Chapter 44: The Search For The Cup
It was nearly eleven o’clock when Hermione popped into view on the edge of Hogwarts grounds. Her stomach turned as she managed to replace the air that Apparition had squeezed from her lungs. Head reeling, she set her hands on her knees and prayed the Apparition sickness would pass after the first trimester of her pregnancy ended. After a moment, her world came to a stop, and her stomach settled; she looked at the school. It seemed impossibly far away, so she looked around her, then Disillusioned herself before changing into her Animagus form and flying to the school. The building was dark and silent, seemed almost foreboding with her knowledge that it held only a handful of living human inhabitants.
It didn’t take long for her to reach the front door in her avian form, and she soon found herself standing before the huge heavy doors. She was grateful to find it took no more than a tug before the doors rotated open. Few of the usual sconces were lit this time, far fewer than normal, but she had to remind herself there was no one in the building to need the light.
“Dobby,” she called after an uncertain minute.
There was a slight crack, and the small house-elf appeared before her in his usual odd clothing choices—a mishmash of colors and patterns. “Miss is here! Harry told Dobby to bring Miss to him as soon as Miss arrived.” He took her by the hand, snapped his fingers, and she found herself standing in a dorm. The effects of Apparition were far less this time, and she wondered if it was the elf magic or the relatively shorter distance that was the cause. She thanked Dobby and let him go. Judging by the green and silver bedding and hangings around her, she must be in Slytherin.
“Voldemort might have slept in one of these beds,” she whispered to herself, shivering slightly at the thought.
“Yeah, unreal, isn’t it?” Harry’s voice came from behind her, causing her to jump. “Glad you could join us. Feeling better?”
“Much.” She turned to face him, and he brushed her bushy hair away from her face. It was a gentle action, one that concerned and warmed her.
“Glad to hear it. I’m sure you can tell you’re in the Slytherin dorms. We finished the trophy room earlier. Ron’s already done the common room and is on the second round of boys’ dorms. I took the first floor and am working on the third now. We can’t get to the girls’ rooms; you’ll have to cover them.”
“If the idea is for him to put the cup somewhere that means something to him, it’ll have to be in the boys’ side, since he couldn’t get into the girls’ dorms if you can’t.”
Harry blinked. “Right, should have thought of that. Well, do you want to head up a floor and see what you can find?”
“Sure.” Hermione turned and headed out into the hall, hurried up the few steps to the next level and noticed the sign that said ‘Third Years’. She wondered if the signs were for the past school year, or the next one coming up—which should have already started.
The room was long and cold, the hangings coated with a light haze of dust as she walked down between the rows of beds. Sixteen beds, sixteen Slytherin boys this age. That was about standard, somewhere between sixteen and twenty of each male and female in each house for each year, at least on average. Beginning at the far end, she took the space one area at a time, casting charms along the way, checking in corners and under beds, shooting spells into the rafters.
More than half an hour passed as she canvassed the room, then finished, closing the door behind her again. She hurried up the stairs to the next room where Ron was working, but as he was closely focused, she continued on. Harry worked in the fifth years’ room, and she continued to the last room on the boys’ side. The sign denoting that the room most likely belonged to the boys her age made her shiver slightly.
As she made her way down the aisle, she counted the beds. The number for the Slytherin boys was exactly right, and she wondered idly which had been Blaises’ bed, which Crabbe’s and Goyle’s. The thought made her a bit ill, so she pushed it away and focused again on what she was doing. As she neared the end of the room, Ron pushed open the door.
“Harry said you were here. Glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah, just needed a bit more sleep, I guess.” Hermione didn’t take her eyes off her work, but finished the job, then turned back toward the door to find Harry standing slightly behind Ron. “No luck then?”
“No. Dobby said he’d bring us some lunch if you’d like to stop. It’s after noon.” Harry motioned toward the stairwell with his head.
“I’m starving,” Ron said, turning toward the stairs.
“As long as we don’t have to eat it in this room. Creeps me out.” Hermione followed behind. When they entered the common room, she took a closer look around and decided it wasn’t that bad. She had never seen it before, but it wasn’t quite as horrible as the descriptions Harry and Ron had given her when they visited it during second year. The ceiling was low, and the room dark and dungeon like, though whether that was because it had always been that way or because of the limited torches that had been lit, she wasn’t sure. One thing she was sure of, she was glad she was a Gryffindor. She wondered if the thought of those she had grown up with living in that dorm room at the top of the stairs had been the main issue that bothered her, rather than the room itself.
They settled down at the same sofa and table that Harry and Ron had sat at while pretending to be Crabbe and Goyle in their second year. Dobby brought piles of sandwiches and another plate full of assorted biscuits along with a carafe of pumpkin juice. “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” Hermione protested.
“The house-elves is happy to serve you, Miss. They is missing having all the students to serve and want to help you bring the evil wizard down,” Dobby said anxiously.
“Well, tell them we appreciate their hard work.”
“Dobby is doing it, Miss. Call Dobby if you needs anything else.” He bobbed his head and, with a snap of his fingers, disappeared.
Ron was already halfway through his first sandwich when Hermione turned to him. She grimaced at his piggy eating habits and returned her gaze to the platter of food. It was safer that way.
Several minutes passed as they ate, each lost in their own thoughts. The sandwiches were gone and the biscuits were making a vanishing act as well when Hermione turned to the boys. “I think we’re going about this all wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked.
“Well, if there was one room in this huge castle that would be a symbol of Tom Riddle’s power and purity, do you think it would be his dorm room? Or the trophy room? No, it wouldn’t.”
“Well, that should be obvious, since none of those places was the hiding spot for the cup,” Harry said.
“Think.” Hermione gave them both an exasperated look. They had all been so dense. “What would symbolize his power the best? What was his major accomplishment in school? His claim to fame, if you will.”
Ron’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we figured the Chamber of Secrets was already covered by the diary.”
“We might have been mistaken though, mightn’t we?”
“So you’re suggesting we poke around the Chamber then?” Harry asked.
“It wouldn’t hurt to try. I know you said it was big, but maybe we can narrow our search a bit after taking a look around. After all, there were already some powerful protections on the chamber itself. One had to be parselmouth to get into it. And then there’s the basilisk, which can turn anyone to stone with just a look. Who would try and get past that monster? Even if someone figured out that he had placed a Horcrux there, who would survive the search?”
“Brilliant, Hermione. Just brilliant.” Ron grabbed the last two biscuits from the plate and stood up. “Let’s go have a look.”
“Hermione can’t go down there. It could be dangerous,” Harry protested.
“Like danger ever stopped her before.” Ron shrugged and headed for the door.
Harry began to protest again, but Hermione grabbed his arm and shook her head. “He doesn’t know, remember?” she hissed low so Ron couldn’t hear.
“We should tell him,” Harry whispered back as Ron exited the common room.
“Not now.” Seeing Harry’s mutinous glare, she relented. “He’s going to go all mental on me when he finds out. Let’s just wait until we take care of the Horcrux. If we don’t find it by the end of the week, I promise to tell him anyway.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Harry nodded, and Hermione heard Ron calling to them from the hallway, asking what was keeping them.
It took more than ten minutes to reach Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom on the second floor. Hermione was glad to see no evidence of the ghost when they walked into the neglected bathroom. Though the house-elves did a smashing job of keeping the rest of Hogwarts in good repair and cleaned up, they neglected the haunted bathroom, which was usually fine as no one ever wanted to use it. Not when you knew a whiney ghost might appear from the u-bend any moment.
Harry walked along the group of sinks and came to rest at the one with the snake scratched in the copper pipe. He hovered for a long moment, as though uncertain about what to do. “I can’t help but wonder what new horror might await us down there.”
“No new horror is waiting. The only one in that chamber was the basilisk, and you’ve killed it, so you’ve nothing to worry about.” Hermione walked up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know I can’t imagine what you went through going down there the first time.”
“It’s imagining Ginny, seeing her there again in my mind, this time knowing how much I love her, how I might never have known her if things had gone differently.” His voice was low, filled with pain.
“You saved her, mate, and she’s safe at home, being prodded through her homework by Mum right now,” Ron said.
Nodding and squaring his shoulders, Harry began the strange hissing noise of Parseltongue. A moment later, the sink began to recede and exposed a large pipe. Even after having the boys describe it for her, Hermione hadn’t been prepared for the sight. It was dark, dirty, and long. The last thing she wanted to do was go sliding down it.
“I’ll go first, mate.” Ron swallowed nervously and approached the pipe.
“I can go first,” Harry protested.
“No, you follow Hermione. She’s never been down there before.” With that, the most chivalric thing Ron had ever done, he jumped, landed in the pipe and began to slide.
Hermione waited for the count of ten before following, to allow Ron to reach the bottom and scoot out of the way. Trying not to think about what creepy, slimy things might have used this pipe for a home recently, she settled in the pipe and pushed off, screaming slightly when the downward angle grew steeper than she had counted on. She lit her wand tip, but she was moving so fast she couldn’t process what she was approaching until it was almost past. The motion made her head spin slightly, and she focused on the dark hole ahead of her.
She reached the bottom and landed on her bum with a thud, hearing the cracking of animal bones beneath her posterior. “Ewww!” She accepted Ron’s hand up and moved out of the way only a few seconds before Harry came wooshing down to join them.
When he stood and brushed himself off, they looked around. “Much changed?” she asked lightly, though she knew it couldn’t look better, by any means
“Nope. Maybe dirtier, but I doubt it.” Harry gave her a searching look, as though to ascertain she was really okay; she nodded that she was, and he seemed to accept it.
They climbed over and around the rubble left over from Ron’s wand backfiring after Gilderoy Lockheart had tried to cast a memory charm on him. They waded through the dirt and animal carcasses, passed the huge snakeskin the basilisk had shed before the boys’ previous visit in the tunnel and finally arrived at the large door that blocked the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Harry hissed again, and the door unlocked, then slowly swung open. Hermione caught her breath as she looked on at the many pillars lining the room and the carved serpents everywhere. A huge carving of Slytherin’s head held court at the back of the temple-like chamber, his mouth closed, eyes focused. There were some minor imperfections in the carving, and Hermione wondered if Harry had done that with Gryffindor’s sword when he had battled the basilisk or if they were simply due to the passage of time.
They walked to the center of the chamber and stopped. Hermione turned in place, looking around her in awe. It must have taken Slytherin years to put the place together, she figured. “Where do we start?”
Ron grimaced. “It’s huge. It could take us days just to cover the chamber and immediate tunnels, never mind any other tunnels that might shoot off from it without coming back.”
“We could try Accioing the cup,’ Harry suggested. “That worked with the comb.”
“But not until after we removed the curses and wards on it,” Hermione said, taking another step toward the giant head. “And it could have a curse on it that could kill you if it came into contact with your skin before being removed.”
“Right.”
“Let’s get busy then. We won’t take any of the tunnels yet, just the outer walls of this chamber.” Ron walked to the wall to the right of the door they had just come in and began casting the spell Bill had taught them. Harry started on the left and began working in the opposite direction. Considering the options, Hermione decided to work on the pillars and carvings not attached to the walls, and then move on to Slytherin’s head.
Two hours passed as they worked methodically around the space. Hermione grew weary; her arm ached from holding her wand up to swish and flick. Her back and neck ached from standing, and her feet hurt because so much time had been spent standing rather than moving around. Still, she had managed to clear up the inner carvings and the exterior of the head. Ron and Harry had both made exceptional progress on their journeys around the room and were expected to meet up at the head in a few minutes.
Deciding to take a break, Hermione transfigured her handkerchief into a large fluffy cushion and sat down. Soon she was lying down, and the next thing she knew she was being shaken awake by Harry.
“What’s up with you, anyway? If you aren’t feeling well, maybe you ought to get back to bed,” Ron said. “I’m sure Dobby could get us some Pepperup Potion from the infirmary if you need a boost.”
“Nonsense. It was just a power nap. I feel better all ready. Find anything?” The sooner she turned him from thoughts of Pepperup Potion, the better, as she wasn’t supposed to take it while pregnant.
“Zilch,” Harry said. “You’re sure you’re fine?”
“Of course. I just didn’t sleep well last night. Too much on my mind. There’s nothing to worry about. Now, where is our next most obvious search location?”
“In the head.” There was no hesitation in Ron’s pronouncement, though he seemed to catch Harry by surprise.
“In the head?” Harry echoed.
“Yes. The basilisk came out of it. So it might be the home of the basilisk. Again, another protection against the cup being removed.”
“I’ll never fit up there, though. Even at eleven or twelve it would have been difficult, but now. You must be joking.” Harry shook his head.
“You might not be able to fit in your current form,” Hermione said, catching onto Ron’s plan. “That doesn’t mean you couldn’t as a capuchin.”
“But I can’t do magic as a monkey.”
“Technically, a capuchin isn’t a monkey, though it is in the primate family.”
“She’s moving into lecture mode,” Ron said with a groan. “Better save us all the aggravation and at least take a look around. Maybe it will be big enough in there that you can return to normal size if you need to test it.”
“Right, whatever. I’ll go.” Harry turned toward the face and hissed.
The mouth lowered, revealing the opening the basilisk had emerged from all those years before. Harry straightened his shoulders, cracked his neck and put on his most determined look. “I’ll be right back.” After stowing his wand in his pocket, he began shrinking until it was Harry the primate rushing across the room to the opening.
Something didn’t feel right to Hermione, and only moments before Harry reached the mouth, she screamed out, “Wait, Harry, not yet. Wait!”
He came to a halt only inches from the opening, and Hermione and Ron rushed over. When Harry returned to his usual form, he looked irritated. “What?”
“We haven’t tested the opening or tunnel through there. There could be traps. We need to at least send in a couple charms to check first, make sure it doesn’t kill you.”
“You’re mad. Nothing’s going to be wrong with it. It already had a powerful guardian, didn’t it?” Harry asked.
“Yes, and one Horcrux should have been plenty to protect Voldemort from death, but he didn’t stop at one, did he? He made six instead.”
Harry looked at Ron, and they had this silent conversation of the kind that only best friends could have with only facial expressions. She understood the conversation perfectly, though it still irritated her that they didn’t just talk out loud. When he looked back at Hermione, he nodded. “An ounce of prevention and all that.”
He turned and cast the detection spell they had been using, and the mouth flared up nearly midnight blue. Whatever was on there wasn’t in the least friendly.
They stood in silence for a long moment before Ron spoke up. “So do we use the one-way shielding charms while Harry tries a few things out on it, or do we go get Bill?”
“I’m all for finishing this now,” Harry said.
“Same here. If we keep the shields up, we should be pretty safe. We could try a few of those spells Bill was running anyway, see what pops.” Hermione shrugged, open to either avenue.
Harry nodded. “We’ll give it a nudge or two then. Each of you stand on opposite sides and cast the shield.”
In a few seconds, the shield was up and reinforced by both casters; then Harry lifted his wand and sent a few shots of light at the opening. The first two spells ricocheted off the statue opening and then off the shields, taking out chunks of rock along Slytherin’s face. The third went on through, seeming to do nothing. Harry paused to give the spell a moment to work, then there was a huge explosion, throwing all three of them back and spewing rock as the top of Slytherin’s head burst into hundreds of pieces.
Hermione had just enough time to cast up another shield over herself as the rubble crashed around them, enough time to glance to the side to see Ron groaning at the foot of a column, then she was overcome by a wash of magic and passed out.
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Severus was completing the final thirty stirs on the Felix Felicis for the day when Potter’s Patronus flew through the ceiling into the basement Potions lab. He looked up in surprise, then asked it to wait for a moment. He had never known a Patronus to wait for anything before, but strangely, it did as it was told. For exactly a minute, by his calculations. Severus finished the final stir, removed the rod from the brew and set it in the sink for rinsing before turning to the Patronus. “Go ahead. This had better be good.”
Harry’s voice came through the Patronus when the large buck opened its mouth. “Hermione has been transported to St. Mungos. Something went wrong in our activities today. I thought Sebastian would like to know.” Finished with its message, the shimmering white being melted back through the ceiling.
“Thought I might want to know? As though it were only a passing trifle to me that my wife is in hospital when she was supposed to be safely ensconced at Hogwarts?” Severus Apparated to the top floor of the cottage, then changed his appearance to that of Sebastian. The idea that something might have hurt Hermione, hurt their baby, was enough to make him feel panicky. Even more horrified by the response than the cause—his emotional response shouldn’t have happened as their bond was only artificial, chemical, not emotional, for all that it sometimes seemed otherwise—he took several long, calming breaths, then Apparated from the cottage door to St. Mungos, praying he wouldn’t get caught going out in public like this. Knowing if he did, it would be worth it if he could first reassure himself that Hermione was OK.
After waiting in an interminably long line with a sneezing, rashy baby and three whining, unwashed children—not to mention their cranky parents—Severus was finally given Hermione’s room number and sent on his way to the fourth floor. As no one but Potter would know his true identity, he didn’t bother to restrain his worry for her too much. It would make more sense for him to appear distraught if she were his fiancée—the lie he had to tell at the front counter to get them to tell him where in the ruddy hell she was. He could have sworn at the Welcome Witch as he fixed it so she no longer remembered he had ever come by or that Hermione had been in the hospital that day, but that would have caused a scene, requiring him to adjust even more memories. It wasn’t worth the effort.
The room number came up and he pulled the door open. He nearly lost his heart when he saw her lying helpless in a bed. Her skin was pallid, her eyes closed. Her eyelids looked thin, purplish in the yellow hospital lights. A glance to the side proved Harry and Ron lay in the next two beds over, though they were both alert and watching him. He scowled at the two of them, which appeared to dampen their greetings before they could issue any, then turned his eyes back on his wife.
When he reached out and brushed his fingers along her arm, her eyes opened, and a smile came over her face. “Severus.” It was a whisper, so soft he could barely hear it. He didn’t have time right now to worry about whether Weasley had heard it or not.
He kneeled beside her bed as there was no chair nearby and cradled her cheek in his hand. “I thought you said you couldn’t get into much trouble in an empty castle.”
She smiled softly. “As you pointed out, trouble has a knack of finding us, wherever we may be.”
“Do they know what hit you?”
Harry spoke up this time. “A particularly nasty curse that’s supposed to slowly drain your magical power. Thankfully, Hermione and I had shields up when it detonated, deflecting it mostly. The Healers say we’ll all be back to normal strength in a couple days. We should be released shortly.”
Anger began to grow in Severus’s chest, but he wasn’t able to let the three of them know how foolish and irresponsible they had been, as Molly and Arthur Weasley rushed into the room at that time, bringing confusion and noise in their wake.
He ground his teeth together, feigning polite greetings upon being ‘introduced’ to the married couple, was forced to answer several questions, then managed to pull the hangings around Hermione’s bed so they might have some privacy. Only seconds after the hangings pulled closed, a Healer in the Healers’ distinctive lime green robes stepped into the area around Hermione’s bed and hustled over to check her out.
“You should go elsewhere while I evaluate her,” the woman said, eyeing him distrustfully.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Severus said.
“I really must insist—”
Hermione interrupted the woman before her husband could start hexing. “I want him to stay; there’s nothing I need to hide from him.”
“She’s my fiancée,” Severus said by way of explanation.
The Healer’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, I certainly hope you intend to make that more official before things get too far along here.” She placed a hand on Hermione’s belly and glared at him.
“You needn’t worry about that.” He glared back at the woman, incensed to think she would doubt his honor.
“Good.” The woman nodded, then turned back to Hermione, her tone softening dramatically. “Now, dear, since you’re in your first trimester, you will find your power almost completely drained over the next week or so as your body routes most all of your available magic to the baby, as your power level is so much lower than usual."
“Will it hurt the baby, to have my power so low right now? Will it prevent the child from receiving the full power it should have gotten?” Hermione’s eyes were wide with worry.
“No, the child should be fine. There might be an incremental power loss of one or two percent, but as you’re such a powerful witch, a Muggle-born, and it is clear the, er, father,” she spared a glance at Severus now, “is also fairly powerful, the child will probably still be well above normal.”
Severus prompted her to tell him everything Hermione might need to know about the expected results from the blast, how to compensate and any additional treatment she might need, including names and dosages of any potions they intended to give her. Throughout all of this, he kept meticulous notes. If it irritated her, he didn’t really care; he needed all the information he could get.
When they were finished, Severus rose with the Healer, following her out of the room. “Excuse me, but who else has been in contact with Hermione? I do need to know who to thank for their efforts on her behalf.” He smiled his most charmingly.
The woman pointed to a couple of nurses who were whispering together at a kiosk and then mentioned the name of the Healer who had first treated her when she had been brought in an hour earlier—by a house-elf, no less. The woman seemed shocked by the fact that a house-elf had been employed as transportation. Everyone knew they were for cleaning, after all.
Smiling and thanking her graciously, Severus said goodbye, waited for her to turn her back, then performed a small memory charm, removing any reference to Hermione’s existence in the hospital. He walked by the nurses’ station and did the same to them, leaving behind an indistinguishable haze that would do the same to anyone else who might come to stand there in the next hour. Finally, he continued on to admitting to take care of any staff there.
When he came slinking back to her room a few minutes later, the Weasleys were still there and had apparently removed the curtain from around her bed. “We need to go now, sweetheart,” Severus said, pulling back the blankets from her bed.
“What do you mean? The Healers said none of them could be moved for several more hours, probably not until morning,” Molly protested.
“Certainly, Madam, you can understand why it is that she cannot be known to have been here in the company of those two.” He gestured toward Harry and Ron. “It would defeat the purpose of the whole charade.”
Molly nodded and acknowledged his point. “Good.” He pointed his wand at the paper on the clipboard at the bottom of Hermione’s bed with her statistics and treatments so far written on it. He Summoned it to himself, folded it and placed it in his pocket along with the information on her future treatment. “After we’ve left, please do the appropriate cleaning charm on her bed, remake it and pretend as though there were only the two boys to begin with. I have already taken steps to remove her visit from all records and memories but yours.”
“Was that really necessary?” Arthur asked. The oldest Weasley had always been one to avoid fudging over the edge of the line too far unless completely necessary.
“Only if you want your informant to stay alive.” Severus turned back to Hermione, plucked her out of bed and Disapparated without another word.
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When they appeared back at the cottage door, Hermione wondered if she could make it into the bathroom before she vomited or if Severus would be forced to clean up after her. It was late afternoon, and her body was beginning its usual rebellion. Side-Along Apparition was worse for causing nausea than self-Apparition, but this was even worse than usual. She supposed that was partly due to the curse. “Best get me to the loo.”
Severus growled and hurried through the house, reaching the bathroom just in time. He set her carefully onto the floor with her head by the toilet, where she proceeded to vomit up everything she had eaten that day. When she finished, he rubbed a cool, wet cloth across the back of her neck and around to her forehead.
“I didn’t realize you were still so sick, or I would have waited a bit longer before bringing you home.” His tone was apologetic as he picked her up and carried her back to the bed to lie down.
“I wasn’t, it’s just Apparition makes me sick lately. That’s the first time I’ve thrown up though.” Hermione ran the backs of her fingers over her forehead, almost dazed in her reaction.
“The baby,” he deduced.
“Yes.” She felt the tug of guilt from him and knew he was blaming himself. At the moment, she couldn’t feel bad about it.
“So what were you doing? What happened?”
“Slytherin’s head blew up, surprised us all; big chunks of rock; bright flash of light. My head hurts.”
He soothed her, then pulled out his potion interaction reference along with her treatment record and the list of treatments she would need to find a headache remedy that wouldn’t interfere with the medication she was supposed to be taking. “Just a moment, it won’t take long for me to prepare something for that head; then we can talk a bit longer. You had your potions just before I returned to the room, so we’ll have a couple hours to straighten this out before I have to start work on your healing draughts.”
Hermione listened to him go down the stairs into the cellar, then allowed her eyes to drift closed while she reviewed what she knew of the day’s events. After the blast, she had awoken in St. Mungos with a Healer fussing over her, running his wand along her body as he muttered a diagnostic spell. He had lifted a brow when he realized she was pregnant and told his assistant to make a note of that on the board she was holding. Ron had appeared in the room a moment later, brought by Dobby, who then disappeared again, reappearing a bit later with Harry in tow. She made a mental note to buy the crazy elf at least two outfits for Christmas along with two dozen of the most loud and obnoxious socks she could find in London.
When the doctors had moved to put her in a room of her own, Harry had insisted the three of them be placed together, regardless of their genders. She had seen the shimmer of silver exit his wand as the Healers took her to her room on the Fourth Floor.
She thought she was becoming uncomfortably familiar with the Fourth Floor lately.
Soon Severus was returning to the room, a cup of puce potion in his hand. He helped her sit up, then held the cup to her lips while she drank it. “I’m not completely helpless, you know,” she said after she finished the dose.
“I know. I don’t want you to drain yourself. I never thought I’d see you so magically weak. When I think of what might have happened today.” He broke off, his eyes haunted as they looked into hers.
The previous few days had been especially difficult ones for the two of them. One thought in all the hundreds that jumbled through her head stood out though. “And the baby. Would you still want it if it turns out to have the magical ability of Filch?”
Severus flinched, then appeared to be considering it. “I can’t imagine any child of ours turning out to be a Squib, even with the possible reduction of powers the Healer mentioned. Though I would prefer the child to be as brilliant as yourself, any child of yours would be loved regardless of magical talent.”
“Truly? You won’t feel embarrassment if the baby makes Neville look like a powerful mage?”
Again, Severus flinched. “Please don’t say things like that. It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not.” Her voice was flat, even to her own ears. “You need to decide what you want, Severus. What you can live with. We won’t have a choice in the matter anyway. I—I don’t want you to resent me, to resent Harry and Ron for doing what we had to do today if the child isn’t as magically talented as you’d like him or her to be. And it wouldn’t be fair to the child if you resented it either.”
“Hermione, I could never—”
“Don’t say you could never. None of us knows what we are capable of until that defining moment.”
Her words hung in the air a long time before he asked her to tell what had happened. She obliged, starting from the moment she had left the cottage. He made no comments about her activities, only nodding in the appropriate places.
“I suppose I ought to owl your parents and request a postponement of our dinner,” he said when she was finished and feeling tired again.
“Oh, Mum will be so disappointed. But I’m not up to it tonight. Just tell her, oh, I don’t know, that I’ve come down with the flu or something, that I’ve been ill for several hours and that we will try to reschedule when I’m feeling better. And tell her I’m sorry.” She was sorry, having looked forward to getting the initial visit out of the way, though she would just as soon not introduce them to their new son-in-law anytime soon. Of course, if she put it off too long, she might be introducing the baby and his father to her parents at the same time.
As she allowed her eyes to drift shut, she figured that would probably be bad form.
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Severus had finished making the potions she would need over the following days when his mark began to burn. He hissed and clutched at his arm, then took the medicine, along with the paper detailing the dosages, and placed them on the night stand. The burning was insistent. Hoping the summons was not a result of Hermione’s activities that day, he changed clothes and Apparated.