Nappies of Courage

Disclaimer: Characters and Locations are property of J.K. Rowling. The Call of the Blood is the original creation of Wendynat. It is used here with her permission.

A/N: Cloaks of Courage is a wonderful, beautiful story. This parody is done in love. Wendynat is my Dark Mistress...er...dear friend, and she permitted, encouraged...all right...she Imperioed me. Thanks go to Buttercup> and Rilla for ideas, love and support. Thanks to Shiv5468 for Brit-picking.

WARNING: Squickiness in this chapter includes vomiting, pregnant sex, and bollock twisting.


CHAPTER ONE: The Pregnancy

“You’re what?” Severus asked incredulously.

“Pregnant.” Hermione replied flatly. As he continued to stare at her, she added “Knocked up. With child. Bun in the oven. Preggers. Up the spout.”

“I know what you mean, Hermione. I’m just…in shock. I didn’t expect this.”

Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. “Are you angry?” Her teeth worried at her full lower lip as she struggled not to cry.

Severus thought for a minute. Although he loathed every student that he had ever taught, and frequently made babies squall for fun, he had always secretly thought that he would make a good father. A child would fulfill him – perhaps change him entirely. He vaguely wondered whether the Call of the Blood could be inherited, but one look at his lovely wife erased all doubts from his mind. The gentle joys of motherhood could only be good for her. Severus stood and crossed the room to take her in his arms. “I couldn’t be happier, Hermione.”

As he held his young wife, he noticed that her breasts were pressed into his chest. He felt the coil of lust began to build in his stomach. Sex with a pregnant woman…not evil exactly, but certainly a bit naughty. The Call raced through him, demanding to be answered. “Hermione,” he began slowly. “Let me show you how happy I am about this. Perhaps we should take this to the bedroom.”

She pulled back from the embrace, and stared lovingly into his eyes. He leaned forward to capture her soft lips with his. Just as she began to rise up on her toes to meet his kiss a strange look came over her face. As he put his hand to her cheek, she deposited her lunch all over his shoes.


Three months later

The frequent and inconveniently random nausea finally having abated, Severus was looking forward to resuming regular intimate relations with Hermione. It would be nice to have a shag without her having to stop in the middle to vomit. Fondly, he gazed at his wife as she sat on the sofa surrounded by piles of books. He crossed the room to stand behind her. As he dropped gentle kisses down her neck, he couldn’t help but appreciate the…significant change in her chest region. Severus’ lips moved to her ear as his long, elegant hands dropped over her shoulders to caress her breasts, tweaking her nipples a bit.

“Ow!” Hermione jumped to her feet and turned to face him. “That hurts! They’re swollen from the hormones. s iss isn’t a gift for your personal pleasure.”

Still gazing fondly at her chest, he replied “Sometimes a bit of pain can lead to great pleasure, my darling.” Reaching for her, eyes focused on her erect nipples, he never saw her hand reach out to grab his bollocks and twist them until he doubled over in agony.

“There!” Hermione screamed at him. “See what that pain does for your pleasure!”

“Hermione…” he gasped out, puzzled. “Have you been reading the Dark Arts books?”

His wife burst into a flood of tears. “How could you think that of me? You don’t think I’m good enough for you. You don’t care for me at all!” She fled the room, sobbing.

Severus stared after her for a moment, then beat his head against the back of the couch until he passed out.


Three months later

Voldemort smiled a thin, evil smile as the couple walked into Malfoy Manor. “I see our beloved daughter has proven her loyalty.” Hermibarebarely restrained herself from flinching as one skeletal hand caressed her belly. “I am very pleased.”

Suddenly, Hermione felt the Dark Lord probing at her mind. She carefully sent out images of Severus’ joy at her pregnancy, Dumbledore’s hurt look at her emphatic rejection of ‘Albus’ as a potential name, and, in a fit of pique, the pain of her sciatica. Voldemort winced slightly, then withdrew from her thoughts.

“Come in, beloved children, and receive the rewaor yor your fertility.” He motioned them into the great room. They stopped dead at what they saw there. The entire room was festooned with green and silver balloons and streamers. “Is this…” Severus began tentatively.

“We knew you didn’t have babybaby things yet,” explained He Who Must Not Be Named. “It was decided to welcome the newest member of our family properly.”

The next few hours took on a slightly surreal quality. Hermione cooed with the other Death Eater wives over a miniature set of Death Eater robes (“They’re so tiny!”), while Severus helped himself to a generous portion of the cake, which was shaped like a Dark Mark with a baby bonnet on top. Finally, most of the presents had been opened, leaving a pile of skull shaped rattles, stuffed snakes and something called a breast pump, which Severus thought looked like an instrument of torture, but for which Hermione seemed quite grateful.

Voldemort stood up and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “It is time for my present to the baby.” Several cowering house elves entered the room carrying a large crib. Made of polished ebony, it was decorated with silver lines. Looking closely, Severus could see that the lines were actually thin snakes which were charmed to twist and coil. Hanging from the canopy was a mobile of spiders, which played Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor when their legs were pulled. “Look!” Voldemort exclaimed “Mrs. Snape is so pleased she can’t speak!” Indeed, Hermione was staring fixedly at the crib, one hand over her heart. Severus caught her just as she fainted dead away.


Three months later

Any notions of intimacy had long ago faded away. Hermione was roughly the size of a baby hippogriff, and had developed a distinct waddle when she walked. Every time she sneezed, coughed, laughed, or cast a spell, she wet her knickers. The last time they had made love, it had taken thirty minutes to find a comfortable position, and then, halfway through, the baby had begun kicking vigorously, causing Severus’ erection to quickly wilt away. He had tried gently persuading her to pleasure him orally, but the look of disdain she had thrown his way quickly put paid to that idea.

The Call had risen within him, demanding that he take his wife, willing or not. However, through the connection of the Mark, he could tell that her Call was also getting stronger, demanding that she remove his genitals and do a nice fry-up with them. This also precluded him seeking his pleasures elsewhere. Finally, he had resigned himself to the notion that his hand would be his only companion until the baby was born.

Thus it was that he found himself at Hermione’s appointment with Poppy a very frustrated man. His wife was sobbing her heart out to the Mediwitch. “Isn’t there anything you can do, Poppy? I’ve got to get this baby out. Now! A spell, a potion?”

“Well,” Poppy began slowly. “Perhaps there is one thing you could try. Sex usually seems to help induce labor.”

Severus, who had brightened at the mention of a potion, stopped cold at Poppy’s last words. His eyes traveled over Hermione’s form, from her swollen ankles, over her protuberant belly, and up to her red-rimmed eyes. For the first time that he could remember, he felt the cold steel arrow of fear shoot up his spine. But this was his wife and his child. He had promised to protect her, and he would. There was no hint of his inner terror in the voice that said “All right. I’ll do it.” With the air of a French nobleman facing the jeering crowd before the guillotine, he offered his arm to Hermione, and strode regally out of the room.