his disgustingly cheerful guests stood around two big tables sagging under the weight of enough sandwiches, chicken and ham pie, salad, rock cakes and homemade strawberry ice cream to feed the whole Ministry of Magic.
The lamentable lack of shadowy corners in which he could lurk left Severus hovering around the rose bushes instead. How he wanted to blast them. Just one, or maybe two - he could always pretend it had been an accident.
Someone bumped into Severus from behind, nearly sending him sprawling, and then waltzed off without apologising. Severus cursed under his breath and straightened, ready to give the miscreant a piece of his mind. If Arthur had not noticed Severus that same instant and waved at him, he might even have forgotten himself and let Potter's precious firstborn grow a fetching pair of antlers. As it was, Severus just nodded back at Arthur and gripped his wand tight enough to make his knuckles crack, wishing he could at least take house points off the snotty brat.
James Potter. Of course. Who else but a Potter could make him regret his resolution to be a better man? The boy was a combination of Weasley and Potter genes, oh joy. When Severus had woken up from his long coma after the battle and found himself alive and pardoned, he had sworn to take his chance, turn over a new leaf and keep his nose clean in the future. For some reason he had decided that meant he couldn't insult the feeble minded do-gooders around him any longer. He had also stopped following raving noseless madmen and killing barmy old headmasters, but giving up the insults had been the hardest. When he came down from his potion-induced high he amended his resolution to appearing like he had turned over a new leaf. He could still insult every last one of them in his head without anyone being the wiser. Well, nobody but a very skilled Legilimens, but it hadn't exactly been a good year for those thanks to yours truly.
But James Sirius Potter - James Sirius - made Severus's wand hand twitch. He followed the laughing and screeching seven-year-old with his eyes. If looks could kill...
There was a loud bang, a flash of green smoke and young Potter dropped to the ground. Before Severus could do anything, like yelling 'It wasn't me!' at the top of his lungs before hexes would come flying from all sides, the boy jumped up again and giggled.
"James Sirius Potter, you'll hand over those Bombtastic Bombs right now."
"Mu-um!"
While Ginevra Potter flew over to her son and gave him a talking-to, Severus closed his eyes and counted to ten. One sneaky Slytherin, two sneaky Slytherins, three sneaky Slytherins... Severus's heart rate slowly returned to normal. The dark clouds gathering in the sky matched his mood perfectly. When the first few rain drops landed on his scalp he turned his back on Ginevra, who had just dismounted to solve the minor familial problem once and for all, and strode back to the house.
Surely Hermione was finished with her girl talk.
He didn't mind her spending time with her friends, especially if the spending happened far, far away from him; he did mind being shoved to the side and being forced to face them alone, however. He owed Arthur for recommending him to St. Mungo's as a brewer when nobody in Britain wanted to buy from him and he had to ship all his potions to the continent to make a living, but that gratitude didn't extend to the plentiful fruit of Arthur's loins.
As he approached the back door he could hear voices and clatter from the kitchen. Severus grimaced. Those Weasleys could not survive one hour without stuffing their faces. It probably had to do with growing up under Molly's influence, he mused. No wonder the lot were Quidditch mad, they would have the body shape of a well-fed Puffskein without the exercise. It was probably Molly in the kitchen right now.
He was proven right when he heard Molly say, "He's such a little cutie, I could nibble his tiny little feet all day!"
That explained the food fixation, Severus thought, get'em when they're young and all that rot.
"I really envy you, Molly. Such a big family, and now Ron has got one on the way."
Severus did not recognise the second woman's voice, although he could hear her clearly with the door ajar; he guessed she was one of Molly's cousins.
"It is nice, isn't it? But I guess it's not for everyone, I mean, I don't want to speak ill of her. She's not our daughter but I like to think of her as family."
"You mean Ginny's friend, what's her name?"
"Hermione."
Severus didn't miss a beat, but he slowed down and pretended he was admiring Arthur's garden shed. Breaking the habits of a lifetime was hard, and he had been a good spy. Most of the living ex-spies were.
"Ah yes, Hermione. Ginny mentioned that her thirtieth birthday is coming up, perhaps she'll change her mind? Tick tock goes the clock."
Severus crossed the last few yards with the speed of a glacier and the same frosty demeanour.
"No, no, I'm afraid not."
"Is it because of him? How long has that been going on, anyway?"
Severus had a good idea who the him in question was. He was now near enough to peer inside the kitchen while looking to the rest of the world like a man with a peculiar interest in the moss growing on the stone steps (Funaria hygrometrica, he could think of four possible uses off the top of his head; alas, none of them deadly). Molly stood at the cooker with her back to him. To her left sat a short stick-figure of a woman leaning forward and clutching an enormous handbag.
"Oh, three years, give or take. Surprised us all that they lasted longer than three months, to be honest. Mind you, it's probably for the best that Severus is not a father. The stories the children tell about his teaching days! But no. Hermione doesn't want children. That's why she and Ron split up, in fact."
"Oh, I see."
"Yes. Mind giving me a hand?" Molly asked, and Severus saw the two women disappear through the door to the scullery. "Now, where have I put the tablecloth?"
Severus slipped inside. On the wall the magical clock's single hand first pointed to 'Cooking', then jumped to 'Time to get everyone inside' while Severus was looking. A pot stood on the cooker and the aroma of beef stew wafted through the air. Severus had to squeeze by the centrepiece of the now deserted Weasley kitchen, a big wooden table. Although the worn-down hardwood floor creaked under Severus's heavy boots the women didn't notice him. He quietly closed the door behind him and hurried down a narrow passageway.
"Oh, 'ello Severus."
In front of him Fleur Weasley came down the staircase with a baby in her arms wrapped in a knitted blue blanket. As always in the presence of the tall fair-haired quarter-Veela, he had to suppress a smile. He inclined his head in greeting instead.
"Little Louis needed a new nappy."
That was more information about little Louis than Severus ever wanted to know, but he nodded anyway. He couldn't think of a single reply that wasn't sarcastic.
"'Ave you seen Bill? No? Ronald, what 'appened to your 'ands?"
Behind them Ronald Weasley strolled up, grinning from ear to ear like a loon. "Me and the kiddos were just testing our experimental stuff."
The imbecile held up his arms and showed his enlarged hands. They were each the size of a Bludger and flopped grotesquely from one side to the other like a pair of oversized gloves. "Wicked, huh? It's a new version of the Ton Tongue Toffee."
He wiggled his fingers and missed the photograph of an old wizard by a hair's breadth. "Sorry, mate." The little figure jumped back in its frame, shook its fist and then stomped off into the background.
Fleur Weasley wrinkled her nose and cupped the back of her baby's head with one hand as if to shield it from his uncle's bad influence. "That is disgusting."
Severus silently agreed. He had been exposed to the maximum dose of Weasley charm he could endure and Hermione's former beau was a sore point with him even on a good day. He needed to find her, soon, before he started decimating her friends. How curious, he had always thought he would start by offing Potter. Junior, that is. Or was it senior, now? The middle one, damn it, he wouldn't call him Harry in his head.
"'Do you know where Bill and the girls are, Ron?"
Weasley shrugged his shoulders and waved with his left monstrosity in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. Mum wants everybody to come in 'cos it's started raining. Maybe Bill's helping to bring in the food?"
"Raining? My purse, eet's still outside. 'Ere, will you hold Louis? Ah no, not you," she said and, evading Weasley's outstretched arms, pressed the baby against Severus's chest, forcing him to put his arms around the boy to prevent him from falling down.
He was too stunned to protest so the strange strangled sound he heard had to come from Weasley next to him. No Hogwarts educated woman would ever hand her baby to him, not even the Slytherins. He remembered too late that Fleur Weasley née Delacour was a Beauxbatons alumna.
His first instinct was to shove the bundle right back into its mother's arms, but she had already stepped back. "Only one minute," she said and disappeared down the passageway.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Weasley twitch. What did that moron think, that he would drop the child? Or maybe scarper and use it as a potion ingredient? Once again he wondered how a woman as intelligent as Hermione could have lowered herself to fall for that simpleton. Severus only didn't sneer because that endangered his deal with Hermione if she heard of it. When she heard of it, he corrected, because he knew with dead certainty that every second from now on until Fleur returned would be re-enacted ad nauseam to the amusement of the whole Weasley clan. He raised his Occlumency shields to give nothing away and only then did he allow himself to look down at the child in his arms.
It was sleeping. Well, thank Merlin for small favours. It was also surprisingly heavy and had a mop of red hair over its scrunched-up face. Apparently the Weasley side had wrestled the Veela charm to the ground in this one, poor sod.
Severus congratulated himself on his foresight when the boy turned his head and yawned into Severus's robe in his sleep. Severus's eyebrow wanted to crawl up to his hairline but was held back by the steely grip of his Occluded mind. A clear case of damned if you do, damned if you don't. Weasley was prone to misinterpret any reaction on Severus's part to his disadvantage.
It became harder to maintain his stoic appearance with Louis shifting in his arms. Interesting. Apparently sleeping like a baby wasn't a synonym for sleeping like a log as he had thought. And now the boy smiled. While asleep. The corner of Severus's mouth broke rank and had to be dragged down again ruthlessly. If he was lucky Weasley hadn't noticed or if he did, mistaken it for a nervous tick.
Severus hadn't known babies could smile in their sleep. Was that part of the Veela allure manifesting or normal child behaviour, maybe a sign of indigestion? Severus felt beads of sweat form on his forehead from the mental strain he was under. Deep, deep down, unnamed emotions boiled and threatened to bubble to the surface. Any longer and he would suffer irreparable damage to his reputation, he was sure. What was keeping that woman?
"Ah, I'm back, but you didn't even notice, no?" Fleur cooed at her child and lifted him back into her arms.
Behind her came the whole family stomping down the corridor. Severus saw how Ronald Weasley bounced on his toes and practically burst with the wish to share the tale of the bat of the dungeon with a child shoved in his arms and felt his ire rise like it always did when he felt cornered and ridiculed. If he wasn't very careful he would lose control and make a mockery of himself. At best he would cut Weasley down to size but at worst he would start ranting and raving like a lunatic. He decided there and then to disappear and wait out the rush in the loo.
He locked the door behind him with more force than was strictly necessary, settled down on the closed lid and took a deep breath. Some kind soul had left an old Quidditch Monthly magazine on the window sill and Severus flipped through the pages, skimming over the articles while he listened to the hubbub outside. When that couldn't hold his interest any longer he wrote his shopping list in his head. In alphabetical order to make it more challenging. The muffled sound of the horde stampeding through the house ebbed down around the time Severus got stuck after T for toilet paper and gave up.
There wasn't much to see in the tiny room; it was only big enough for the loo, a sink and a tiny milk glass window with a flower pot on the sill. Every surface was scrubbed spotless apart from a dirty smudge over the towel rail. Severus leaned forward. His guess was one of the children had played with the flower soil. He checked the window. Yes, there were trails covered by the leaves. Severus dipped his index finger in the soil and pressed it next to the original smudge.
Definitely flower soil.
Another mystery solved through experience, expertise and experimentation. One Evanesco later his hand was clean, the wall wasn't and Severus's mood had brightened. He idly wondered if Hermione had put him under Imperio to come with her today and dismissed it as unnecessary. She could dangle the vaguest prospect of sex in front of his big noggin and he was putty in her hands. If he was lucky, Hermione had already had an overdose of Molly by now and was ready to leave. That cheered him up immensely and he left his sanitary haven.
He found Hermione in the packed living room, standing in the corner in a gaggle of women. Ginevra Weasley gesticulated wildly to the obvious amusement of that former Bell woman while Hermione smiled politely and looked about the room. In exchange for him wearing the robes of her choice she had let him pick her dress, and Severus used the opportunity to admire his handiwork. He definitely got the best of the bargain. She wore one of her few are-you-sure-it's-not-too-short dresses, a floral summer dress that was his favourite because of its plunging I-cannot-possibly-wear-this neckline. The really-I'll-break-my-neck heels were the icing on Severus's cake.
When Hermione's gaze met his, her smile widened and turned into a real one. She stole a peep at Ginevra, who was still the centre of attention, and then tugged at her left earring. Severus smirked. That was his cue, the secret signal that she used only in the most dire of situations.
He wove his way through the crowd and let Hermione take his arm.
"There you are, Severus! Ginny was just telling us about the Quidditch game."
She squeezed his upper arm and bumped against him. His skin tingled where a lock of her curls brushed over his cheek and the familiar scent of her discreet perfume wafted up his nose, inviting him to have his wicked way with her. Like always he marvelled at how he had managed to win her and, even more miraculously, keep her. He suspected the secret of their success was her stubbornness and not his irresistible charms, but he could live with that. If they had been alone he would have embraced her and buried his face in her hair as a prelude to more salacious activities, but that had to wait until he had stolen her away.
"I'm afraid it's time for me to leave. I have a potion simmering at a critical stage," he lied in a bored voice.
"I should come with you, after all it's my patient and if it works I want to have detailed records."
The excuse sounded ham-fisted to Severus's ears, but none of her friends knew enough of St. Mungo's inner workings in general and Hermione's role as acting department head and co-founder of the new research ward in particular to catch her in a lie. None of the new spells and potions developed by Hermione's small team had made it out of the testing stages yet, although it was only a matter of time, and Hermione only worked directly with patients when she was filling in while one of the regular Healers was on holiday.
They took their leave and fought their way through the crowd. Hermione smiled and waved and hugged Weasleys left and right, no matter if born, née or related by law while Severus simply nodded and steered her towards the door. Only Potter dared to give him a slap on the back, grinning like a madman and even adding a cheeky 'see you, Severus'. The whelp's bothersome hero worship had turned into worrying chumminess since Hermione had started seeing Severus.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered on their way out.
"You're welcome."
They had made it to the front door when Arthur intercepted them. "Leaving so soon?"
"We're sorry, Arthur," Hermione said and gave him a quick hug.
"It's alright, some other time." Arthur freed his glasses from Hermione's mane and pushed them back up his nose. "I had no chance to ask you earlier, is it true you'll be St. Mungo's new Muggle liaison now that Esme retired?"
"I haven't decided yet, there's still so much to do that I don't know if I have enough time."
"You would be perfect. And think about all the wonderful things you could incorporate into your research, like those stitches I had!" For a moment Arthur's smile dimmed and he turned to Severus with a pained expression. "What a horrible evil thing that snake was, and you had it worse than me. I'm so glad you pulled through."
He clasped Severus shoulder and gave it a fatherly squeeze. "Now take your lady home." He let go of Severus and opened the door for them. "Don't let us wait that long for your next visit!"
Arthur smiled at them a last time and closed the door.
"Let's go home, Severus."
Severus had to clear his dry throat before he could speak. "Yes, let's go."
Severus wrapped his arms around her on the threshold and Apparated them straight into their bedroom.
"Another minute of Quidditch talk and I would have strangled Ginny," Hermione said. She leaned against Severus and slipped off her shoes. "The whole time she was going on about England's chances at the world cup. It's still a year away!"
"England's last qualification match is next week against Bulgaria."
"Then that's why she wanted to know if I'm still in contact with Viktor Krum. As if going to a ball with him fifteen years ago makes me an expert on the Bulgarian team."
"He's their new coach."
"He is? That's nice, I hope for his sake that they'll win."
"And I hope for your sake that you won't repeat that statement in Ginevra's earshot. I confess I find your aversion to Quidditch a tad unusual in a witch with wide interests."
"As long as it's up in the air and played on brooms, I'm not interested." She took off her earrings and put them in the jewellery box on her dressing table. Their bedroom had been just big enough to hold Severus's small bed and wardrobe to begin with, but with Hermione's furniture squeezed in and the bigger bed it was downright claustrophobic.
"I see. As I am the former teacher in this relationship please allow me to enlighten you." He leaned down and swept Hermione up in his arms.
"Severus! What are you doing?"
"Consider it a lesson in Quidditch theory."
Hermione put her arm around his shoulder and peered down at the floor. "You're not going to use your flying spell, are you? Any higher and I'll get sick."
"Let us begin," Severus said and threw Hermione on the bed without further notice. Her eardrum-piercing shriek would have put to shame a banshee and, in fact, sent poor old Crookshanks hurtling off the pile of dirty clothes stuffed under the dressing table in which he had dozed through their Apparition.
Severus pretended his ears were not ringing. "Blatching: flying with the intent to collide." He dove and landed next to Hermione, who scowled at him but pulled him closer when he crawled on top of her and let his forehead rest against hers.
"The Transylvanian Tackle, a fake punch to the nose to distract a player."
"Not so fake any more if you don't get to the point soon."
He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "Patience, my dear, patience." With a swish of his wand all of their clothes vanished from their bodies with a small pop and reappeared folded in a tidy pile on the floor. Severus dropped his wand on top of it.
"You are such a neatness freak. Is that a legal move?"
"If you believe the rumours, yes. Obviously you don't pay close enough attention to the gossip column in the Daily Prophet's sports section."
"Ugh. I really didn't need to know that."
"Please concentrate on the lesson at hand." He pushed himself up to his elbows and planted a kiss on Hermione's shoulder. "Quidditch is much more than a hobby for the fan."
"Yes, I kind of noticed."
"Quiet." His nip of her upper arm resulted in a low moan. "They support their team," Severus slid a bit lower so he could better pay attention to his favourite parts of Hermione's anatomy, "through the ups and downs," a couple of kisses and licks to illustrate, "and practically worship the ground they fly over." His index finger stroked from Hermione's faded curse scar down to her belly.
"Go on. Please."
Her skin was smooth and warm to his touch. "They defend their team. They are devastated if they lose and ecstatic if they win. A real fan does not waver in his loyalty and sticks with his team no matter what."
Severus felt her running her fingers through his hair.
"They, ah... they cannot imagine their life without it. Not for one single day, hour, or minute. Not even a second."
"Severus."
He looked up.
There was a strange glitter in Hermione's eyes, but she smiled at him. "I know one or two things about Quidditch, too, even if I don't know the correct terms." Her hand sneaked down between them. "What's it called again when someone seizes the opponent's broom tail?"
Severus swallowed and tried to keep his eyes from crossing. "Blagging. That is considered a foul, actually."
"Really? Too bad." The sheets rustled as she spread her legs. "Don't you get a penalty shot when you got fouled?"
"Your sense for fair play is commendable. I should try to score then."
"Yes, you should."
He tried, and he did, much to the joy of everyone involved. Hermione demonstrated her understanding of the Starfish and Stick move, while Severus managed a Sloth Grip Roll shortly before the proceedings ended not so surprisingly in a draw. Hermione even suggested they schedule a rematch in the morning.
Life was good.
oOo
Severus woke up with a gasp, his pulse racing and his heart close to breaking.
"Nightmare again?" Hermione mumbled half-asleep and snuggled up to him.
Yes, a horrible nightmare that didn't have the decency to fade away. Oh the storyline ran together and bled away until only single snapshots stayed, but even now that he was awake the horribly sweet and sickeningly syrupy feelings from his dream stuck to his brain like candy floss. His subconscious had crossed a line with that dream. Was it possible to unthink a thought? Wise to cast Obliviate on himself?
"Ssh, I'm here," Hermione murmured, more asleep than awake. She nuzzled his chest and yawned. "It will be okay in a sec."
No, it wouldn't be. Not this time.
He had felt utter joy in his dream and it sucked the happiness out of reality. Normally he had boring run-of-the-mill dreams or nightmares either filled with longing for the things he could not have or loathing for the deeds he had done trying to obtain those things; it had always been that way and that part hadn't changed in the last few years. Only lately he then woke up to find Hermione holding him, the embodiment of his wishes come true, and it took the sting out of the recurring nightly horrors. This time she had been in his dream, though, and not only her. That was the problem.
The dream had torn a gaping hole into his life. Where before two had been the answer for the prayers of one, there it was now missing a third.
Severus Snape wanted a baby.
oOo
This couldn't wait. Severus and his subconscious needed to have a little chat. That required preparation, because the downside of being one of the most accomplished Occlumens in the wizarding world was the risk of Occluding one's own thoughts.
Severus crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Hermione, and crept down the stairs in his nightshirt.
The only things that could compromise his shields were large amounts of alcohol or extended contact with Harry bloody Potter. Irrespective of the fact that these days the Chosen One would probably be only too happy to assist Severus should he ever be so desperate to actually consider asking The Boy Who Couldn't Just Die And Stay Dead and thus take out all the potential fun of waking him up at three a.m. in the morning, extended contact with Potter also resulted in elevated blood pressure, the impulse to grind his teeth to dust and was generally bad for Snape's health. Hence the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey he had stashed away under the kitchen sink for exactly such a purpose. Severus seldom drank: a consequence of growing up with an alcoholic father who beat his wife when sober and turned on his son when drunk. He mainly used it as a tool to loosen tongues, including his own.
It was a good thing the Dark Lord hadn't allowed alcoholic beverages at Death Eater meetings or Snape might have ended up as a corpse flambé on Nagini's menu.
Severus fetched the Firewhiskey and took a swig. Half a bottle later he had established contact with his subconscious. It wasn't happy with him, but what else was new?
You should find another way to explore your feelings. You know that.
"Yes, yes, get on with it." Severus paced around the kitchen with his hands clasped behind him.
That necklace you picked for Hermione's birthday is wonderful, but you should take her out for a romantic dinner--
"Babies! Get back to the topic, what's that about a baby in my dream? Why do I suddenly want to become a father?"
Not suddenly. You've been thinking about it for some time now.
He stopped short. "I haven't! That's ridiculous!"
Then why are you always watching the children when you think no one is looking?
"Someone has to keep an eye on Potter. Any Potter, no matter which generation."
You wondered what it would feel like touching pregnant Ginevra's baby bump.
"Purely scientific interest."
If you say so. And being angry when Ronald Weasley and his wife announced their pregnancy?
Severus wanted to glare at his pesky subconscious. "I wasn't angry, I was annoyed. Sometimes I forget that I'm no longer a teacher and won't have to teach the next generation of Weasley pranksters."
Bollocks. You were the odd man out again, watching others leading the life you think you will never have. Like you felt before I pointed out that you should give Hermione a chance. 'When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out.'
"What the-- stop that schmaltzy nonsense! I've gone mad, that's it, isn't it? Next I'll spout Beatles lyrics."
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh come on, Severus, your glower doesn't work on me.
"If you don't start making sense I'll go back to bed."
Then I'll send you another dream. And another. Until you listen.
"I don't believe you. Why would I want children? I hate them. Babies are worse because they smell."
Oh, please, you want to make me believe you are afraid of changing nappies? You work with smelly obnoxious ingredients every day. And no, you hate other people's children. Your and Hermione's child? That's a different kettle of fish. Being a parent doesn't obligate you to fawn over other people's spawn. Think of yourself as an old plush toy that sat on the shelf for its whole life. Now that Hermione cuddles you, the old stiff stitching comes loose and your soft filling spills out.
"That mental picture is disgusting in so many ways I can't count them all. I think I'm going to be sick." He pulled back a chair from the table and slumped down. "I don't know how to be a father."
You'll learn. Just as you learned to be happy with Hermione. You are not your father and she is not your mother.
Severus rubbed over an old stain on the table top with his fingertip. "That's all well and good, but according to Molly Hermione doesn't want children."
Just because she doesn't want a flock of red-haired children doesn't mean she won't have one with you.
"It's not something that has come up so far. What can I do? If that's the reason she broke up with Weasley--"
Now that's the question, innit? I told you Weasley is not an issue here. Just ask her.
"I'm a Slytherin. I was a spy. I fooled the Dark Lord on a regular basis; I'll come up with a cunning plan."
Or you could, you know, just ask her.
His fingers halted. "If I could convince her that it was her idea all along..."
Yes, splendid idea. Or you just... you know what? Never mind. Try it your way first. Now that's sorted how about you loosen up a bit so we can have a chat without you royally pissed? If I didn't send you a dream from time to time you would never listen to me.
"Get stuffed."
And nice talking to you, too. Ta-ra!
So that was settled, then. He only had to shattegise - no, stratte--, strategi-- bloody hell was he pissed. He only needed a plan.
It took him three tries to pick up the vial from the table before him and pull the cork.
I really think you should just ask--
Snape swiftly downed the Sober-Up potion and winced when his temples turned into a painful throbbing mess. The instantaneous return to soberness was as pleasant as a blow to the head and had the same after effects, but he had much thinking to do.
Anyone who had ever witnessed Severus fight Dumbledore's orders tooth and nail before giving in to the inevitable would have been surprised how easily he came to terms with his epiphany, but it was simple, really. Unlike the old codger, Severus's subconscious truly had his best interest at heart. It didn't inflict lemon drops on him, either.
So how to make Hermione want a child? Severus scratched his chin. By presenting a child that embodied all the good reasons to have children. So far Hermione did not want children, ergo the child could not be a Potter or Weasley. Merlin knew that minus the last day all that brood had ever inspired in Severus over the years was a deep gratitude that he would never ever need to set foot in a classroom again.
It had to be one child then, singular, not children, plural horribilis. Severus found a quill and a sheet of paper in one of the drawers and jotted down a list of desirous attributes.
Well-behaved, quiet, intelligent, old enough to display said intelligence but not old enough to talk back.
Severus hesitated, then added good-looking to the list. He didn't harbour any illusions about the chances of them producing a Gilderoy Lockhart look-alike between them, but in his experience only loving parents overlooked unattractiveness in their offspring. Probably because their own ugly features were staring back at them.
Now, how to find such a child?
For some unfathomable reason Britain's wizarding parents did not go out of their way to invite him to their spawn's birthday parties. That is, all save one family. Although Severus had already declined he had to admit the child in question met his requirements to a 'T'.
Now he only had to inform Hermione and hope that she let him live.