Chapter Text
He couldn't go any further. He'd run from the castle, run across the grounds, into the Forbidden Forest. It was darker, deserted, away from the violence and chaos of war. He hadn't known exactly where he was going, only that he needed to get away where no one would find him.
His lungs burned as he gasped in air, leaned against a tree. His legs shook, his back ached. He winced as the pain increased, keeping a hand pressed to his swollen, heaving belly.
It had to be now, didn't it.
After several months of hiding it, there was no denying what must come next.
The previous summer, the Dark Lord had been in a good mood. He was celebrating the death of Dumbledore, had the pleasure of killing off a teacher with the nerve to stand up for the rights of Muggles and Muggle-borns, he'd gained control of the Ministry, and gained Hogwarts by installing one of his favorite followers as headmaster. Naturally, the Dark Lord wanted to reward him, as thanks for his usefulness. And when the Dark Lord had had his fill behind closed doors, he'd invited others to take their turns. There was nothing Severus could do but accept his 'reward' in silence, and then thank his generous master for the privilege. It disgusted him how easily it came from so much practice, kissing up to one powerful wizard or another. It didn't seem to make much difference anymore.
The pain had subsided after a few days, the damage healed with the help of various medicinal potions, and he'd taken up his new post with dutiful resignation, trailed by more Death Eaters into Hogwarts, a place that used to be a semblance of refuge from his darker connections but was now filling with more and more painful memories.
It hadn't registered with him for a long time. He was so used to being in pain, used to various ills and discomforts. He'd assumed the stress was getting to him, causing the frequent headaches and nausea and fatigue. He'd dragged himself through his duties, ignoring the feeling of a dead man walking. That shouldn't be anything new. The sight of a bruised, bloody student he hadn't been able to get to in time sent him racing for the nearest bathroom to lose what little he'd been able to eat that day. It was punishment, he supposed, for his cursed lot in life. His former colleagues, now his staff, eyed him with distrust, scorn, disappointment, fear. He'd never been popular, but they had given him a modicum of respect before as a fellow educator. Now, he was worse than scum, in bed with the devil himself. How right they really were.
His trousers getting tighter had been a real mystery. Even after the nausea abated a little and he was able to eat, he hardly had an appetite, nothing that would cause weight gain. It wouldn't surprise him if he was coming down with something, some illness that kept him in the bathroom one way or another, made him bloat up, and made his skin itchy. He didn't care enough to look it up or get looked at. He had a job to do. He always had a job to do.
Christmas had brought no glad tidings. The castle was a gloomy shell of its former light and activity. Even though Severus wasn't one for frivolity, he found he regretted the school being robbed of its normal festive atmosphere. Yet another reminder that nothing was as it should be. Seeing everyone almost as miserable as he was didn't make him feel any better.
He'd been rather glad of an excuse to escape the castle, his new prison, if only for a matter of hours. The Potter brat needed the sword of Gryffindor, without knowing who was really giving it to him. It was all part of the plan that Dumbledore had so meticulously laid out ahead of time. A convincing copy of the sword had been made and kept in the headmaster's office, where it had been taken by the Ministry for examination after failing to give it to Potter per the instructions of Dumbledore's will, and eventually returned. The real sword had been hidden, rather appropriately, behind Dumbledore's portrait. In death as in life, he was good at concealing things.
Naturally, some of Potter's friends had broken into his office and tried to steal the sword to get it to him, but as it was a fake, a fat lot of good it would have done. Severus had had to punish them for the look of it, but tried to make it as lenient as he could get away with. The fake had to be given to Bellatrix Lestrange for safekeeping, again for the look of it.
Once he was informed of Potter's location, he'd taken the real sword from its hiding place and Apparated to the Forest of Dean. The trip took a lot out of him, more than he would have anticipated, and he'd spent the first several minutes on his hands and knees, shaking and vomiting into the snow. Thank Merlin he'd been alone, so Potter or anyone else wouldn't hear him. Once he could stagger to his feet, he'd placed the sword, or rather unceremoniously dropped the bloody thing, into the icy lake, then summoned all his strength and memories of Lily to cast a patronus. Hidden behind a clump of trees, he waited for Potter to follow a very obvious lead to the lake, then watched with disgusted horror as the lad nearly drowned himself in fetching the sword. Was the boy incapable of doing anything without nearly killing himself? He'd been debating if he could rescue the young idiot without getting caught when Weasley showed up and did it for him. Once they were out and had the sword, Severus considered his part done, and braced himself to Apparate back. Again, he fell to his knees and emptied what little was left in his heaving stomach, head swimming. It was all he could do to drag himself to the castle and to his quarters where he collapsed into bed.
By mid January, Severus was sure something was wrong with him. He was crankier and more irritable than usual, his skin continued to itch, his back hurt, his poor appetite had turned into a taste for very odd things, likely stress eating, which was probably why his stomach continued to bloat. Against his skinny frame, it stuck out like the anomaly it was. He could hide it with his robes, but he'd already used a few stretching charms on his clothes and wasn't sure how much further he could go.
To top it all off, he was starting to get these strange twinges in his stomach every now and then, like a nervous flutter. He chalked it up to another symptom of his mystery disease, probably the beginning stages of a nervous breakdown. But he couldn't afford to break down. He had a job to do. He had duties to perform. A Dark Lord to lie to, students to protect, Potter to aid however he could.
Potter. Thinking of his fate made Severus sick all over again. Dumbledore had been setting the boy up all these years to be some sacrificial lamb, after Severus had sworn to protect him for Lily's sake, sticking his neck out for the boy over and over, only for Dumbledore to ensure he was snuffed out at the proper time. It wasn't fair. Nothing in life was fair.
He'd been lying awake in bed, too stressed to sleep, conflicting duties and feelings and utter despair running through his mind. His stomach started acting up again, and he tried to rub the sensation away, but it only seemed to make it worse. He felt his stomach in the dark, having to admit it was only getting bigger, now a round protrusion from his middle. He mentally ran through his symptoms, in a bored effort to determine what exactly he was going to die from. Even in his exhausted state, he frowned as some of the clues started clunking into place, teasing at a solution at the edges of his ragged mind. Now that he had finally stopped to seriously consider everything going on with him, it was gradually coming together as he ruled out various diseases. When it finally clicked, he opened his eyes in the dark. He grasped his stomach with both hands, lip trembling.
He wasn't dying. He was pregnant.
Tears ran down his face as it sunk in, and he bawled into his pillow. But not from relief or joy. There was fear and shock and dismay and utter exhaustion.
It didn't take any imagination to trace it back to the Dark Lord's 'celebrations' last summer. He supposed it was a good thing that he had no idea which of them had sired this child, this poor child he'd already subjected to so much danger, who didn't have a bright future to look forward to. He was already burdened with a school full of children to shield from the Carrows as best he could, which never felt like enough; and now he had one more to protect, in their most vulnerable state. Fool that he was, he was already halfway gone before he even realized they were there. He could have miscarried and been none the wiser.
It was a miracle he hadn't, really, with everything he was going through, how much he'd been neglecting his health. There was no indication things were going to improve anytime soon. He need only wait and see. There was enough killing going around. Too many people dead by his hand. Too many he couldn't save. The thought of taking another innocent life sickened him.
But he'd known there was no guarantee this little life would be spared either.
After that he'd been more cautious, making sure he ate complete meals, no more Apparating anywhere, tried to get some sleep, subtly shielding his stomach when the Carrows were blasting away. He could blame it on not wanting to get hit and facing the Dark Lord's displeasure for injuring someone he needed on hand.
It was rare that the Dark Lord came to see him, but when he did, Severus rigorously Occluded away any thoughts of the child. If the Dark Lord ever found out that his frivolities, or that of his followers, had produced a child, there was no telling what might happen to them. Severus didn't want to find out.
When he was 6 months along, there was no denying his round stomach was visible evidence of his condition. He was no longer confident he could conceal it with his robes. Someone was bound to notice. He'd started casting glamors around his midsection every day before he left his quarters, only removing them when he retired for the night.
It didn't feel right, living in the headmaster's quarters. Even with Dumbledore's things removed, his presence was felt, like Severus was intruding where he had no right to be. He missed his quarters down in the dungeons, where he'd lived most of the year for 16 years. It had been the most like home he'd ever had, completely settled in. Totally his. This high tower, where Dumbledore had lived before Severus was even a student, wasn't his. He'd unfairly won it after being forced to murder its occupant. He still hated Dumbledore for holding him to such a promise, for blowing off what was left of his soul's integrity so he could clean up the old man's mess after he'd trifled with a dark object like an idiot.
And he wasn't free of the old man even after death. Dumbledore's portrait hung in the headmaster's office, as per tradition, continuing to inform Severus of his schemes and plans, pulling the strings as he desired. Was he ever going to be free of the puppet master hovering over him?
Even worse, the portrait seemed to possess the wily nature of its subject.
"Is there something you wish to share, Severus?"
"No." Severus kept his gaze on the paperwork he was signing off on, not letting on that there was a baby currently tumbling around inside him, having much more fun than he was. He could confidently say (to himself) that it was the most bizarre sensation he'd ever felt, and he'd felt plenty over the years.
"Are you sure? You appear to have something on your mind."
"I always have something on my mind," Severus said dismissively.
"You might feel better by talking it out."
"And you are just as nosy as the original." He was not going to share this secret with anyone, not even a painting. Dumbledore had hid plenty from him, and Severus was entitled to his secrets too.
What was trickier to hide as time went on was the child's affect on his balance. Their growth was hidden under glamors, but their weight was fully felt. Despite his best efforts to move normally, he was having to compensate here and there for the increasing frontal load he was carrying. He gripped armrests as he carefully got up from chairs, lowered himself into them just as deliberately, resisted the urge to lean back as he walked, and then there was the waddle always threatening to emerge. It took more work to maintain his smooth gait without swaying. He moved slowly and deliberately, playing up his intimidating aura of authority and mystery as he kept everyone at a distance. Coupled with his trademark sneers and scowls (which no one had to know were now because his back and feet hurt), nobody dared to come near. Not that they ever tried before. His cover as the evil Death Eater headmaster was intact.
In private, after he went to his quarters, he would remove the glamors and rub his expanding belly with a weary sigh; it was the most peaceful part of his day, when it was over and he was alone with a squirming baby. He couldn't give the child much thought during the day or publicly acknowledge their existence, but at night he could slow down and feel them kick and marvel that they'd survived another day.
He was trying not to get attached, both from the possibility of losing them and because there was no chance of his being able to keep them. For one thing, he was no father figure. For another, he was a spy, a double agent leading a dangerous life that likely wasn't going to last much longer. All out war was on the horizon, when Potter would face the Dark Lord for the final time, and there was no guarantee who would win or lose or how many lives would be lost on either side in the process. For someone like him, with enemies and haters on both sides, his prospects weren't good. One slip, and it would be over. One stray curse, and it would be over. His best hope, their best hope, was for him to give birth before the fighting broke out and take the baby somewhere safe, and then meet his death when it came. Perhaps someone in the Order would take pity on the orphaned child.
It weighed more on his mind as his time came closer. Before he knew it, he was 9 months along, belly large with a child that had thus far beaten the odds. He worried when they would decide to make their appearance - was there ever a convenient time for an evil headmaster to spend hours trying to pop out a kid? What if he went into labor while meeting with his staff, or worse, the Dark Lord? The latter would be a death sentence for both of them, even if Severus could convince him the child was his. The Dark Lord had no use for babies, or knocked up headmasters. Severus could only wait in dread as days went by, in terrible suspense for this to end one way or another.
"You look terrible," Dumbledore's portrait told him.
"I feel terrible." He tried to rise from his chair only to fall back with a groan. He was too fat now to move with any ease anymore.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"No." He tried to suck air into his lungs, pinned under a heavy belly carrying a full term baby who was compressing his lungs and his stomach and his bladder and everything else they could reach, which felt like everything now. He winced as they kicked.
"You should have Pomfrey take a look at you."
"I'll manage." He took a deep breath and heaved himself out of his chair, groaning again because of his back.
"I'm getting worried about you, Severus. You've been looking worse and worse all year."
"Don't pretend you care all of a sudden," Severus snapped. "It's far too late for that." He went into his quarters for some much needed privacy.
"And you." He stared down at his big belly after he removed the glamors. "You're taking too long. You won't be any safer in there if I have to go into battle."
There were signs that the Dark Lord was gearing up for war, and in Severus' condition, swollen and slow and ungainly with dulled reflexes, he wasn't confident he'd be able to protect the child. He could only cast some strong shield charms around his middle and hope for the best.
There were steps he needed to take to help protect another child as well. Potter needed to know what he had to do when the time was right, and it looked as though it would be soon. If Severus wasn't around to tell him - if he was in labor at the time, if he died in childbirth or in battle - he'd never know. There was no one else who had the information. As usual, it was Severus' job to make sure Potter had what he needed, and he couldn't afford to fail. The outcome of the war would hinge on it.
He took a glass vial and collected certain memories, then a few more. He tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes, easily accessible when the right time presented itself.
It wasn't long before the Dark Lord came to Hogwarts, furious that his horcruxes were being destroyed. Word got out that Potter had infiltrated the castle, and it was clear the day of reckoning had arrived. Severus, having felt particularly awful all day, had strengthened the shield charms and defenses around his belly, prepared to make the best of it, when he'd felt a pop. He wasn't in any pain, but he felt a trickle going down his legs.
"No, no no no no no...!" This was not the time to go into labor. The Dark Lord would summon him any time now. His army was outside Hogwarts, having breached their defenses and about to storm the place. He needed to find Potter.
He'd hurried from the headmaster's tower, wincing as the pains he'd ignored all day intensified. Chaos was breaking out in the castle as Death Eaters and students and staff all collided with each other, hexes and curses flying everywhere. He'd ducked and dodged with agonizing slowness as he lurched along, cursing the timing of this baby and cursing Potter who wasn't anywhere to be seen in the madness.
At last, he'd found him, trailed by his usual cronies as he was about to head up one of the staircases. There was no way Severus was going to race up all those steps to catch him.
"Potter!"
The boy had flinched at being barked at, whipping around. Severus ignored the hateful look he was getting as he took the vial from his robes and pressed it into Potter's hand.
"Pensieve. Now." At the boy's confused look (this was the entirely wrong time for him to be so thick), Severus impatiently jerked his head in the direction of the headmaster's tower. Once he saw the boy take off in that direction, Severus resumed his escape. He'd done his part, and now he had more pressing matters to see to.
His left forearm burned, and he growled in frustration and pain. He was in no shape to answer the summons. He had to hide, for both their sakes. If he survived this urgent ordeal, he'd face the other later.
Without knowing where he was heading, not going fast enough for his liking due to his bulk, he'd hurriedly staggered out of the castle, across the grounds, and into the Forbidden Forest.
And now here he was, leaned against a tree, gasping for breath, his belly painfully tightening around a baby that insisted on coming now.
His whole body ached. He sunk to the ground, letting the tears fall. This was it. He was about to give birth all alone in a dangerous forest. They might both die in the process, whether he ran into complications or a predator found them. Even if they survived, he had to find a safe place to take the child, only to go back and face his fate. Either the perils of war would claim him, or the Dark Lord would kill him for fleeing and ignoring his summons.
No matter what happened, he was a dead man. But he'd known that all along.