FIC: "Prince Expectant" Part 5 - for Calliope Feldwick
Title: Prince Expectant
Written for: Participant #014, Calliope Feldwick - aka - florahart
Author: Participant #051, Hepatica Whortleberry h_whortleberry - aka - chazpure
Rating: Containing subject matter of the most Indelicate Nature! Suitable only for those of the Hardiest constitutions, whose Mature minds are undisturbed by Tales of Passionate and Erotic Discourse! (NC17)
Pairings: Primary: Severus/Harry; there are numerous minor pairings. Please see Content and Notes.
Length: 42,000 words
Content: slash, het, oral, anal, masturbation, dubious consent, orgies, sex magic, mind/mood altering substances, male pregnancy, rimming, pregnant sex, h/c, schmoop, tortured Latin.
Three weeks later, despite exhaustive research and considerable experimentation with home-brewed abortifacients (which he had immediately and violently sicked up), child-bane charms (which made the little urchins in Diagon Alley steer well clear of him, but had no other effect) and one long, maudlin, self-pitying session with a bottle of fire whisky (which he also sicked up, and which gave him a raging headache), he was still pregnant.
As well as he could reason it out, his carefully wrought spells and potions designed to thwart the Dark Lord's plans had somehow combined with the sex magic ritual Voldemort had used to raise and wring power from his bound followers and had resulted in making him...capable of bearing a child. The torrent of wild magic for which he had served as conduit probably had not helped matters much, either.
As for how he came to be pregnant...he winced every time he thought of it, but there had certainly been every opportunity, from the night of the ritual itself, to the morning he woke up mother-naked in Harry Potter's bed.
He spared a few seconds to wonder if any of the surviving Death Eaters shared his current condition, but as, presumably, they had all been actively cooperating with the Dark Lord's wishes and focusing all their erotic endeavours on raising power for him, Snape decided it was unlikely. He certainly wasn't about to ring Azkaban and enquire!
The list of suspects to have sired his ill-begotten spawn was long and gruesome enough to make him ill just considering it. Lucius...MacNair,- oh, Merlin, please not! - Woolston...Nott? Engblatt? Had there been more? How many more? Who?
Most of that night was shrouded in a queasy fog of lust and shame, and he would have been well content to leave it buried, but for his current predicament.
And then there had been Potter, of course...and God only knew how many others. His memory was murky, but he knew bloody well there had been wholesale shagging going on all through the house, the day after the battle; he'd smelled it, the morning afterwards!
Granger had said something about the after-effects of long-term Pepper-Up use, and he distinctly recalled the Weasley pair offering everyone some concoction to ameliorate the condition. He couldn't be sure someone hadn't dosed him with it, and he did remember drinking quite a lot of brandy. He was also morally certain that he had not sat innocently in a chair, while debauchery reigned about him, until Harry Sodding Potter had arrived and taken him to his bed!
He had cast every paternity charm he knew and followed them up with a dozen more he had found in his research. Not one of them told him more than he already knew: he was parent to the child in his belly. None of the charms could resolve the identity of the other culpable party to more than a vaguely human-shaped outline.
He felt rather like a Maiden Betrayed, some days.
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He had taken to wearing robes whenever possible, or loose shirts and transfigured trousers when necessary. Today was one of those "necessary" days, as he had been "loaned out" to Ulgra's grand-niece for four back-breaking - albeit lucrative - days of working her booth at the Chelsea Flower Show.
He had been walking back and forth, carrying plants, bulbs, seeds, plant food, all day long for two days now, and despite discreet cushioning charms, his feet hurt. His back wasn't very happy about the situation, either, but the pay would be worth it. Ulgra's grand-niece Winifred was a Squib who did business in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, and she had been delighted to find someone willing to work a Muggle show and knowledgeable enough to sort out which plants were safe for displaying there!
The initial set-up had been hard but rewarding work, which involved getting the booth arranged to best effect and making sure everything was properly labeled and priced. He also had to ensure there were ample stocks of the most popular items ready at hand. It was the upkeep that was going to kill him, Severus decided. Back and forth, back and forth, all day long, fetching and carrying and filling in the display where items had been purchased - and trying not to glare at the maddening old pussies who tugged at his sleeve when his arms were full and asked if he had any dahlias or clematis or some other damned flower, or worse, hex the little beasts who ran wild through the pavilion, knocking over his carefully arranged flowerpots.
He soothed himself by telling himself he was going to get the temperamental plumbing fixed with the extra money he was earning, and treat himself to a long, deep soak at the end of each day. His feet nearly whimpered at the thought of a long, hot soak. Later, he promised them, and went back to straightening out the oncidiums. He had moved on to the paphilopedilums when he heard a familiar voice and froze in place.
Harry Bloody Potter?
What the hell was he doing here?
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Harry smiled as Ginny, Hermione, and Neville led the way into the flower show's main pavilion. They wandered from one colourful display to another, admiring the sights, accepting a bewildering assortment of odd little trinkets and samples, and simply enjoying the astonishing circumstance of being able to take a bit of recreation without worrying about Voldemort.
Hermione's parents had given her the tickets, and somehow she and Neville had cajoled the rest of them into coming along. Ginny seemed to be having a good time, he was glad to see, and Neville was in seventh heaven. Hermione looked pleased, which made Ron happy. As for Harry, well, with neither Dark wizards nor reporters anywhere in sight, he was quite content.
And truth be told, the flower show was really very pretty.
They passed a large booth devoted to exotic plants and paused to look at the incredibly beautiful tropical blossoms. Many of them were so strange and vivid they seemed magical.
Neville was having a marvelous time, pointing out all the similarities between Muggle botanicals and their Wizarding cousins. There were quite a few plants that made him stop and stare, then explain to the others that they were also well known in the Wizarding world. This inevitably started a discussion of their uses and history of cultivation.
When they got to a table full of flowering ginger, Hermione started a long discussion on the links between Muggle folk wisdom and Wizarding potions theory. As she and Neville got deeper and deeper into the discussion - with occasional comments from Ginny and very rare additions from himself and Ron - Harry thought he saw one of the booth workers glaring at them. He had the briefest impression of a pale, thin face and stringy black hair...oddly familiar. He frowned and looked again, but the man had gone.
He had no idea why one of the booth workers would be upset with any of them; they had been careful not to touch any of the enormous blossoms, and Neville had bought a selection of bulbs and Muggle plant food, as well! He almost said something to the lady working the till, but Ginny suddenly shrieked in delight, and he turned to see what had happened.
Ginny, Hermione and Neville had practically run around the corner and down the next aisle to a booth done up in a wedding theme. It was filled with white flowers, ivy, orange blossoms, tulle, garden arches, Muggle fairy lights, and every other conceivable decoration one might want for a Muggle wedding.
He gave Ron a sympathetic look. They both shrugged in surrender and followed the others. Hermione and Ginny had stopped in front of a towering display of bridal bouquets, and were giggling like little girls, while Neville made carefully detailed notes.
Harry shook his head and nudged Ron. "Think anyone would believe those two took down a dozen Death Eaters between them, in one day?"
Ron snorted. "Let 'em try getting between them and one of those wedding magazines and they'll believe it," he said. "Scary! Even Mum was impressed."
Harry just chuckled. "It's nice to see them worked up over something really trivial for a change - not that weddings are trivial," he hastened to add.
Ron clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "Just don't let either one of them hear you say it, mate!"
They wandered back around the corner to a booth they had missed and were watching shimmering koi swimming in an amazingly natural-looking plastic pond, when there was a commotion nearby and they both headed toward the sound. Hermione, Ginny and Neville caught up to them in moments, and they all scanned the crowd for clues to the disturbance.
A booming voice carried above the sound of the crowd. "And the LORD, who giveth and taketh away, the LORD will protect and heal His OWN! And He shall call his sheep unto Him and CHERISH them, and those that will not HEED His WORD, He shall CAST OUT!"
Harry hadn't even realized he had his hand resting over his wand, which was concealed in a special pocket of his jeans, until Hermione put one hand on his arm.
"And I say again unto you, you must ACCEPT the LORD, your SAVIOUR! And REPENT of your sins, your drinking and your swearing, your VANITIES and your pride, your coveting and your FORNICATING! And the LORD, who is MERCIFUL and GOOD will CHASTEN the SINNERS called to REPENTANCE!"
"It's all right, Harry," Hermione said, "It's only Holy Howard." She sounded halfway between amused and annoyed.
"Holy what?"
"Well, that's what Dad calls him. He shows up at all sorts of public events and makes a fuss. I think he just wants attention. He's been on the telly a few times - parades, football matches, a DIY convention, things like that."
"Someone's collapsed," Neville said quietly, his face concerned.
Ginny managed to worm her way farther into the crowd on a combination of limberness and charm. After a few moments, she came back with details. "One of the workers fainted, they said. I couldn't get close enough to see who it was or if anyone was really hurt; there's an old, bald Muggle praying over everyone and blocking the aisle."
There was a sharp whistle and two men in green jackets came hustling down the aisle with a gurney, medical kit and oxygen tank. The crowd parted reluctantly; Holy Howard seemed rather put out, when the paramedics ordered him away from the area. He retreated a short distance and stood handing out leaflets to anyone who would take them.
Harry shook his head and was about to suggest they all head back to the koi pond, or the wedding display, if they weren't done there. Just then, a familiar voice snapped, "I said, 'I'm fine!' Get that confounded thing away from me!"
Harry pushed forward and stared, as the paramedics insistently pressed an oxygen mask over a dark-haired man's thin, beaky face.
He looked an awful lot like Severus Snape!
Harry watched as the man pulled the mask off and irritably pushed free of the paramedics. He was just getting to his feet, when Holy Howard pounced.
"YEA, VERILY! The LORD is Mighty and Great in MERCY!" he proclaimed loudly, holding his leaflets up in one hand and pushing down on the dark-haired man's head with the other, catching him in a kneeling posture and holding him down.
"Yea, Brother! We are ALL SINNERS! Sinners in a World of EVIL! But even the BLACKEST of SINS the LORD will forgive the TRULY REPENTANT! Are you SAVED, Brother? Have you seen the WAY of the LORD, now that His HAND has TOUCHED you? MIGHTY is His NAME! He stretcheth out His HAND, and the AFFLICTED are HEALED! He SAVETH the Sinner called to REDEMPTION, yea, even as the WICKED are CAST down! AMEN! AMEN! Let us PRAISE HIM!"
"Get off me, you arrogant arse!" the unfortunate man snarled. "You wouldn't know evil if it walked up and asked you the time of day!" He threw Howard's hand off and got to his feet, jerking his clothing straight and shaking his head to toss his longish hair back out of his face.
"Merlin's bollocks," Harry breathed, "It is Snape!" He started forward, but Snape noticed the motion and looked toward him. The expression on his face when their eyes met ought to have qualified as a fourth Unforgivable.
All the guilt Harry had pushed to the back of his mind over the past few weeks came rushing back with a vengeance. He felt himself flushing, as the mute accusation in Snape's eyes pierced him, and he stared at his shoes in shame.
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Harry Sodding Potter! Severus fumed as he ducked behind a tall display to watch the unexpected intruders. It was bad enough he couldn't go a day at work in the Wizarding world without hearing someone prattle on about Harry Potter and his glorious victory. He didn't need the brat mucking up his perfectly ordinary Muggle-style employment, nor did he fancy being stared at as he arranged the anthuriums, or seeing the look on Potter's face, be it pity or pleasure, at the degrading depths to which Severus had fallen!
He had a word with his temporary employer and headed off to bring in more stock from the staging area behind the pavilion. With a little luck, the brats would have moved on by the time he got back.
He hadn't reckoned on the wedding display, nor Longbottom's newfound infatuation with Muggle-style herbology. He made four trips out to the trucks and back, lugging heavy crates of plants and cursing every step of the way.
And they were still over by the wedding booth; he could hear the Weasley girl shrieking over some bit of inanity or other.
Merlin, but his back hurt! His feet had quit speaking to him long since. He mopped sweat from his brow and leaned against one of the tables, fighting a wave of dizziness. His head was rather...swimmy...and everything was...tilted...dark...
The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, with Winifred kneeling beside him, her face pale as she patted his cheek.
There were far too many people crowding in. He closed his eyes and let himself drift, only to be jarred nearer to consciousness by an offensively loud voice ranting about sin and salvation.
He rolled his eyes and wished he dared hex the idiot...assuming he could focus enough to cast spells. At the moment, that was hardly a given.
A couple of official-looking young men with medical equipment pushed their way through the crowd and started asking questions he couldn't be bothered to answer.
He heard Winifred babbling, telling them he'd just collapsed; no, she didn't think he had hit his head; yes, she'd seen him eat a sandwich a few hours ago.
They shone a bright light in his eyes and began poking and prodding him. One of them pricked his finger with something very sharp, as the other slipped a mask over his nose and mouth. In a few moments, he felt a bit more clear-headed. When they tried to stick a needle in his arm, he was annoyed enough to sit up and bat it away. He pulled the mask off and said, "I'm fine. Just dizzy a moment." He tried to get up, but they held him down and tried to put the mask back on.
"I said, 'I'm fine!' Get that confounded thing away from me!" he snapped, pushing it away.
"You passed out, mate," one of them said. "Your blood sugar's almost nil. Here, open up," he added, taking hold of Severus's chin and popping something in his mouth.
It was sweet and tasted of oranges. It melted quickly on his tongue, and in a moment he felt less distant, more centered and focused.
"You need to be careful; you can't go so long without eating, particularly under heavy physical exertion. Are you diabetic? Taking insulin?"
"No, no--" Severus waved them off impatiently and struggled to his knees. Before he could push himself up to his feet, a beefy hand crashed down on his head and the blowhard with the religious fixation began bellowing again.
The paramedics swore and tried to pull him away. Severus snarled "Get off me, you arrogant arse!" He threw the idiot's arm off and got to his feet, glaring. "You wouldn't know evil if it walked up and asked you the time of day!"
The oaf looked injured and offended, but retreated, muttering something about Godless ingrates.
Severus shook himself and pulled his shirt straight. He heard Winifred thanking the paramedics, who were trying to convince him to call his doctor's office and get a blood test for something or other. Severus nodded irritably, just wanting them to let him be. He turned around and found himself staring down the aisle at a crowd of morbidly curious Muggles...and Harry Potter.
His shoulders stiffened, and he glared at the Boy Wonder and his little court of hangers-on, until Potter had the grace to flush and avert his eyes. Rude little beast, Severus thought, First in line to gawk at the public spectacle of Severus Snape, day labourer, fallen arse over tip in the middle of a sodding Muggle flower show.
He scowled and made his way back behind the counter. Winifred was very concerned and kept pressing fizzy drinks and greasy food on him, until he told her he really could do with a rest. She nodded sympathetically and suggested he stretch out in the cab of the truck, unless he preferred to go home.
He would have much preferred to go home, but he refused to concede to a moment's weakness and the gawking onlookers. "Just a nap," he told her. "I shall return in an hour."
"Take as long as you need," she assured him.
He went back to the truck, stretched out on the old bench seat and was fast asleep in moments.
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"I still can't believe we saw Snape working at a Muggle flower show!" Ron said, shaking his head.
They were all sitting around the small drawing room in the east wing of Longboteham Hall, where Neville still lived with his grandmother. Augusta Longbottom had presided over dinner, but retired soon afterwards, leaving the younger generation to themselves. House Elves had brought coffee and sweets, and the five of them had settled in for a comfortable evening.
Neville was completely absorbed in studying some brochures from the show, with Ginny leaning over his arm and pointing out her favorites.
"Why do you suppose he was there?" Harry asked. He was reluctant to talk about Snape at all, but ignoring the question would have been worse.
"Dunno. Maybe he's got something dodgy going on, that he doesn't want the Ministry to find out?" Ron speculated.
Hermione shook her head. "He's got to report in for a weekly wand inspection, Ron, don't you remember?"
Harry and Ron both stared at her.
Hermione sighed. "Honestly! Am I the only one who keeps track of these things?"
"Yes, Hermione," they all chorused, including Neville and Ginny, who didn't even look up from their brochures.
Hermione blushed and had to laugh. "Well, really! I would have thought you would at least know what his final sentence was, Harry, after you practically threatened the Wizengamot over it!"
"All I said was they couldn't send him to Azkaban, Hermione," he protested. "And they couldn't. I might not like the...well, I might not like Snape, but I saw into his mind; I heard what Professor McGonagall had to say; I read the warnings he sent; and I viewed Professor Dumbledore's memories. I know that he...obeyed Dumbledore's wishes. He didn't deserve prison, for that." Harry winced at the memory of other things Snape hadn't deserved, but had suffered nonetheless.
He'd had a long talk with Krum, a day or two afterwards, and had found the Bulgarian open, friendly, and completely clueless about what he had done that night. Harry had even tried a careful touch of Legilimency, but Krum's memory of the whole day and night was just...a blur. There were flashes of sight and sound and taste, but nothing definite. It was as if someone had washed away the images and sensations until they had run, like watercolours under a garden hose.
Hermione sighed and brought him back to their conversation. "Well, you may have kept him from prison, but the Wizengamot didn't seem very happy about it. They levied a huge reparations fine; he'll be paying it for the rest of his life, unless he finds a buried treasure or something else incredibly valuable. His apparition license is monitored, and he has to have his wand inspected every week, to prove he hasn't been doing any of the spells on the list of restrictions they gave him." Hermione shook her head. "It must be difficult for him to find work, under all those restrictions. Perhaps he decided it would be easier in the Muggle world."
"Maybe," Ron admitted grudgingly. "I still wouldn't trust him," he said.
"Do you suppose he's sick?" Harry asked. "He looked...I don't know...sort of off-colour, don't you think? And passing out like that..." He wondered if Snape had been hurt worse than suspected during the battle...or afterwards. Madam Pomfrey had checked him over a few more times before his trial, and she'd given him some more pain and healing potions, but Harry had no idea if Snape had told her about...well, about anything embarrassing or...intimate. Krum had been brutal, even if Snape didn't remember it, and Harry still didn't know exactly what he had done to Snape.
Hermione nodded slowly. "He might just have been a little light-headed. Some people forget to eat when they ought - unlike others," she said with a pointed look at Ron, who was munching an éclair and grinned unrepentantly back at her. "But he could be ill. I don't think anyone really knows what being a channel for that much wild magic would do to a person," she said. "Madam Pomfrey gave him some tonic for regaining magical balance, but she said she wasn't sure it would do much for him."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder..." he let the thought trail off, shaking his head.
"Wonder what, Harry?" Ginny enquired, reaching across Neville's lap to turn the page.
"Nothing...I just...I thought maybe someone should...check on him, see if he's all right, I suppose. Stupid, I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck and told himself it hadn't been his fault, and if Snape was sick, he certainly wouldn't want Harry coming around to bother him.
"That's a great idea, Harry," Hermione enthused.
"Er...it is?"
"Yes! You could go and say..."
"Say what? 'I just happened to be at the flower show and I was really surprised to see you, especially when you passed out in the middle of the pavilion? Oh, and by the way, you look like hell; are you all right?" Harry rolled his eyes.
"You...you could ask him if he's brewing anything, these days" Neville suggested hesitantly. "If he does need work, maybe he'd be willing to discuss it."
Hermione snapped her fingers. "Wolfsbane! You could ask him to make the wolfsbane potion for Remus, Harry! You know he says the stuff he gets from Moonwalker's Medicaments doesn't work the way it should! And it's expensive stuff; you could offer to pay Snape double!"
By the time Ron and Ginny chimed in, agreeing with Hermione and Neville, Harry reluctantly agreed. He would pay a visit to Snape and see just what was going on with their old Potions professor.
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Continued in Part 6
Written for: Participant #014, Calliope Feldwick - aka - florahart
Author: Participant #051, Hepatica Whortleberry h_whortleberry - aka - chazpure
Rating: Containing subject matter of the most Indelicate Nature! Suitable only for those of the Hardiest constitutions, whose Mature minds are undisturbed by Tales of Passionate and Erotic Discourse! (NC17)
Pairings: Primary: Severus/Harry; there are numerous minor pairings. Please see Content and Notes.
Length: 42,000 words
Content: slash, het, oral, anal, masturbation, dubious consent, orgies, sex magic, mind/mood altering substances, male pregnancy, rimming, pregnant sex, h/c, schmoop, tortured Latin.
Three weeks later, despite exhaustive research and considerable experimentation with home-brewed abortifacients (which he had immediately and violently sicked up), child-bane charms (which made the little urchins in Diagon Alley steer well clear of him, but had no other effect) and one long, maudlin, self-pitying session with a bottle of fire whisky (which he also sicked up, and which gave him a raging headache), he was still pregnant.
As well as he could reason it out, his carefully wrought spells and potions designed to thwart the Dark Lord's plans had somehow combined with the sex magic ritual Voldemort had used to raise and wring power from his bound followers and had resulted in making him...capable of bearing a child. The torrent of wild magic for which he had served as conduit probably had not helped matters much, either.
As for how he came to be pregnant...he winced every time he thought of it, but there had certainly been every opportunity, from the night of the ritual itself, to the morning he woke up mother-naked in Harry Potter's bed.
He spared a few seconds to wonder if any of the surviving Death Eaters shared his current condition, but as, presumably, they had all been actively cooperating with the Dark Lord's wishes and focusing all their erotic endeavours on raising power for him, Snape decided it was unlikely. He certainly wasn't about to ring Azkaban and enquire!
The list of suspects to have sired his ill-begotten spawn was long and gruesome enough to make him ill just considering it. Lucius...MacNair,- oh, Merlin, please not! - Woolston...Nott? Engblatt? Had there been more? How many more? Who?
Most of that night was shrouded in a queasy fog of lust and shame, and he would have been well content to leave it buried, but for his current predicament.
And then there had been Potter, of course...and God only knew how many others. His memory was murky, but he knew bloody well there had been wholesale shagging going on all through the house, the day after the battle; he'd smelled it, the morning afterwards!
Granger had said something about the after-effects of long-term Pepper-Up use, and he distinctly recalled the Weasley pair offering everyone some concoction to ameliorate the condition. He couldn't be sure someone hadn't dosed him with it, and he did remember drinking quite a lot of brandy. He was also morally certain that he had not sat innocently in a chair, while debauchery reigned about him, until Harry Sodding Potter had arrived and taken him to his bed!
He had cast every paternity charm he knew and followed them up with a dozen more he had found in his research. Not one of them told him more than he already knew: he was parent to the child in his belly. None of the charms could resolve the identity of the other culpable party to more than a vaguely human-shaped outline.
He felt rather like a Maiden Betrayed, some days.
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He had taken to wearing robes whenever possible, or loose shirts and transfigured trousers when necessary. Today was one of those "necessary" days, as he had been "loaned out" to Ulgra's grand-niece for four back-breaking - albeit lucrative - days of working her booth at the Chelsea Flower Show.
He had been walking back and forth, carrying plants, bulbs, seeds, plant food, all day long for two days now, and despite discreet cushioning charms, his feet hurt. His back wasn't very happy about the situation, either, but the pay would be worth it. Ulgra's grand-niece Winifred was a Squib who did business in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, and she had been delighted to find someone willing to work a Muggle show and knowledgeable enough to sort out which plants were safe for displaying there!
The initial set-up had been hard but rewarding work, which involved getting the booth arranged to best effect and making sure everything was properly labeled and priced. He also had to ensure there were ample stocks of the most popular items ready at hand. It was the upkeep that was going to kill him, Severus decided. Back and forth, back and forth, all day long, fetching and carrying and filling in the display where items had been purchased - and trying not to glare at the maddening old pussies who tugged at his sleeve when his arms were full and asked if he had any dahlias or clematis or some other damned flower, or worse, hex the little beasts who ran wild through the pavilion, knocking over his carefully arranged flowerpots.
He soothed himself by telling himself he was going to get the temperamental plumbing fixed with the extra money he was earning, and treat himself to a long, deep soak at the end of each day. His feet nearly whimpered at the thought of a long, hot soak. Later, he promised them, and went back to straightening out the oncidiums. He had moved on to the paphilopedilums when he heard a familiar voice and froze in place.
Harry Bloody Potter?
What the hell was he doing here?
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Harry smiled as Ginny, Hermione, and Neville led the way into the flower show's main pavilion. They wandered from one colourful display to another, admiring the sights, accepting a bewildering assortment of odd little trinkets and samples, and simply enjoying the astonishing circumstance of being able to take a bit of recreation without worrying about Voldemort.
Hermione's parents had given her the tickets, and somehow she and Neville had cajoled the rest of them into coming along. Ginny seemed to be having a good time, he was glad to see, and Neville was in seventh heaven. Hermione looked pleased, which made Ron happy. As for Harry, well, with neither Dark wizards nor reporters anywhere in sight, he was quite content.
And truth be told, the flower show was really very pretty.
They passed a large booth devoted to exotic plants and paused to look at the incredibly beautiful tropical blossoms. Many of them were so strange and vivid they seemed magical.
Neville was having a marvelous time, pointing out all the similarities between Muggle botanicals and their Wizarding cousins. There were quite a few plants that made him stop and stare, then explain to the others that they were also well known in the Wizarding world. This inevitably started a discussion of their uses and history of cultivation.
When they got to a table full of flowering ginger, Hermione started a long discussion on the links between Muggle folk wisdom and Wizarding potions theory. As she and Neville got deeper and deeper into the discussion - with occasional comments from Ginny and very rare additions from himself and Ron - Harry thought he saw one of the booth workers glaring at them. He had the briefest impression of a pale, thin face and stringy black hair...oddly familiar. He frowned and looked again, but the man had gone.
He had no idea why one of the booth workers would be upset with any of them; they had been careful not to touch any of the enormous blossoms, and Neville had bought a selection of bulbs and Muggle plant food, as well! He almost said something to the lady working the till, but Ginny suddenly shrieked in delight, and he turned to see what had happened.
Ginny, Hermione and Neville had practically run around the corner and down the next aisle to a booth done up in a wedding theme. It was filled with white flowers, ivy, orange blossoms, tulle, garden arches, Muggle fairy lights, and every other conceivable decoration one might want for a Muggle wedding.
He gave Ron a sympathetic look. They both shrugged in surrender and followed the others. Hermione and Ginny had stopped in front of a towering display of bridal bouquets, and were giggling like little girls, while Neville made carefully detailed notes.
Harry shook his head and nudged Ron. "Think anyone would believe those two took down a dozen Death Eaters between them, in one day?"
Ron snorted. "Let 'em try getting between them and one of those wedding magazines and they'll believe it," he said. "Scary! Even Mum was impressed."
Harry just chuckled. "It's nice to see them worked up over something really trivial for a change - not that weddings are trivial," he hastened to add.
Ron clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "Just don't let either one of them hear you say it, mate!"
They wandered back around the corner to a booth they had missed and were watching shimmering koi swimming in an amazingly natural-looking plastic pond, when there was a commotion nearby and they both headed toward the sound. Hermione, Ginny and Neville caught up to them in moments, and they all scanned the crowd for clues to the disturbance.
A booming voice carried above the sound of the crowd. "And the LORD, who giveth and taketh away, the LORD will protect and heal His OWN! And He shall call his sheep unto Him and CHERISH them, and those that will not HEED His WORD, He shall CAST OUT!"
Harry hadn't even realized he had his hand resting over his wand, which was concealed in a special pocket of his jeans, until Hermione put one hand on his arm.
"And I say again unto you, you must ACCEPT the LORD, your SAVIOUR! And REPENT of your sins, your drinking and your swearing, your VANITIES and your pride, your coveting and your FORNICATING! And the LORD, who is MERCIFUL and GOOD will CHASTEN the SINNERS called to REPENTANCE!"
"It's all right, Harry," Hermione said, "It's only Holy Howard." She sounded halfway between amused and annoyed.
"Holy what?"
"Well, that's what Dad calls him. He shows up at all sorts of public events and makes a fuss. I think he just wants attention. He's been on the telly a few times - parades, football matches, a DIY convention, things like that."
"Someone's collapsed," Neville said quietly, his face concerned.
Ginny managed to worm her way farther into the crowd on a combination of limberness and charm. After a few moments, she came back with details. "One of the workers fainted, they said. I couldn't get close enough to see who it was or if anyone was really hurt; there's an old, bald Muggle praying over everyone and blocking the aisle."
There was a sharp whistle and two men in green jackets came hustling down the aisle with a gurney, medical kit and oxygen tank. The crowd parted reluctantly; Holy Howard seemed rather put out, when the paramedics ordered him away from the area. He retreated a short distance and stood handing out leaflets to anyone who would take them.
Harry shook his head and was about to suggest they all head back to the koi pond, or the wedding display, if they weren't done there. Just then, a familiar voice snapped, "I said, 'I'm fine!' Get that confounded thing away from me!"
Harry pushed forward and stared, as the paramedics insistently pressed an oxygen mask over a dark-haired man's thin, beaky face.
He looked an awful lot like Severus Snape!
Harry watched as the man pulled the mask off and irritably pushed free of the paramedics. He was just getting to his feet, when Holy Howard pounced.
"YEA, VERILY! The LORD is Mighty and Great in MERCY!" he proclaimed loudly, holding his leaflets up in one hand and pushing down on the dark-haired man's head with the other, catching him in a kneeling posture and holding him down.
"Yea, Brother! We are ALL SINNERS! Sinners in a World of EVIL! But even the BLACKEST of SINS the LORD will forgive the TRULY REPENTANT! Are you SAVED, Brother? Have you seen the WAY of the LORD, now that His HAND has TOUCHED you? MIGHTY is His NAME! He stretcheth out His HAND, and the AFFLICTED are HEALED! He SAVETH the Sinner called to REDEMPTION, yea, even as the WICKED are CAST down! AMEN! AMEN! Let us PRAISE HIM!"
"Get off me, you arrogant arse!" the unfortunate man snarled. "You wouldn't know evil if it walked up and asked you the time of day!" He threw Howard's hand off and got to his feet, jerking his clothing straight and shaking his head to toss his longish hair back out of his face.
"Merlin's bollocks," Harry breathed, "It is Snape!" He started forward, but Snape noticed the motion and looked toward him. The expression on his face when their eyes met ought to have qualified as a fourth Unforgivable.
All the guilt Harry had pushed to the back of his mind over the past few weeks came rushing back with a vengeance. He felt himself flushing, as the mute accusation in Snape's eyes pierced him, and he stared at his shoes in shame.
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Harry Sodding Potter! Severus fumed as he ducked behind a tall display to watch the unexpected intruders. It was bad enough he couldn't go a day at work in the Wizarding world without hearing someone prattle on about Harry Potter and his glorious victory. He didn't need the brat mucking up his perfectly ordinary Muggle-style employment, nor did he fancy being stared at as he arranged the anthuriums, or seeing the look on Potter's face, be it pity or pleasure, at the degrading depths to which Severus had fallen!
He had a word with his temporary employer and headed off to bring in more stock from the staging area behind the pavilion. With a little luck, the brats would have moved on by the time he got back.
He hadn't reckoned on the wedding display, nor Longbottom's newfound infatuation with Muggle-style herbology. He made four trips out to the trucks and back, lugging heavy crates of plants and cursing every step of the way.
And they were still over by the wedding booth; he could hear the Weasley girl shrieking over some bit of inanity or other.
Merlin, but his back hurt! His feet had quit speaking to him long since. He mopped sweat from his brow and leaned against one of the tables, fighting a wave of dizziness. His head was rather...swimmy...and everything was...tilted...dark...
The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, with Winifred kneeling beside him, her face pale as she patted his cheek.
There were far too many people crowding in. He closed his eyes and let himself drift, only to be jarred nearer to consciousness by an offensively loud voice ranting about sin and salvation.
He rolled his eyes and wished he dared hex the idiot...assuming he could focus enough to cast spells. At the moment, that was hardly a given.
A couple of official-looking young men with medical equipment pushed their way through the crowd and started asking questions he couldn't be bothered to answer.
He heard Winifred babbling, telling them he'd just collapsed; no, she didn't think he had hit his head; yes, she'd seen him eat a sandwich a few hours ago.
They shone a bright light in his eyes and began poking and prodding him. One of them pricked his finger with something very sharp, as the other slipped a mask over his nose and mouth. In a few moments, he felt a bit more clear-headed. When they tried to stick a needle in his arm, he was annoyed enough to sit up and bat it away. He pulled the mask off and said, "I'm fine. Just dizzy a moment." He tried to get up, but they held him down and tried to put the mask back on.
"I said, 'I'm fine!' Get that confounded thing away from me!" he snapped, pushing it away.
"You passed out, mate," one of them said. "Your blood sugar's almost nil. Here, open up," he added, taking hold of Severus's chin and popping something in his mouth.
It was sweet and tasted of oranges. It melted quickly on his tongue, and in a moment he felt less distant, more centered and focused.
"You need to be careful; you can't go so long without eating, particularly under heavy physical exertion. Are you diabetic? Taking insulin?"
"No, no--" Severus waved them off impatiently and struggled to his knees. Before he could push himself up to his feet, a beefy hand crashed down on his head and the blowhard with the religious fixation began bellowing again.
The paramedics swore and tried to pull him away. Severus snarled "Get off me, you arrogant arse!" He threw the idiot's arm off and got to his feet, glaring. "You wouldn't know evil if it walked up and asked you the time of day!"
The oaf looked injured and offended, but retreated, muttering something about Godless ingrates.
Severus shook himself and pulled his shirt straight. He heard Winifred thanking the paramedics, who were trying to convince him to call his doctor's office and get a blood test for something or other. Severus nodded irritably, just wanting them to let him be. He turned around and found himself staring down the aisle at a crowd of morbidly curious Muggles...and Harry Potter.
His shoulders stiffened, and he glared at the Boy Wonder and his little court of hangers-on, until Potter had the grace to flush and avert his eyes. Rude little beast, Severus thought, First in line to gawk at the public spectacle of Severus Snape, day labourer, fallen arse over tip in the middle of a sodding Muggle flower show.
He scowled and made his way back behind the counter. Winifred was very concerned and kept pressing fizzy drinks and greasy food on him, until he told her he really could do with a rest. She nodded sympathetically and suggested he stretch out in the cab of the truck, unless he preferred to go home.
He would have much preferred to go home, but he refused to concede to a moment's weakness and the gawking onlookers. "Just a nap," he told her. "I shall return in an hour."
"Take as long as you need," she assured him.
He went back to the truck, stretched out on the old bench seat and was fast asleep in moments.
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"I still can't believe we saw Snape working at a Muggle flower show!" Ron said, shaking his head.
They were all sitting around the small drawing room in the east wing of Longboteham Hall, where Neville still lived with his grandmother. Augusta Longbottom had presided over dinner, but retired soon afterwards, leaving the younger generation to themselves. House Elves had brought coffee and sweets, and the five of them had settled in for a comfortable evening.
Neville was completely absorbed in studying some brochures from the show, with Ginny leaning over his arm and pointing out her favorites.
"Why do you suppose he was there?" Harry asked. He was reluctant to talk about Snape at all, but ignoring the question would have been worse.
"Dunno. Maybe he's got something dodgy going on, that he doesn't want the Ministry to find out?" Ron speculated.
Hermione shook her head. "He's got to report in for a weekly wand inspection, Ron, don't you remember?"
Harry and Ron both stared at her.
Hermione sighed. "Honestly! Am I the only one who keeps track of these things?"
"Yes, Hermione," they all chorused, including Neville and Ginny, who didn't even look up from their brochures.
Hermione blushed and had to laugh. "Well, really! I would have thought you would at least know what his final sentence was, Harry, after you practically threatened the Wizengamot over it!"
"All I said was they couldn't send him to Azkaban, Hermione," he protested. "And they couldn't. I might not like the...well, I might not like Snape, but I saw into his mind; I heard what Professor McGonagall had to say; I read the warnings he sent; and I viewed Professor Dumbledore's memories. I know that he...obeyed Dumbledore's wishes. He didn't deserve prison, for that." Harry winced at the memory of other things Snape hadn't deserved, but had suffered nonetheless.
He'd had a long talk with Krum, a day or two afterwards, and had found the Bulgarian open, friendly, and completely clueless about what he had done that night. Harry had even tried a careful touch of Legilimency, but Krum's memory of the whole day and night was just...a blur. There were flashes of sight and sound and taste, but nothing definite. It was as if someone had washed away the images and sensations until they had run, like watercolours under a garden hose.
Hermione sighed and brought him back to their conversation. "Well, you may have kept him from prison, but the Wizengamot didn't seem very happy about it. They levied a huge reparations fine; he'll be paying it for the rest of his life, unless he finds a buried treasure or something else incredibly valuable. His apparition license is monitored, and he has to have his wand inspected every week, to prove he hasn't been doing any of the spells on the list of restrictions they gave him." Hermione shook her head. "It must be difficult for him to find work, under all those restrictions. Perhaps he decided it would be easier in the Muggle world."
"Maybe," Ron admitted grudgingly. "I still wouldn't trust him," he said.
"Do you suppose he's sick?" Harry asked. "He looked...I don't know...sort of off-colour, don't you think? And passing out like that..." He wondered if Snape had been hurt worse than suspected during the battle...or afterwards. Madam Pomfrey had checked him over a few more times before his trial, and she'd given him some more pain and healing potions, but Harry had no idea if Snape had told her about...well, about anything embarrassing or...intimate. Krum had been brutal, even if Snape didn't remember it, and Harry still didn't know exactly what he had done to Snape.
Hermione nodded slowly. "He might just have been a little light-headed. Some people forget to eat when they ought - unlike others," she said with a pointed look at Ron, who was munching an éclair and grinned unrepentantly back at her. "But he could be ill. I don't think anyone really knows what being a channel for that much wild magic would do to a person," she said. "Madam Pomfrey gave him some tonic for regaining magical balance, but she said she wasn't sure it would do much for him."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder..." he let the thought trail off, shaking his head.
"Wonder what, Harry?" Ginny enquired, reaching across Neville's lap to turn the page.
"Nothing...I just...I thought maybe someone should...check on him, see if he's all right, I suppose. Stupid, I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck and told himself it hadn't been his fault, and if Snape was sick, he certainly wouldn't want Harry coming around to bother him.
"That's a great idea, Harry," Hermione enthused.
"Er...it is?"
"Yes! You could go and say..."
"Say what? 'I just happened to be at the flower show and I was really surprised to see you, especially when you passed out in the middle of the pavilion? Oh, and by the way, you look like hell; are you all right?" Harry rolled his eyes.
"You...you could ask him if he's brewing anything, these days" Neville suggested hesitantly. "If he does need work, maybe he'd be willing to discuss it."
Hermione snapped her fingers. "Wolfsbane! You could ask him to make the wolfsbane potion for Remus, Harry! You know he says the stuff he gets from Moonwalker's Medicaments doesn't work the way it should! And it's expensive stuff; you could offer to pay Snape double!"
By the time Ron and Ginny chimed in, agreeing with Hermione and Neville, Harry reluctantly agreed. He would pay a visit to Snape and see just what was going on with their old Potions professor.
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Continued in Part 6