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Snape found the door half-open, allowing him to take a peek at Aurora’s quarters. Whatever she wished to discuss had to be serious – she had looked quite worried and taken an urgent tone with him when she asked him to meet her right after dinner. His mind had been reeling ever since, wondering if something had gone wrong with the pregnancy, or if the curse-breaker had concluded the curse was unbreakable, after all. Composing himself, Snape closed the door after him and crept into the living room.
Aurora was seated on the couch, so engrossed in a magazine that she failed to detect the new presence in the room. Judging by the cover, which seemed to show the unmoving image of a pregnant woman, the magazine was of the muggle kind. It was something Snape was certain that Charity had done while expecting Servius. He had missed that, and he was missing it again. It was clear that wasn’t the first magazine about pregnancy Aurora read – the pile of books and magazines placed on the wooden coffee table testified it – yet she hadn’t even mentioned it to him. He felt excluded, rejected. It was starting to become a habit. It didn’t matter if he expressed his interest in brainstorming baby names, or in buying a crib in Hogsmeade. Everything that had to do with his involvement with the baby was met with a negative response from her. At most, she had given him short reports on the baby’s development.
Snape cleared his throat.
“Oh, Severus, forgive me. I didn’t hear you,” Aurora apologised, putting the magazine on top of the pile. “Please…”
She gestured for him to sit on the armchair, close enough to the couch yet far enough to keep a safe distance. He complied, wishing she’d have allowed him to sit beside her. Despite sitting by the fire and being in a cosy living room, he couldn’t help but feel a bit cold.
“You wished to see me…”
She gave a nod and looked away. It took her a while to answer, probably thinking about the best way to address the issue, Snape guessed. At some point, she bit her bottom lip – it was enough for him to remember her intoxicating taste and scent, how smooth her lips felt under his. Oh, Merlin. He missed those lips. Her smile. Her hands. Her…
“We need to talk about Servius,” she said, maybe too fast, as if she had decided that being blunt was the best strategy.
“Has he got in trouble? Has he misbehaved in class?”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“What’s the matter, then?”
She looked at him as if he should know, with a raised eyebrow and squinting eyes. “He needs to know, Severus.”
With her hands were on her womb, caressing it absentmindedly, it wasn’t difficult to deduce what exactly she was referring to.
“He stayed after class to ask me about the father’s identity. He thinks I don’t look as happy as usual, and he blames it on the father, whoever he is.”
Snape tensed. Of course, Servius suspected. Two days ago, the boy had asked him a subtle question. Servius hadn’t blamed him, not directly. Regardless, his son did wonder if Snape knew why Aurora looked so depressed when she was about to become a mother. He had assured Servius that Aurora was okay and that hormones released during pregnancy sometimes influenced the mood. When Servius insisted there had to be another reason, Snape snapped, and insults flew back and forth. It went on and on, hurting each other more and more until Servius banged the door close, eager to vent to Wait for William and allow Amelie to comfort him with a hug and maybe a kiss. Snape couldn’t do the same with McGonagall and Aurora respectively – they would defend Servius. Now that his mind wasn’t so foggy, he wondered if Servius was onto something, if he was to blame for Aurora’s mood.
“And do you? Do you blame it on me?” he asked, aware that would be the only way he would get answers. It came as no surprise to him when she kept mute, staring at her hands on her lap. “I know I am difficult, Aurora, but when I said I’d make amends, I meant it. I’ll do anything for you and the baby. If I am the reason you are unwell, even if only partly, I need you to tell me.”
She gave him a half-smile tainted with sadness, like all the smiles she had given him as of late, which hadn’t been many. “I know you don’t go back on your promises. You aren’t the reason I feel so… desolate.”
He nodded and hesitated before requesting, “Did you tell Servius the truth?”
“The truth? That this baby is his step-sibling but that you have forgotten to tell him? Yes, that would have made him feel loved,” she snorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. She took a deep breath to calm down and met his wide eyes. “No, Severus. I told him that he would know in due time and that the father is not the reason behind my... unhappiness.”
Snape let out a small sigh of relief and nodded his thanks at her.
“Don’t thank me for being decent, Severus. I love him. He’s my godson, and I can’t fathom why you haven’t told him yet. He has to know. He deserves to know. If his own father doesn’t tell him, he will believe you don’t care enough for him, and that’s a lie. You love him deeply, you just have a funny way of showing it sometimes.”
At her resentful tone, he had a feeling she wasn’t talking only about him and Servius. He chose not to comment on that, though.
“I agree. I must tell him.”
“Care to tell me why you haven’t told him yet, then?”
Why?
Because that would mean they – Aurora, Servius, the baby and he – were a family. The idea was equally exciting and scary. Snape longed to have a family, and at the same time, he had no idea how to be one, how to be a good father. Merlin knew arguments with his son were still more frequent than he’d like.
Because he didn’t want to hurt Servius by telling him that he would look after his baby sibling like he didn’t do with Servius himself. He’d feel like he had failed Charity if, after everything they had gone through, their son grew to hate him again.
Because he was terrified of losing the baby to the curse before it was even born no matter what he and Aurora did to avoid that. He had thought that he had lost his child once; he still saw Servius’s body falling like a ragdoll. Occlumency had blocked his pain and he had acted on instinct, wanting nothing else than to avenge his child. But in his dreams, in those nasty dreams, Rabastan paralysed him, and Snape could do nothing but be stricken with a feeling of grief, unable to scream or fall to his knees by Servius’s corpse. He awoke bathed in a cold sweat and only calmed down after looking at the photograph of Charity and baby Servius. It had been a while since he had felt like a broken man, but losing a child for real would change that, and this time, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be repaired.
Snape, much as he hated to be called a coward, didn’t dare to confess those reasons. Instead, he said, “I’d rather we told him together.”
“You haven’t asked me.”
“I’m asking now.”
Aurora studied his face for any sign of deception. It hurt him to be treated like that, to know she didn’t fully trust him. Could he blame her, though? He hadn’t truly given her reasons to trust him. He’d neglected her, and he had apologized for that. Somehow, his apology hadn’t fully repaired the damage done.
“All right,” she murmured eventually. “We’ll have to tell him about Diaphne’s curse too.”
“He won’t take it well. He sees you as a mother and will grow worried not only about the baby but also about your well-being.”
“Which means we need to be prepared to avoid scaring him too much while still being honest with him.” She paused. “He’ll ask questions. Most of them will make us feel uncomfortable.”
“I know.”
“We need to be gentle and patient with him, or he’ll become upset.”
“Why do you think I asked for your assistance?” he half-joked half-meant. This time, she allowed herself to give him a lopsided grin – it was the closest thing to a genuine smile he had seen from her in a long time. He felt slightly proud, and like all wasn’t lost.
“Good thing you have me, then.”
“Indeed.”
He still couldn’t understand why Aurora bore with him and his inept social skills, especially when he seemed to hurt her repeatedly, but he couldn’t be more grateful. Silence swept over the room, and she began to tap her foot on the floor, as if she had become nervous or simply impatient. He didn’t know what to say to break the ice – she had been the one who had wanted to talk to him, not the other way around. It occurred to him she was waiting for him to make an excuse to go now that she had said what she needed to say, and that was exactly what he did.
“We shall discuss the details tomorrow if you are agreeable. I’ll let you two rest for now,” he said, rising to his feet.
Had he glanced at her before walking out of the living room, he’d have seen the disappointment plastered on her face. He was about to open the door when he felt a hand sliding into his shoulder.
“Aren’t you going to stay for a while longer? I can brew some tea.”
“I do not wish to disturb you,” he explained without facing her, basking in the warmth of her hand. “It is getting late. You should be getting ready to sleep.”
“I’m a night owl. You know that. I wouldn’t have dedicated my life to Astronomy otherwise.”
“Aurora…”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Severus! Did Charity have to invent excuses for you to stay with her?”
Snape flinched. The truth was that he had been the one pleading with Charity to stay in his quarters, in his bed, in his life, desperate to read her messages on the scroll he enchanted when she was away with her daughter, until he decided that erasing all memories of her was what he had to do.
“Sorry. It’s been hard to control my temper these past few months. I just…” Her grip on his shoulder slackened lightly. “I just want you to stay.”
He turned around slowly to look at her, really look at her. She looked radiant – the pregnancy glow wasn’t a myth – and appeared less tired than that same morning, that much was true. It was also true that he was plainly confused. Why would she want him in her quarters if she wouldn’t even discuss pregnancy books with him? Why would she give him mixed signals by refusing to buy stuff for the baby but informing him about the fact it now had eyelashes, by refusing to let him become involved with the baby but begging him to stay? He didn’t understand her motives, yet something told him he’d hurt her if he turned down her request.
“Tea won’t be necessary,” he finally muttered. “I won’t stay long. I still believe you ought to rest.”
The hand that had been placed on his shoulder slipped into his own hand, pulling him back towards the living room. He thought she’d release him and ask him to settle back into the armchair, only to be yanked towards the couch. She put her hand on her lower back and sank back on it with a heavy sigh and little elegance. He felt inclined to aid her: look for a pillow to ease her backache, or offer to prepare a lotion for her. He had a feeling she wouldn’t accept his help, though; for some reason, she liked to remind him she wasn’t an invalid and could do everything herself. He wouldn’t risk it and offend her, not now that they were sitting so close. As an alternative, he made a mental note to prepare and give a backache lotion to Madam Pomfrey. Aurora heeded her advice. If Madam Pomfrey recommended applying some lotion on her back, Aurora would do it. She would be none the wiser, and Snape wouldn’t feel like he was doing nothing to alleviate her pain.
“How are you and the baby doing?”
“Disregarding the fact that the curse-breaker isn’t making any progress, we are okay.”
He gulped, noticing just how much pain the fake smile she was giving him was attempting to conceal.
“May I?” he asked, lifting a tentative hand.
She guided it to her baby bump. It was no wonder Servius asked – it was too obvious now. Something fluttered under his palm, and though Snape didn’t grin, his permanent scowl had disappeared.
“The baby feels you,” she murmured in awe. “He or she always feels when you’re near.”
“You still haven’t asked the healers to inform you about the sex?”
“I want it to remain unknown.”
Despite disagreeing with her, there was no use in making stating his opinion. It would escalate into a fight neither wanted.
“I think the baby loves you already.”
Snape felt his throat thicken. “I wouldn’t be so sure. It took Servius months to imply that he loves me.”
She lifted his chin with her fingers, forcing him to look at her face rather than at her belly.
“That’s just because he takes after you. But this baby, this baby takes after me.”
Snape hoped so. If the baby took after Aurora, he or she would learn to love him no matter what, just like Aurora loved him. Even if they lived almost separate lives, Snape knew she still felt something for him, or else, she wouldn’t be cupping his face so tenderly nor letting him sense the baby they had made. He was suddenly overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by her touch and her forgiving, big heart. Overwhelmed by the thought his youngest child could grow to love him and his faults, someday. To his relief, Aurora didn’t mention that his eyes were strangely glassy. She just kept tracing his jawline, making him shiver.
“I don’t deserve another chance at parenthood. I don’t deserve another chance at…” Love. She was making him feel loved with her warm touch. Charity got his heart racing with innocent caresses, too. “I don’t deserve you, but I will take care of you and of the baby. You can be sure of that.”
At her silent response, he wondered if he had said something wrong, if something in his tone or his expression had hurt her feelings. Much to his surprise, that didn't seem to be the case, for she snuggled into him, coaxing him into putting an arm around her and holding her. It was a foreign feeling, intimate without being sexual. It communicated more than words ever would. It was so easy and it felt so right. He still didn’t know what exactly he felt for the witch in her arms. Whatever it was, he’d do everything within his power to have her and the life growing inside her in his life forever.
“Aurora,” he whispered, noticing that the fabric covering his chest was getting wet. “I’m afraid it’s been years since I’ve indulged in this kind of… affectionate activity with a woman. Granted, I may be a little rusty, but are my skills so disappointing that they make you cry?”
She chuckled through her tears the moment she realised part of him was serious. The sound alone made Snape want to kiss her. How on earth he resisted the temptation was beyond him.
“They exceed expectations. I just can’t stop thinking that the curse will harm our baby. It’s painful and exhausting and frightening.”
He knew the feeling; he felt even worse, knowing Diaphne wouldn’t have cursed the baby if he had been considerate with her. Although there was nothing he could do to change the past, he was in charge of the present, and right then, supporting Aurora was what he needed to do, what he did.
“We’ll get through this. It won’t be easy, but we’ll make things work.”
She gazed up at him with eyes full of hope and tears trapped in her eyelashes. “Will you promise, Severus?”
“I promise,” he said without hesitation.
She wiped her tears away and, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Snape saw a genuine smile from her. She looked pleased, and then her lips were pressing on his, soft, warm and lingering – just like he remembered. It was kept sweet, almost chaste. Neither got carried away. Neither talked about it once it was over. She didn’t ask him to leave, and he didn’t ask her why she kept sending him those mixed signals.
Back in his bed, with his lips still tingling from her kiss, he began to understand.
A promise.
Aurora had kissed him after his promise. She kept pushing and pulling him back because she loved him, but without that feeling of security, without knowing that he would strive to make things right, she refused to take a chance with him. What was it that Madam Pomfrey had told him?
Reassure her that you are the most loyal of companions.
Yes. The promise had reassured Aurora. Were words alone enough, though? He reflected on it, on whether his promise would magically solve all their issues, and it seemed foolish of him to even suggest it. The promise had been, at most, the ingredient of the potion he was trying to make. As were those rare moments Aurora informed him about the development of the baby, or the smile and the kiss she’d given him. To brew any potion, one needed tools, patience and time. So he thought and thought about the tools he needed, turning in bed, not caring he was losing hours of sleep. The truth was that he hadn’t slept that well these past few weeks. He had kept mulling over McGonagall’s offer: a home, a home for him and the baby and Servius and Aurora, for the family they had to learn to be. It was then that he realised that a cottage in Hogsmeade might be the tool he was looking for. He would have to grudgingly take on McGonagall’s offer, after all, and check her residence out.