#postwar au

He blinked once.

Twice.

And again, as he realized what his witch meant.

Children...

He’d never imagined they were a possibility, let alone something he wished for. “Truly?” Severus asked, tautly swallowing. He could never imagine her being so cruel, yet he felt uncertainty creep beneath his skin still.

Memories of the Marauders haunted him still, with childish jeers ringing in his ears. There were the bitter remnants of his father too, every cruel word and look one that Severus couldn’t forget. His cheek ticked, a gesture that he had never learned to control.

“Would I lie to you, Severus?” Hermione asked, her lips curling upward into a knowing smile. She'd suspected her pregnant state for weeks before visiting a muggle doctor in London and had waited for just the right moment to tell her lover...they would not have one child but three.

Three!

It was more than Hermione had ever considered, given how she was an only child. Severus was the same raised without any siblings and neither of them had ever wished for one. Was it natural then, that she’d only imagined them having one? Or none, given how their nights were spent enamored with one another.

Hermione had tucked the sonogram into her battered copy of Hogwarts: A History, one of the few surviving mementos from her childhood. She had wondered at surprising Severus, perhaps with a balloon or stuffed teddy bear, but decided against the idea. She knew that he valued her words more than her actions, for she was one of the few who meant them. So she whispered the news to him, as she lay reading and he rested his head in her lap, as the world outside their door was bathed in thunder and bitter downpour.

“You’re the only one who never would,” he admitted, swallowing tautly. He was on his knees before her, his head resting in her lap, yet he felt as if he were her equal.

Perhaps he was.

“Never,” she echoed, before threading her fingers through his dark hair. He hummed in pleasure as she wound locks around her fingers, before letting them free, once more.

Time had no meaning then, the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of their room not making a sound. Even Crookshanks was quiet as he curled in his woven basket, with his tail covering his nose.

The rest of their home was a buzz of quiet activity, as they’d found themselves welcoming a handful of House-Elves that had lost their families during the War. They tended to the small flat, the same as they would a sprawling manor, though they never disturbed the couple’s bedroom.

(Only Crookshanks held that honor, to the House-Elves displeasure.)

A flat full of books and abandoned House-Elves and a stubborn familiar was nothing like the future that Severus had imagined. As a child, he'd dreamed of little more than escaping his father, soon pinning his dreams on Lily Evans. He was blinded by obsession as he spent years at Hogwarts, everything he did meant to hold Lily's attention.

The obsession had followed him as he became an embittered man, one that hadn’t lived until he found his way to the woman he served then. Hermione held his very heart in her small hands, an arrangement that he had no wish to deviate from.

He found his belonging with Hermione, the only woman whose shadow he would remain in. His relationship with her was nothing like he’d expected, instead, being everything, he needed. He found it was natural for him to obey, as it was far from her way to force him to give a piece of himself away. She wanted him, and only him, without forcing him to perfect a game of charades.

It was a lesson that Riddle had never learned, nor Dumbledore, for all of his sugar-coated words and knowing gaze. There was no falsity with Hermione, only praise.

And when they did row, it was followed with scenes of passionate devotion, as Severus worshipped between her legs. His greed for her was unrestrained, as he delved his tongue into her dripping cunt, and he made her scream his name. It made him feel alive in a thousand different ways, and he made a strangled sound of amusement, as he realized their last session had led to his witch’s current state.

They had argued for days about her interest in visiting a certain dragon sanctuary in Romania, with Severus dead set against her going. The security risks kept him awake at night, as he knew the goblins had never forgotten the release of their former dragon and their desire for another one. Who was to say they wouldn't try to take another one?

Hermione had only so much influence with them, and Severus doubted she could keep them from coveting another dragon. Greed was as natural as breathing to the goblins, perhaps, even more so. There was little right or wrong to the goblins, their views far from black and white.

Hermione had adamantly refused to listen until she refused the invite at the last possible moment, after which they ignored each other for days – until Severus had awoken his witch with slow, lingering kisses and touches that swept her hurt feelings away. He took no delight in hurting her, content with how she clung to him, his touch leaving love marks behind.

Neither had given thought to cast a preventative spell then, their preferred method of birth control in place of the potion, or muggle birth control. They had never discussed having children, though Severus knew his witch wasn't averse to the idea. Hermione's sudden friendship with the goblins wasn't entirely a secret, as Luna and Neville maintained a relationship with them as well. They were friends of Hermione's more than Harry or Ron were, and she was delighted when they announced their pregnancy.

He’d never forgotten her soft, joyful expression when she was named godmother to Luna and Neville’s daughter, Aurora; the sight taking his breath away, for reasons that he never imagined he would voice, let alone consider.

The horror of his childhood kept him from imagining a family with anyone, even Lily. His family line would die with him, as he had no wish to see a child with his father’s features, nor his hooked nose. Yet, he’d found himself enjoying the time they spent with Aurora, as he often listened to Hermione read aloud to her, and Crookshanks. It was a warm, childish scene, the likes of which had never existed in his childhood.

If he were a lesser man, he would deny his envy, one that had long ago rooted into his soul. His childhood was filled with nothing he wished to look back at, nor repeat with his children. There was only coldness there, one that stung his cheeks and tore at his soul; making him recoil from thoughts about turning into his father, or allowing abuse to occur, as his mother had. His children would never know the mistakes of his parents, grandparents they would never meet, nor know of.

Severus was silent as his hand found Hermione’s, his fingers gently squeezing hers. He said nothing about her parents, away in Australia with no memory of their only child. They all had to make sacrifices during the war, yet Severus loathed that he couldn’t make the matter right for her.

All he could do – all they could do – was ensure that her parents had a plentiful bank account and a small condo that was thoroughly warded against any magical visitor. Her parents remembered nothing of their old lives, and the world they had known. Hermione kept two things from them: a suit jacket that belonged to her father, with a missing button and a tear in the collar and her mother’s china tea set.

There was nothing more that she needed, his witch said, and that was the end of the matter.

“We’re going to be parents,” Hermione whispered, her voice cracking at the end. It seemed utterly real then, though she had yet to physically show. It was only when she missed her course that she thought to see the doctor, along with how sensitive she’d become, “Can you imagine, love?”

“I’m afraid so,” Severus replied, a hint of dry humor tangled around each and every word.

He could easily imagine her with a child on her hip, the picture too vivid and bright. It was one that men like him were never supposed to grasp – he was meant to be alone, and embittered with redemption held away from his hands.

Yet still, he wanted it, more so than anything before. He wanted her.