Eileen had read about “culture shock” in one of the magazines she’d borrowed from the Evans’. She thought perhaps that was what she’d experienced (was experiencing? It hadn’t actually said when one stopped having it…) upon her arrival at Spinner’s End. Giving up her wand had been painful, even knowing she would get it back. And then learning her way around the household appliances, learning how to cook, different muggle cleaning supplies… she doubted she would ever learn how to drive a motorcar, but now, with one month left in her pregnancy, after having truly dedicated herself to learning, she was now relatively “fluent” with muggles. She had opened a bank account, gotten a credit card, and was becoming quite good with budgeting using muggle money.
These were her personal accomplishments that she held close to herself. The positive things that made her wandless life a little more bearable- well, made it possible at any rate. She wasn’t an especially good cook, but with Rose Evans help, she was beginning to cook food that was at least edible- which was good, because although Toby was willing to try and help in the kitchen, he was as clueless about cooking as she had been. Mainly she found she preferred to simply stock the house with cheap, quick things.
Sometimes she would get fresh food from the Sunday market, but the press of so many people between the small stalls the farmers set up made her uncomfortable, and she really only went when the lack of proper food started to irritate Toby. Her relationship with Toby seemed to be constantly cycling between highs and lows… He was charming when he wanted to be, brilliant in ways she didn’t understand/ Toby seemed to thrive on odd jobs- he was rather ingenious at working with his hands, his memory for measurements and calculations was truly impressive, and he was fully capable of designing and building an entire house, nearly single-handedly (at least, that was what some of his friends told her). … and apparently, creating chemical combinations that could explode.
She didn’t know the details about this though, only that he got a little thin lipped, bad tempered when it would come up and seemed a bit ashamed. His constant drinking was a frustration- not only was he a bit of a hypocrite- getting furious when she ever drank, but himself drinking every night (and sometimes in the day) which seemed to upend even her strictest budget plans. His inability to maintain a job was also a source of friction.
The end result was that he primarily worked odd jobs, adding random influxes of cash to their account. Toby himself was moody, would sometimes go off on rants cursing the entire town of Cokeworth, and when he was drunk would rapidly cycle between raging against the British government (she still wasn’t clear on the conflict, but it seemed that to avoid jail time, Toby had given the government information about the Irish muggle military- and then had to flee his homeland). When he was angry, he would growl, mutter, slam cabinets, and sometimes punch the wall our pound his fist on a table.
So far, he hadn’t gotten physical with her, but she rather suspected that the only reason he hadn’t taken his anger out on her was because she was pregnant. And even then, there would be times that she would wince and try to stay out of his way, half-expecting him to lash out at her. Just because he hadn’t so far, didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
Things had improved a little, being friends with the Evans was nearly a life-saver, but no matter what, she frequently found herself almost drowning in regret, feeling as though she couldn’t breath, as though her heart was being squeezed in an ever tightening vice, and the claustrophobia she felt in the home left her gasping. She knew better than to attempt an abortion- her pregnancy had been forced upon her by her own magic (the ultimate betrayal, almost enough to make her want to give it up entirely, if it weren’t for the fact that it was such a core part of who she was and she couldn’t imagine actually being a muggle). Still, this seed of bitterness was growing within her, resentment towards her husband, her unborn child, the muggle town she was forced to live in, and of course, her nearly reptilian, cold-blooded and vapid parents.
Severus was due around Christmas. Until then, she needed to find ways to keep herself occupied. A few months ago, she had started exploring the lands around Cokeworth, looking for wild areas of magic, ingredients that she could harvest and use for potions. She couldn’t make that much without a wand, but she would be able to brew some basic medicinal potions such as blood replenishers and pain killers. Things she would be needing. She would sometimes find other ingredients that she would be able to store, or the ones that didn’t store well, she would mark down their location in a small black journal she carried with her, drawing maps and details, so that when she did eventually get her wand back, she would know precisely where to go to find them. She supposed that she might have to disguise herself, but if she went to Diagon Alley, perhaps she could sell some of them to an apothecary. A small additional bit of income, one she could keep hidden away from Toby, would be wise to have.
It was especially chilly, and she wrapped the sweater Mrs. Evans had knit for her, and given to her as a birthday gift, more tightly around herself. The record player was softly emitting some opera piece in the living room- something that Mrs. Bianchi, her neighbor from across the street, had brought over. The woman was a widowed, childless lady with soft, long gray hair that was usually intricately bound with what looked like chopsticks and intricately crafted leather. Her bangs hung elegantly on each side of her face, the hair so silky it privately reminded Eileen of a unicorn.
Aside from Mrs. Evans, Mrs. Bianchi was the only person she really enjoyed spending time with. The woman was irreverent, fearless and highly opinionated. Sometimes a bit pushy and impulsive- sometimes she’d just walk into the house without knocking, bringing with her a tin of cookies, or a new record- always something to share. Eileen had slowly gotten used to the eccentric intrusions, and appreciated that they always came with something new to eat or drink or shared entertainment.
Though Eileen had forgotten a good deal of the music lessons she’d been forced to endure before Hogwarts, Mrs. Bianchi’s love of opera (something for which only her native italian was suited, according to her) was entertaining. Eileen would remain noncommittal whenever the rant began, secretly amused, and found that watching Mrs. Bianchi work herself up into lather about the decline of culture, classical music, and the absurdity of people trying to translate operas into any language other than Italian was bizarrely fascinating and comforting at the sametime.
Of course, when the record began to play, Mrs. Bianchi would insist on silence so they could both listen to the music. Toby didn’t particularly care for Mrs. Bianchi, or for opera, but he was relieved that his pregnant wife seemed to be adjusting a bit more to their life, so instead of complaining he would simply make himself scarce whenever the older woman showed up.
As Eileen poured another cup of tea for both herself and the old widow, she was startled when Mrs. Bianchi suddenly began talking.
Apparently, the woman volunteered at a clinic in town, one which worked to feed the homeless. Looking a bit heartbroken, as though she couldn’t stop the words from pouring out, she was recounting a tale of a young woman, barely sixteen, who had fled an abusive home only to find herself in an abusive relationship. “Of course, these poor young women and men never really see it coming. And the government doesn’t have any type of education or intervention set, so when they run away in an effort to improve their lives, they end up cut off from everything and everyone they know, completely dependent upon the person they ran away for. It’s the oldest scam in the book, and it just keeps happening.” The woman was unusually somber, frustration and anger coloring her voice.
“I’m sorry?” Eileen asked, unsure what was meant.
“Oh you know- some handsome, slimy older ‘gentleman’ offers these young things the world, the poor idiots believe them, and before they know what’s happened they’re addicted to drugs, getting beaten, and working the streets. Tale as old as time, and the government never does anything. This girl, Christina, she’s showed up at the shelter a few times. Smart as a whip, that one. But this is maybe the fifth time she’s tried to escape the life, tried to get sober and failed. I don’t know if she’ll even live much longer- the last time I saw her she was pregnant, but still using. The likelihood that her pimp will keep her around is minimal, and of course the police act as though she deserves this fate. I’ve been trying so hard to get through to her, but apparently she’s decided that it would be impossible for her to raise a child on her own, and wants to get rid of it. Of course, there aren’t any clinics around here, and she was so determined when I saw her last. She hasn’t been back in weeks. I keep looking in the papers for a death notice. They’d list her as a Jane Doe, even though the lazy bastards know her name- she told me specifically the names of several officers who have paid for her services. And of course, nobody ever talks about that. God forbid the papers tell the truth. Instead, everyone sticks to the same narrative- about how everyone in this town is just a useless, lazy simpleton, how we try to avoid work and live off of government assistance. How the kids here are born rotten to the core, and it’s always their own fault for getting addicted to drugs.” She was truly furious now, for the first time since Eileen had met her, completely ignoring the music she’d brought over.
“But, I don’t understand. Are you suggesting the police or… or her pimp will kill her?”
“In a way, I think they already have. Addicts don’t usually have an especially long life-span, do they? But, for someone whose health is as compromised as her own, I hate to imagine how dangerous giving birth will be. I doubt that bastard she calls a boyfriend will help, which means she will probably just bleed out. It wouldn’t be the first time they allow it to happen, and certainly won’t be the last. They’ll just dump her body on a park bench or in the river, and call it a day.”
“But… couldn’t she terminate the pregnancy?” Eileen asked, wide eyed. Mrs. Bianchi looked at her with surprise, narrowing her eyes for a moment, before shaking her head and sighing.
“I forget that you’re not from around this area. There are laws that make it difficult. Difficult to even find someone willing to help with that. Most people here think it’s tantamount to murder, and don’t want to talk about it at all. But I do know she wanted to. I got the impression she was searching for one of the underground providers, but… they aren’t exactly safe or reliable, are they? And so bloody expensive.” The woman shuddered, setting her tea down. “No. I’d be greatly surprised if she found anyone willing to help. I just… it’s the not knowing that’s the worst part. Last time I saw her she did ask me if I knew of anyone, but with the government cracking down on it, the last person I knew who provided that particular assistance moved, and nearly got their medical license revoked. Since then, I haven’t heard of anyone in the area doing it. I used to know of someone in London, but I never heard back when I tried to write them.”
Eileen thought about this, staring into her cup. Pulling out her notebook, she began scribbling calculations, crossing out lines and numbers, random abbreviations being added. Mrs. Bianchi was too lost in her own thoughts to really notice, having finally lapsed back into silence, listening to the music.
About half an hour later, she was startled by Eileen making a triumphant little noise, and putting down her notebook and pen with an emphatic thud.
“I can help.” Eileen announced.
“What now?” Mrs. Bianchi stared at Eileen, utterly confused.
“I can help. Your friend. Actually I can help more than just her- I went to an… unorthodox school. And I learned a lot about subjects that aren’t taught in the normal school system.” Eileen couldn’t stop the slight twitch of her lips, she didn’t even have to make that part up. “I can put together an abortifacient that is guaranteed to work. It won’t harm her. Depending on how far along she is, she might experience some discomfort, but nothing so painful as actually giving birth, or the process of going through withdrawal. Not to mention giving birth to a child who is also addicted to the substances.” The other woman was now staring at Eileen, wide-eyed.
“You… you can do this? And you would?”
“Certainly. I expect discretion, of course, and there will be a small fee. But it would still cost less than a trip to London. Of course, I expect privacy… Nobody can know that I’m doing this, especially not Toby or the Evans’s… Mr. Evans, while I dearly care for him, might feel obligated to report me, being a doctor and all.”
“Of course, I would never tell anyone, and the women who end up needing this help, they know how necessary it is to keep quiet. And their jobs require discretion anyways. If you are sure… this would make such a difference, for so many people… I know that most people don’t think of them as important, but… addicts, prostitutes, the homeless… they’re all still humans.”
“I’m certain I can, and will do this. You just make sure that they know never to blab about it, and that they can cover the fee.”
“Eileen… this is… Thank you.” Mrs. Bianchi just stared at Eileen for a moment, clearly out of words, and Eileen shifted uncomfortably.
“Well… it sounds like it’s something that’s needed. And I can help… and if I’ve learned anything from being pregnant, it’s that only people who want children should have them.” This last was said softly, and Mrs. Bianchi looked at Eileen closely. Her dark eyes with the dark rings around them, her skinny frame and stringy black hair. She wanted to ask, but for once the brash elderly woman found she couldn’t form the words. Grasping Eileen's hand, she squeezed tightly.
“Thank you.”
~
By January first, Severus was officially a week and a half late, and Eileen had provided three different women with a potion to terminate their pregnancies. She made sure that they only came around when Toby wasn’t there, and kept the payment carefully hidden in the attic. She hadn’t needed to explain the details to Mrs. Bianchi, but during that first conversation about the issue, she’d been scribbling down the equations and formulae for a couple of different potions that were effective in both the prevention and termination of a pregnancy. She could have made them from memory rather effortlessly had they been intended for another witch, but one always had to be particularly careful when one was working with magical properties and planning to administer them to a non-magical being. It was possible, but it was especially important to find a balance between ingredients, between the force of magical properties and their interaction with non-magical organisms. Honestly, she never would have expected to come to a possible solution so quickly- it was as though for the first time since she’d moved to Spinner’s End her mind had returned to functioning properly.
Since the potion she was providing the muggles with consisted only of ingredients she could collect herself, even though she wasn’t charging much for the service, it was all profit. After the first chat with Mrs. Bianchi, she had started paying closer attention to the paper, and to her horror saw the pattern that Mrs. Bianchi had hinted at- obituaries, death notices, just a sentence or two. But so frequent, it seemed impossible that so many women could die in the town. Mrs. Bianchi explained that many of them weren’t from the area, but as there was both a main highway and active public transport direct to and from London, Cokeworth had by virtue of convenience become a hub of human trafficking, one stop on a long, miserable trip.
Either way, Eileen had stumbled upon a way to help other women, at least a bit, while also saving up money that Tobias would never know about. Her husband was too moody to really predict how he would react to the nature of her work, and she’d already decided he would never learn about it. Besides, he would almost certainly take the money she was saving if he ever did. Their fights had been getting worse, louder, and more items were getting broken around their house. Eileen knew that the neighbors could hear them, and everytime Mrs. Bianchi visited and didn’t ask the question burning in her eyes, Eileen found her appreciation and estimation of the tiny older woman increasing. She didn’t know what lie she would even provide to explain why she wasn’t freeing herself from her current circumstances. It’s not as though she could explain to the woman how her own magic had turned on her, how if she were to attempt to give herself the same relief that she was providing other women the results would almost certainly prove to be catastrophic.
Eileen had noticed that Tobias, even when drunk, tended to be more mangable if she reacted in a mild, feminine way to his rage- and if she would stroke her stomach, drawing attention to her pregnancy, sometimes giving a slight wince or letting out of huff of air… sometimes it was even enough to get the man to completely forget his own rage, and then she would be the recipient of his complete, solicitous attention. It was almost unnerving how quickly he could ping from one mood to another, as was his obsession with their unborn child. Of course, parents, especially first time parents- were excited about the arrival of their child, but she couldn’t help feeling like there was a sort of possessiveness, and oddness to his attention that was a bit… off.
The fact that Severus, when he finally arrived, was almost three weeks late wasn’t as much of a surprise to her as perhaps it should have been. By the time the new year had rolled around, she’d begun to find the large bump on her stomach reassuring, a protection against the sometimes blind, reasonless rage that could occasionally overtake tobias. She rather suspected her own magic had latched on to that security, and kept it for as long as possible. But, by January 9th, time had run out. Tobias was away- gone to visit family, he said, on that island he was originally from- and Eileen had been thoroughly relaxed, appreciating the silence that really only happens the morning after a harsh blizzard, when fresh snow (except, in Cokeworth it never really looks fresh… as though the air was so heavily polluted, it discolored the snow even before it reached the ground) piled up, making travel tedious if not impossible, creating an isolated, muffled atmosphere.
Eileen was sitting on a soft chair she’d pulled into the kitchen, gazing out the back window as she sipped warm tea, a book about magical theory resting on the kitchen table. And then a sharp, intensely painful contraction hit unexpectedly, causing her to drop her teacup with a pained, surprised gasp. Standing quickly, in what almost felt like an out-of-body experience, she watched as her stomach rippled, feeling sharp, horrible pain, as though she were being stabbed repeatedly along her spine and from inside her abdomen. When she reached for the phone, she found that it wasn’t functioning- landlines were down. She hadn’t even really thought about what she would do, when another agonizing wave swept through her.
Unable to think clearly, hazy with agony, she stumbled up the stairs, realizing as she did so her water had broken, and was leaving a trail behind her. Dazed, Eileen went into the bathroom, filled the tub, and grabbed the potions she had prepared and hidden under the sink. Grimacing, sometimes unable to swallow back a groan of pain, she began rubbing the pain salve on her lower back, and around her privates while she waited for the tub to fill, and then scooped out a glob and dumped it into the tub. After that, she was barely able to climb into the warm water before the contractions started coming in what felt like a crushing tidal wave.
~
Severus Snape was born in the bathtub after just over a half an hour of labor, at 12:12 in the afternoon. Having read and discussed other women’s experiences with Mr. and Mrs. Evans, she knew distantly that she was incredibly lucky- any number of things could have gone wrong, and it was something of a miracle that the labor had been so short. Later, she would reflect that it was the least her magic could do for her, after getting her into this mess. Right then though, it was all she could do to remember to pull her baby out of the tub, cut the umbilical cord, gently towel him down, then stumble over to the bedroom and fall deeply asleep, the newborn nestled against her, silent, pink wrinkly skin warm, impossibly dark eyes staring as his eyelids fluttered up and down.
~