Jehane Desrosiers

We got Albia that night, the night we saw the hippogriffs mating. Perhaps we were careless with our contraceptive spell; there had been a certain incaution to Severus’ habits in the months following Dumbledore’s death.

I hadn’t wanted children. I was forty years old, devoid of maternal feeling, and if the baby had not been a completely real person to Severus from the moment I told him my suspicions, I would have stopped the pregnancy. But she was, and perhaps this was not so strange, that Severus might best approach love by first possessing the beloved intellectually.

“But do you even want to be a father?” I asked one night, having thrown up my dinner and then thrown up the toast and tea I’d had to replace it. Pregnancy was not seeming the easy and natural thing Poppy Pomfrey had advertised to me. “You’ve got so much else to worry about, and you’ve come this far -- I mean, your life is all set --”

“You mean I’m too old,” he snapped. “There are benefits to having older, more experienced parents. They are more patient --”

“Oh, ha,” I said weakly.

“-- and better educated. He will have all of our resources and experience at his disposal. And if he has even half your beauty and most of my wits he will be very well endowed indeed.”

“I have wits,” I protested.

“All right, then. If he’s as smart as his parents and better looking than his father, he’ll be prefect of Slytherin and probably Head Boy.”

+++++

To get out of bed in the dark when you are eight months pregnant requires conscious planning. Of course, every time I did it, Severus awoke. Having hauled my bulk to the bathroom in the late August heat, I shucked off my nightgown before climbing under the sheet. Severus slid his arms around me and nuzzled my neck.

“I love you when you are naked,” he murmured. He turned me on my side and spooned behind me, spanning my belly with his hands like someone choosing a watermelon. “Mmm.” He moved on to my newly full breasts, cupping them with a sigh. He was rubbing against me in a way that did not suggest a return to sleep.

“Now? It’s the middle of the night,” I said. But I didn’t really mind. In the last months of pregnancy it seemed that I was always ready, despite feeling as gigantic and unattractive as I ever had. Unattractive -- but randy. And Severus was fascinated by my abundant curves and the squirming creature inside.

“Here,” he said. “I promise that you will do the absolute minimum of work and reap the maximum reward.”

“Okay, show me.”

“Lumos.” Severus considered, then arranged me on my side with a pillow between my knees, rolling my top hip slightly forward.

“Sorry about this arm,” he said in businesslike fashion. “Fold it close to your chest. Stretch this one out, like this.”

“I feel like that beached whale.”

“Well you look -- enticing. Round and luscious.”

“Keep talking.”

“Just looking at you makes me hard. This afternoon when you were teaching, you leaned against the fence and I swear, your bottom was so beautiful I nearly lifted your skirt right there.”

“That would have given my class a thrill.”

“It’s gorgeous, so plump --”

“So huge.”

“If you will not accept my compliments, I will stop issuing them.”

“Okay, gorgeously plump.”

“I’ve been thinking of it ever since.” He stroked my nates appreciatively with his long, cool fingers. “And then you were so tired, and I am such an understanding husband that I didn’t want to trouble you at bedtime. And now my patience and forbearance have been rewarded, for here you are at my disposal.”

We had only been married for four months -- it had never seemed necessary until we found ourselves with a baby on the way -- and I was amused and touched at how Severus worked the word husband into the conversation every day.

“With my beautiful backside.”

“Especially your beautiful backside,” he said, leaning down and biting it lightly. “Don’t move. I’ve got you perfectly arranged.”

Returning his hand to my breast, he rubbed his thumb over my nipple.

“Mmm, Sweetheart,” I said. “Harder.”

“I told you not to do any work. That includes directing.” He ran his palms over me in long strokes, mapping the roundness of my belly, my hips and my waist.

Instead of reaching over my hip, he slid down and brought his hand up between my legs from the back, stroking my mons rhythmically until my lips moistened and opened to admit his tapered fingers. His face rested in the curve of my waist and I felt his utter concentration. I was treasured, and that excited me as much as his soft persistent touch.

“Oh -- that’s nice.”

“You’re all swollen. Like a flower.”

“Oh. Like that! Sorry.”

“I already knew that,” he said smugly.

“Yes, of c -- uh.”

He kept that up until I was having serious trouble not moving, then crept up the bed again, to lie behind and against me with a hiss of pleasure. I kept still as he got the angle right and slowly entered me from behind.

“Ah -- you are so hot inside.”

“Mmm. This is lovely. Take your time.”

“I will have to take my time, or else risk throwing out my back.” He punctuated this with a twisty little thrust that made me gasp.

I pulled my knees up to let him get deeper; he answered me with a groan.

“I concede,” he said breathlessly. “That your unauthorized movement provides -- an improvement.” His hand on my belly drew me even closer. So deep, and then that hand wandered down to rub my erect clit and I -- oh OH. Another short, deep thrust.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Or we’ll have to start all over again.”

“Not moving,” I answered, even more aroused at being pent up.

Now a series of shallow thrusts, then he took me by the hips and screwed his cock in deeply with a heartfelt grunt.

“Gods! So hot --”

“Oh, Severus. Oh, Lover.”

Suddenly he stopped. More than stopped. He held completely still, pressing on my hip with his hand, holding his breath.

“What?” I whispered.

With a long inhalation he carefully withdrew.

“What?”

“She knows I’m here,” he said.

I rolled over, ungainly. “Was it Legilimens?”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to. She reached out. She recognized me.” He remained motionless, breathing carefully, taking something in.

“Oh, Sweetheart. That’s lovely.”

“My little girl,” he said. “She recognized me.”

A girl! “What was she thinking? What was her mind like?”

“Not thinking. It’s dark, no language. But she knew me, she -- sent out a feeling, and -- met with me, and I was familiar.”

“A girl.” I thought pink, little skirts, tea parties, fairy wands. A wave of jealousy washed over me. Before I could stop myself, I said, “Will you love her more than me?”

He came up on one elbow so I could see his face. He took this question seriously, as one who knows the magnitude of disaster people can wreak upon each other.

“I think --” His voice quavered then he started again. “It seems possible that I might love her quite a bit. But I could not love her more than I do her mother, who opened this door to me.”

I was more than satisfied. I turned and kissed him for the first time since awakening, and he sighed. He slid an exploratory hand over my belly, and down.

“Mm?”

“Yes, please.”

There was lovemaking in the weeks to come, but that was our last intercourse until after the birth.

+++++

Albia lived up to her name, for she had skin like parchment and a shock of feathery black hair.

She was born in mid-September. When she was a few days old, my milk came in and my breasts, once too small to even have a fold beneath them, turned into distended, painful, Bludger-sized globes. Albia couldn’t get a grip on them to feed. Severus sat by my side, sympathetically rubbing my neck as Albia screamed, red-faced and wrinkled, and tears ran down my face as well.

“All right,” he said, briskly. “You need a break. She can’t do it anyway if she’s this upset. Madam Pomfrey will be over soon to help. Now give her to me.”

Madam Pomfrey! Why hadn’t I thought of that? Clearly my brain was clouded by the birth experience. I handed her over weakly and sank into the couch.

Severus’ long hands were perfect for baby holding. One cupped her back and bottom, the other her head, as he faced her to him and gave her a stern look. She was curled up like a pink cashew, chin trembling and eyes squeezed shut as she squalled, but at the first sound of his low voice, her eyes flew open.

“Young lady,” he told her threateningly. “We are doing all we can for you. Do not increase the level of distress in this household by criticizing your mother. You are to go to sleep immediately, and when you awake, you will be fed.” Albia stopped crying and stared at him, hiccuping, her mouth open. He brought her closer and stared back. “Now. Sleep.”

Then, tucking her tightly under his jaw and holding her there with both hands, he strode up and down the room, humming tunelessly. Albia grunted and rooted at his shoulder, then slept.

Fascinated, I watched my unexpected husband. How did he know this? Albia’s thick tuft of black hair disappeared against his coat. I saw only his hands splayed across her green sweater and her wet black lashes against her cheek. Then as he turned, he caught my eye and raised his eyebrows with a smirk. I loved him terribly – he would keep us safe and take care of us – then a sharp prickling shot through my breasts and my nightgown was drenched with milk.