Cheaper By The Dozen

“She’s fourteen!” he shouted.

“I don’t care if she’s fourteen, leave it be.”

“She’s fourteen, Hermione, not four! She doesn’t need to be sleeping with that blasted stuffed penguin!”

“Severus Snape, I swear it, one of these days I’m going to hex you so hard! Boom to the moon without a rocket!” Hermione spat; wiping the smock of her apron across her forehead, stray bits of flour and grease still staining her skin. She stood with her back against the kitchen counter, a self stirring spoon moving gently around in the large stew pot behind her on the stove.

Severus sighed. It was a losing battle, but the girl did have to grow up sometime, his sweet little Contessa could not go on sleeping with stuffed animals for the rest of her life, and fourteen was the perfect age to quit cold turkey, or so he thought. “You know—”

“—Albus slept with a stuffed teddy until he was almost 314.” She interrupted him, turning her back to him and tending to dinner as it bubbled.

“Oh yes and what suddenly made him give it up?”

“AIO…” she said. The room fell silent. Affairs in order was what it meant, and they both knew it. Their beloved Headmaster, mentor, grandfather figure had finally set all his affairs in order and after that he let nature take its course; after all, 314 was very very old, even for a wizard. He was much older than he had led on, even in his tiring days against Voldemort, no one had ever known that he was well over 200 by the time Harry Potter came along.

“It doesn’t matter, she’s too old.”

“Who’s too old? And for what?” Laura, their third eldest daughter popped in from the living room, her hair done up in a thick French plait and streaked with blue and silver. She was dressed in a pair of muggle cut off jeans and wore a modified version of some crimson and gold robes over them. For seventeen she certainly had a way of making herself look much younger.

“Where are you going with your hair looking like that? And what on earth have you done to your robes?” Severus said, frowning at her.

“Over to Susan’s, mum said I could have dinner over there, and I haven’t done anything, just made them more suited to this heat! Bye mum!” she called as she practically bounced out the back door and with a crack was gone.

“I thought this was family dinner?” he asked his wife, coming to his feet and stretching his arms up above his head.

“Yes, well she did ask me the other day before I decided we’d have a big sit down dinner before the kids go back.”

“How many of them are we getting rid of this time?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and slapped her husband playfully on the arm. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her cheek. “And just what are you cooking?”

“Your favorite, dear, beef stew…” she tilted her head back, grateful to have her husband behind her. Their lips met for a moment and she sighed into his, nuzzling her nose against his cheek.

“Ew! Gross! Mom! Dad!” Elyot and Richard, eleven and twelve, had entered the kitchen and were both covering their eyes and making gagging noises with their fingers stuffed down their throats. Elyot grabbed his stomach, feigning ill. “That’s totally gross!”

“Knock it off, you two,” Hermione scolded and pulled away from Severus. Her two middle boys rolled their eyes at her. Richard was a year older and a head taller, but both had bushy black hair that curled in all the wrong places no matter how she would cut it.

Richard shook his head. “You guys are so gross.”

“Where do you think the two of you knuckleheads came from?” Severus sneered.

“Ew! We came from mom and dad’s mouth!” Elyot shouted and ran out of the room; Richard was not far behind him. Severus stood there chuckling, crossing his arms triumphantly over his chest.

“Now look what you’ve done…” Hermione sighed and threw the self stirring spoon back into the pot and moved over to the entryway of the living room; retreating footsteps on the stairs the only remaining trace of her boys. “And make sure you two wash up for dinner! It’s almost ready!”

“I’m not staying for dinner,” Contessa announced as she brushed past her mother and moved over to the sink, filling her canteen with water.

“You most certainly are, young lady, now wash up and help your mother set the table.” Severus ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Twelve kids was a handful, sometimes more than he thought either one of them could handle.

When he and Hermione had discovered a cure for lycanthropy he’d never imagined that settling down to share his life with her would mean sharing it with twelve of their offspring as well. Their first child had been a girl, Ella, and he was content with one but Hermione had said that one child was never fair for it would always be lonely without siblings. Three years later she gave birth to their first son, Tobias, aptly named after Severus’ father.

But having just two children did not seem to satisfy Hermione, she said she’d always longed for a big family, much like the Weasley’s and often fancied the idea that she could be just as good a mother as Molly had been. Severus had told her that he would do whatever made her happy, and if that meant 100 kids, so be it. However, he’d never intended to have more than four or five at the most.

But three years after Tobias came Lucy, and two years later came Laura. Then three more years passed and Contessa was born. Severus felt for poor Tobias and insisted that they try again until they had another son so that his only heir was not outrun by a household full of females. Two years after Contessa, Hermione finally gave birth to Richard and then a year later to Elyot. Severus was satisfied with seven, they could have their very own Quidditch team once Elyot and Richard were old enough to fly.

This, however, was not to be the case. Hermione found herself enjoying their large and growing family and insisted that they were financially set for several life times and ‘the more the merrier’. They took a break, however short lived, and two years after their last son, Emmaline came along, followed by her brother Edward, three years after that. She promised she’d stop at ten and a year and three months later her youngest daughter, Sarah was born.

To ensure that they didn’t have any more children but were able to keep their high thriving sex life without the complications of hormones, condoms, or magical potions and spells; Hermione traveled to the Americas to have a muggle procedure known as Tubal Ligation. Two years later Hermione gave birth to twin boys, Peter and Jordan. This time it was Severus’ turn to receive the muggle procedure, a vasectomy. They were three years going strong.

“No, dad, I’m not. Sheesh.” She rolled her eyes and hefted her canteen over her shoulder.

“Don’t talk to your father like that,” Hermione muttered if a bit non-committal sounding from over the stew pot.

“Sorry,” Contessa muttered and then walked out the back door.

“Where is she going?” Severus asked incredulously.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and then waved her wand. Cabinet doors flew open and dishes of all shapes and sizes began to zoom out of them and onto the large table in the dining room. “Hrm, so you, me, Ella said she might stop in, hrm…ten,” she said to no one in particular.

“Ten?”

“Yes, you, me, well nine if Ella doesn’t make it, but the twins, Sarah, Ed, Elyot, Richard, and Lucy. Emma’s at Quidditch practice and you just watched our daughters walk out. Do be a dear and check the clock for me, tell me if Ella’s traveling or still at work?”

Again Severus sighed. He moved into the living room to look at the enormous grandfather clock that was quite reminiscent of the one from the Burrow. There were fourteen hands splayed in all different locations. Nine of them were currently at home. Emma’s hand was marked for Quidditch, but both Ella and Tobias were marked at the ministry, though Tobias rarely stopped in for dinner. “No dear, she’s still at work,” he called.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Sarah screeched as she came flying down the stairs, leaping up and latching herself onto his chest. Severus nearly tumbled backward into the sofa as he caught his rambunctious little five-year-old. She was smiling and held what looked like a letter in one hand and a fistful of feathers in the other. “It’s for you!”

“What is it dear?” Hermione called from the kitchen.

“Some letter,” he called back and kissed Sarah on the top of her head. “Go wash your hands and let Truse back outside,” he muttered and gave her a swift pat on the back to send her on her way. The family owl, Truse, was much abused by his youngest daughter, for it seemed that every time he brought mail he would have the misfortune of delivering it to Sarah who would inadvertently rip out full handfuls of his feathers at a time.

“What letter?” Hermione called over the din of clanking and clashing dishes and cutlery.

“I don’t bloody know, I’m not Sibyl.” Severus moved over to the desk and pried a letter opener from its cubbyhole. Slicing the thin parchment of the envelope, he pulled the letter out and scanned it over. The letter opener clinked loudly against the floor as it fell from his hands. Several moments passed as he stood there just gaping at the letter in his hand.

Hermione came to the doorway and leaned against it. “Bad news from Hogwarts, love?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. For twelve kids, she still maintained her very girlish, curvaceous, sexy figure. “Love?” he did not respond, but simply stood there, gaping. “Severus?”

“I’ve been nominated bloody father of the year!”