Work Text:
Hermione sighed as she exited the healer’s office. Severus was sitting in the waiting area. The Daily Prophet in his hands was tattered around the edges, an obvious product of his anxiety about this appointment. His face lifted and his eyes caught hers. She gave him a weak smile and shook her head, trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.
He stood up abruptly and took her hand, leading her to the Floo. This was a conversation better had at home. He pulled her into his arms as they stepped into the floo. “Granger-Snapes”, he pronounced clearly, but quietly.
With the first step out of the floo on the other side, Hermione felt the tears come again, full force, and she was unable to hold them back. “I-- I thought this was our month.” She said as she sniffled.
Hermione felt her husband come up behind her and wrap his arms around her. “I know, my love. I know. I thought so, too.” He pressed a kiss to her soft curls and pulled her closer. “There’s always next month, Hermione.”
“We’ve been saying that for four years, Severus.” She sighed and couldn’t stop the shudder as fresh tears came.
_ _ _ _ _
Their romance had been sudden and swift. A chance meeting in Diagon Alley, a whirlwind courtship and they were married in just over a year from their first date. They both agreed they wanted at least one child, maybe two, and were more than eager to start their family. The first six months, the lack of results hadn’t bothered either of them. They had all the time in the world, after all. What were a few more months in the long scheme of things?
A year had passed and hope and tempers alike wore thin. Their regular healers could find nothing wrong with either of them. So with a succinct “No reason you shouldn’t be able to get pregnant,” they were referred over to specialists at St. Mungo’s. It seemed there was a glimmer of hope after all. Until they saw the waiting list. Apparently, pureblood infertility and the increase in Squib births took priority over the troubles of a half-blood and a muggleborn, war heroes or not.
Their one lucky break had come from come from one of Severus’ bad moods. He’d stormed into his office in a blazing fury, livid after yet another failed attempt to get an appointment that resulted in him threatening a wilting flower of a secretary with revocation of her O.W.L. results. It had not been one of his better days.
He sent a withering glower to the person sitting at his desk. “I do not have time for your nonsense today, Zabini,” he growled.
His former student looked up sharply. “Bad day, Snape?”
“That’s Mister Snape, to you, insolent whelp.”
“‘Whelp! I’m almost as old as your wife.”
Clearly not expecting the vehemence in response, Blaise raised his eyebrows as Snape exploded. “Don’t mention my wife unless you can get those lazy fuckers at St. Mungo’s to give us a damn appointment and I can stop watching her heart break every month.” He spun to the credenza against the wall to face away from his former student as his chest heaved with stress and anxiety.
A muttered, “I’ll be right back”, and he heard the swish of a cloak and a door being shut behind him. He sank into the chair behind his desk and rested his head in his hands. It had been another month of disappointment for himself and for Hermione. Another month of what felt like the universe telling him “no” yet again in his life. And he could almost accept it if it was just for himself. He never imagined he would ever have the chance at marriage, let alone the chance to have a family. It wouldn’t be a resignation at all to spend the rest of his days, just with Hermione. But the rub came when he saw her face fall and felt her despondence as each month, and now more than a year, passed.
He’d resorted to flipping through the research journal he kept on their progress, or lack thereof. The way they figured it, they were two smart individuals and if the medical institution couldn’t help them, maybe they could help themselves. Severus had even suggested going to see a medical doctor, but Hermione insisted that it wouldn’t do any good --and it would feel like an invasion of his privacy to boot. She was sure he had no idea what going to a muggle doctor, let alone a fertility specialist, entailed. The journal in his hands detailed nutrition changes for both of them, habit-tracking, supplemental potions, and more. They’d refrained from dosing themselves with the more complicated, esoteric potions concerned that they would end up doing more harm than good. He was a potions master, yes, but the branch of fertility-related magic was something he had never explored.
Getting up to grab a book from the shelf, he turned at the sound of the door opening. Blaise Zabini stepped through. He thrust a paper in Severus’ direction. “I don’t want to seem too forward. But if you want it, Hermione has an appointment at St. Brigid’s next Monday.”
Severus Snape was not often gobsmacked, but as he took the slip of paper from Blaise’s hands, he found himself lost for words. “How?”
“You don’t want --or need-- to know. But please just consider it a small repayment of all you did to help us Slytherins through the war.” He stopped Severus with a wave of his hand. “Please. I mean it. Just… take care of yourself. And your wife.”
_ _ _ _ _
That had been six months ago. Since Blaise had worked his miracle, they’d been apparating twice a month to Belfast to meet with specialists at St. Brigid’s for treatment and consultation. They were still “unexplained”, but at least they had professionals working with them on a regular basis.
Their third month into treatment, something felt different. Severus didn’t want to say anything to Hermione, but she seemed different. So it didn’t come as a huge surprise to him when she came bouncing into their bedroom far too early on a Monday morning. “We’re pregnant. Pregnant!” she exclaimed as she joined him on the bed and curled into his side. “It’s early --I didn’t even think. I was just casting the spell to confirm that it hadn’t worked. And there it is.”
He’d pulled her close and smiled at her joy. “Now I just need to layer you in cushioning charms for the next nine months.”
“It’s early yet. I don’t want to get our hopes up as the spell is only so accurate, so I’ll have to go to Brigid’s for confirmation.”
Hermione floated for the two days up to her appointment. She refused to let herself make any plans until they had confirmation. No dreaming of decorating a nursery, narrowing down of baby names or writing of schedules. Severus watched his wife in amusement as she was utterly overwhelmed in happiness and trying desperately to deny it.
She’d gone early to St. Brigid’s before work and then anxiously checked her inbox at her Ministry desk for the confirmation. It had been over three years in the making, but finally ( finally! ) it was their turn.
Then in two hours everything had changed. Severus received an owl from Hermione stating she was taking a sick day and headed home. Morning sickness, he thought. Early, but not impossible. He didn’t expect to see Hermione coming through his office floo and throwing herself at him with tears streaming down her face. He rubbed her back as she sobbed in his arms. Something was wrong, horribly wrong and asking her to talk before she was ready wouldn’t help the situation at all. She let out a great hiccough and sniffled into his frock coat.
“It didn’t work. A ‘very early miscarriage’ according to the healers.”
“Oh, Hermione…” he pulled her closer and gripped her tightly as a fresh torrent of tears came. He felt something deep inside his chest ache at the thought of their child that wasn’t to be this time.
_ _ _ _ _
Treatments at St. Brigid’s continued as they had been. Despite the loss, the healers didn’t seem to think that it was cause for concern. To the contrary, some had even been excited because it meant that Severus and Hermione c ould get pregnant. The healers told them it was “only a matter of time.”
It was both the best and worst thing they could possibly say. After dealing with her grief, Hermione had thrown herself back into the treatments, sure that it would work “this time.” This was their third month after the miscarriage with no results and their spirits were starting to flag again.
Hermione fell into depression and continually overanalyzed every little thing she’d done to “determine the cause” of the miscarriage. Despite Severus and all of the healers telling her there was nothing that she could’ve done differently and that none of it was her fault.
This month, this month they thought that it was their month. It felt that same as it had before. Severus refused to get Hermione’s hopes up and kept it to himself, but he couldn’t stop the analytical, wondering gleam in her eye. She was hoping again and it crushed him to see that hope squashed by the latest appointment at St. Brigid’s.
_ _ _ _ _
The following month, Hermione transitioned from sad to despondent to numb. Severus could tell that she was contemplating what their future looked like without children --and if she could even accept that. She’d always dreamed of having a child and when she and Severus had gotten serious, she knew that he would be a wonderful, loving father.
She’d had such hope for them and had told him so. Told him that he was the best man she knew, the most deserving man to have a loving family that doted on him as much as he would on them. He’d allowed himself to dream for the first time of little Granger-Snapes with dark, curly hair and brown eyes. But it was all a dream and after almost four years of trying, he’d found himself resigned and content and was planning to just move on to enjoy the rest of his life with Hermione. It was more than he ever could have hoped for and he would be happy with that. He would gladly continue to ‘try’ as long as she liked. Indeed, he would spend all of the meager fortune he had if it would make her happy, but he would be just fine without children as long as he they were together.
His first step in the process was to take her mind off of ‘it’ for awhile. It had been their focus for so long that it sometimes felt like the two of them got lost in the process. He’d taken the next month to plan out a trip for the two of them. A surprise to Hermione, yes, but he’d made the necessary arrangements and even cleared holiday time with her boss at the ministry. He knew she would hate leaving work at loose ends, even if it was for a holiday across Europe and Asia for several months. He was giving her the itinerary tonight, leaving them just one week to pack before starting out in Nice. Severus hoped he’d done a good job of balancing academic, cultural and relaxing outings while still leaving room for Hermione to be her spontaneous self. They had been talking about this dream trip for almost as many years as they’d been together and it wouldn’t do to bungle the plans.
Hermione waltzed into his office later that day with a scroll in her hands and a smile on her face. Despite their lack of success, she’d grown calmer in the past few weeks and it pleased him to see her taking care of herself.
“I have a surprise for you,” they both announced at once, paused in surprise and then burst into laughter.
“Me first,” Severus proclaimed, rising from his desk and handing her the scroll containing their international portkey tickets and the itinerary. Hermione broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, her eyes scanning quickly over the details. “I’ve already cleared it with Persephone. As I suspected, you have built up a rather large bank of holiday time that will be taken starting next week.”
She broke into a grin, looping her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. “Oh, Severus, it’s perfect. And just what we need!” She kissed him again, beaming at him. “And now my news.”
She stepped out of his hold and produced the scroll, holding it out toward him.
It was unmarked and unsealed, just a simple ribbon of green tied around it to hold it in place. He loosed the ribbon and rolled the parchment out. It was far shorter than he had expected and when he finally managed to read the words written before him, it seemed he could hardly process them in his astonishment.
“We may need to adjust our plans a little bit to work around appointments at Brigid’s and Mungo’s, but--” she was cut off by her husband letting out a whoop of joy as he picked her up and spun her around before kissing her soundly.
Neither noticed as the parchment fluttered to the floor. It read: Home pregnancy spell confirmed. Scan shows pregnancy at six weeks. Mother and embryo in good health. St. Brigid’s staff will be in touch for next steps.