Snape's Redemption

Disclaimer – Not mine, no money made.

Chapter Ten – Batter my heart, three person’d Snape

Hermione woke the next morning, trapped by a flannel-clad arm. She thought this might happen; there were only two bedrooms in the house, and she had doubted he would sleep in the bed where Draco and Narcissa died. Shifting until she lay on her back, she studied the sleeping man lying there.

After he had left last night, Hermione had thought through her predicament. As she saw it, she was trapped in a life threatening situation, one which women through the ages had inevitably found themselves in. With that thought, she knew that she could survive this - not only survive, but come out stronger. Oh, she would have scars, emotional more than physical, but in the end she would ensure that she was tempered steel instead of a burnt husk.

So, instead of fighting the situation, she had to use it to her advantage. The reason she originally approached him was still valid – the knowledge he had was crucial to the outcome of the war. She was determined to learn as much as she could from him whilst she was imprisoned and everything she learnt, she would try to impart to the Order, thus ensuring that when this war was over, she would be free of Severus Snape. She could not even begin to contemplate what her life would be like if Voldemort won.

As she looked at the face before her, relaxed in sleep with his arm clutching her tightly, Hermione began to see that maybe she was not the only casualty of war in this bed. It did not enable her to forgive him, but it helped her to vaguely understand him. Frankly, she was beginning to be slightly intrigued by him. His moods vacillated wildly, from sarcastic and nasty to occasionally caring. Not to mention his sensuality, although considering she had been drugged both times that side of his nature had appeared, she could not quite trust her own observations.

Her gaze moved to the ceiling. This acceptance of her current state all hinged on one deciding factor: what exactly did he need a child for? Frowning, she recalled some of the darker spells she had read written in the margin of his Potions’ book. They had required either the blood of a newborn child, the foetus of a magical child, or the blood of a witch who had just given birth to a child. Although she did not want the responsibility of a child and, truthfully, had no interest in having said child, she knew she could not condone any of the above. Sighing, she resolved to question him on this matter.

Untangling herself from his grasp, she rolled out of bed, relieved to find there was no spell binding her there.

“Where are you going?” a sleep heavy-voice rasped.

“Bathroom,” she replied. Chewing on her bottom lip, she turned and looked at him. “I really need to ask you some questions,” she ventured.

Snape rolled onto his back, groaning theatrically and flinging his arm across his face.

“Merlin’s balls,” he muttered. “Not until after breakfast!”

He moved his arm and glared at her.

“After breakfast,” she acknowledged and quietly left the room.

*~*~*~*

By the time Hermione arrived downstairs Snape had conjured a small dining table for the two of them and prepared a breakfast of crepes, strawberries and syrup.

“What charming apparel,” he commented as she briskly folded back the too-long arms of the robe she had appropriated from his wardrobe.

“It would help if I had my wand,” she replied levelly, not even asking where her robes were. She suspected he had thrown them out. When he made no further comment on her taking his clothing, she began to realise that he quite liked seeing her dressed in his clothes. Another strange quirk that made up the enigma which was Severus Snape.

In reply, he motioned towards the table where her wand lay next to one of the plates of crepes. She sat down and saw there was also a length of ribbon threaded through a small, silver pendant. Hermione lifted up the ribbon, just as Crookshanks strolled into the room and jumped onto her lap. She held ribbon and studied the pendant. It looked like a paw.

“Is this …” she began.

“The remains of Pettigrew,” Snape finished.

“Is he …” she began again.

“I assure you, Miss Granger, he is well and truly dead this time,” Snape answered her question before she asked. “I assume you have realised where his final resting place is?”

Hermione looked down in horror her familiar, who was currently batting the dangling pendant. She felt slightly ill. However, Crookshanks looked so pleased with himself that she reluctantly tied the ribbon around his neck. He jumped off her lap and pranced proudly around the room. Hermione smiled. Severus ignored them both and ate his breakfast.

“Well, Miss Granger,” he said briskly once they had finished eating. “You finally have questions.”

He negligently waved his hand and the table disappeared, leaving only their tea cups which settled themselves on the side table. Severus sat down in the armchair, leaving Hermione to occupy the couch.

She took a deep breath and blurted out her overwhelming question.

“Why do you need me to bear your child?”

Snape leaned back into the chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

“I believe I offered to answer that question a few days ago,” he observed.

“You did,” she replied. “Now I’m ready to hear the answer.”

He studied her intently through his fingers. “Why do you think I need you to have this child?” he asked speculatively.

Unflinchingly, Hermione caught his gaze.

“The only reasons I can think of are for potions that are written in your book,” she replied, her voice devoid of any emotion.

He looked confused for a moment, but then his eyes widened in sudden comprehension. He exploded out of his seat, hauling her upright and shaking her roughly.

“How dare you?” he hissed, his face contorted in anger. “How dare you think that I would use a child of mine … kill my own child … what kind of a man do you think I am?”

He tossed her down onto the couch and stalked around the confines of the small room, his wand hand twitching as he attempted to control his temper. When he finally threw himself back into his own chair, Hermione responded to his question.

“I don’t think you really want to hear my answer.”

He ground his teeth and growled at her.

“Not all those spells were mine, Miss Granger,” he finally informed her and said no more.

“Well,” she pressed. “Why do you need to have a baby?”

“Not to harm it or kill it,” he shot back before lapsing back into a fuming silence.

Hermione sighed loudly, but there was no reaction from the furious wizard.

“Can you at least give me a hint?” she burst out, exasperated. He looked at her consideringly.

“What do you know about the Dark Lord’s parentage?” he asked, seemingly apropos of nothing.

“His mother was a witch from a very old pureblood family, the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin,” Hermione recited.

Snape sat up quickly, shocked. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“The Headmaster told Harry,” she replied. “We always knew he was a half-blood,” she added.

“So you know that his father …” Snape began.

“Was a Muggle,” Hermione affirmed.

“There is your hint, Miss Granger. The Dark Lord is a half-blood.”

Hermione studied him, thinking.

“You’re a half-blood, aren’t you, sir?” she finally asked.

“Yes,” he replied and lapsed back into silence.

Same parentage, she thought, remembering the article in the Daily Prophet. So this was her hint. An idle thought wafted through her head; if Snape had the same heritage as Voldemort, he could be descended from one of the Founders of Hogwarts on his mother’s side. Suddenly, it all clicked together.

“A Horcrux,” she breathed, and smiled at the shocked surprise that flittered across Snape’s face. “You needing a child has something to do with Volde … the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes.”

“I am all astonishment, Miss Granger,” Snape snidely said.

Hermione grinned as she sat up straight, greedily wanting to try to figure out the next piece of the puzzle. “Give me another hint and I’ll try to guess how the child is needed.”

“We don’t have that amount of time to waste,” Snape rebuffed her rudely.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest as Severus turned on professor mode and began to lecture.

“One of the Horcruxes requires a witch impregnated with the child of a half-blood, whose mother was a witch with …”

“The blood of one of Hogwarts’ Founders running through her veins,” Hermione interrupted cheekily.

Snape gaped at her.

“Am I right?” she questioned.

“Yes,” he spat out. “How did you find out?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “I guessed. Which Founder are you descended from? I know it’s not Slytherin.”

“It is not Slytherin, but which one is irrelevant. Do you want to know about the Horcrux or not?” he demanded.

A flash of understanding raced through Hermione’s mind. If he was trying to avoid telling her who he was descended from, it could only be one of the Founders.

“Gryffindor,” she smiled, not realising she spoke aloud.

Snape’s face turned bright red and she saw his hand twitch towards his wand.

“Sorry,” she quickly apologised. “I won’t interrupt again.”

She looked at him demurely whilst inside she was dancing around, clapping her hands and laughing hysterically.

With a monumental effort, Severus once again gained control of his anger and continued with his lecture.

“As you know, the Dark Lord has set up ‘traps’, for wont of a better word, that must be overcome before retrieving a Horcrux. One of the Horcruxes can only be retrieved by a witch carrying the child of a half-blood who is descended from one of the Founders on his mother’s side. As far as I am aware, only the Dark Lord and I fulfil that requirement, and I am hoping he is not aware of my mother’s ancestry. Thus you must be carrying a child of mine or his, and I think in this situation I would be seen as the lesser of two evils.

“As to this particular Horcrux, I only have a vague idea what it could be. I have, in the past, briefly been able to see into the Dark Lord’s mind when he invaded mine and was …” he hesitated and cleared his throat. Looking at Hermione, he appeared to come to some sort of decision. “Well, let’s just say he was distracted by other things. That was how I first came to know about the Horcruxes. No,” he anticipated her question. “Dumbledore never told me that he knew of them. So it appears that the only way I can get more information is through your Mr Potter.”

“But the Pensieve,” Hermione interjected, conveniently forgetting her own vow not to interrupt him.

Severus shook his head. “All those memories that he showed Potter have been removed. Trust me, I’ve had to sift through a lifetime of his dross. It has not been enjoyable.”

They both sat in silence.

“Harry’s a half-blood,” Hermione realised aloud. “I’m pretty sure he’s descended from one of the Founders. Why can’t I have his child instead?”

Granted that although the thought of bedding down with Harry was not exactly pleasant (he really was the brother she never had), it was a lot less repugnant than having to continue on with Snape. Plus, she thought that Ron’s reaction would be less volatile if he found out she was boffing his best friend rather than his most hated professor.

“Have you not been listening, you silly girl?” Snape snapped. “Or has the precious ‘know-it-all’ completely lost her senses? I said that the child’s paternal grandmother needed to be descended from one of the Founders! What was Harry’s mother? A filthy Mudblood – sorry, Muggleborn.”

Hermione briefly wondered if he thought that being called a Mudblood by him would still upset her; he had already done far worse. Maybe to him, name-calling was the most hurtful thing. Bizarre.

“Why would he design a Horcrux that needed a child?” she asked, ignoring his lame attempt to hurt her. “He doesn’t seem to be a man who wants a family.”

“Can not your enormous brain figure that out, Miss Granger,” Snape replied tiredly, his mood quickly changing from angry to fed up.

“He could impregnate the witch, use her to get the Horcrux and then … and then …”

“Use the child’s life, or death as the case may be, for one of his darker spells,” Snape concluded. “Using a child of his own blood would increase the potency of any of these spells. Quite efficient when you think about it.”

Hermione looked at him, disgusted.

“So, now you know why I need you to have my baby,” Snape concluded.

That led Hermione to tackle her next problem. “What happens after the baby is born? I mean, what will happen to the child?”

“It will be my child,” he stated emphatically. “I will be responsible for it. I will not expect you to do anything towards its upbringing unless you want to. If you so wish to be part of its life, I will not hinder you in any way. In fact, I would prefer that you be at least part of its life. However, it is entirely up to you. Whatever your decision, the child will be brought up as my heir. It will be … cherished,” he finished, raising his chin and glaring at her defiantly, almost daring her to question his ability to look after his child.

“What if you die?” she asked bluntly, ignoring his challenge. “What will happen then? You don’t expect me to look after it, do you?”

“It will be your responsibility, of course,” he replied with a confused frown.

“No,” she replied. “It won’t. I do not want a child, especially not yours, and I will not sacrifice my life for it. Do not think that I will suddenly be overcome with maternal feelings once it is placed in my arms. Even if I am, it would not be fair to the child to keep it. The best gift I could give my child is that it is brought up in a loving family, not by a single teenager with no qualifications, who didn’t want it in the first place. So you had better find a family that would accept your child, should you die. A family that I approve of,” she amended.

“Well, with such maternal feelings, I’m amazed you are not asking for me to whip up a potion to abort it as soon as you have retrieved the Horcrux,” he sneered at her.

“I believe every child has the potential to be a gift,” she replied. “If not for the person who bore it, then to someone else who would want it. I could not callously use its conception and then kill it. It’s just wrong,” she finished simply.

“Very well, Miss Granger,” he eventually conceded. “I will make arrangements in case I die and yes, you can veto whichever family I choose.”

“Thank you,” she replied simply. A great weight lifted itself off her soul. She could do this now. Once the war was over, she would be free. Well, free aside from the Vow. However, that was a conundrum to face another day.

“Now, if that is all?” Snape asked resignedly.

“There is one more thing,” she ventured hesitantly. At his sigh, she continued. “I want you to stop drugging me every time we have sex.”

Snape blinked.

“I know we have to do it,” she carried on. “I don’t like it, but I don’t need to be drugged to do my duty.”

“Dulce et decorum est,” Snape began, a mocking look on his face.

“Pro patria mori,” Hermione completed. At the surprised look on his face, she huffed angrily. “Every English school child knows that quote before they finish primary school, even if they don’t understand the sarcasm behind it.”

“Speaking of duty, I have a question now,” he informed her. “What exactly did Molly Weasley tell you about conception in relation to witches?”

Hermione blushed, caught in a lie.

“I didn’t ask her,” she muttered. “How could I?” she justified herself. “She could have thought I was planning to seduce Ron, or trap him into marriage, or something!”

Snape merely smirked and summoned a book from one of the shelves. He then stood up and fetched Crookshanks from the corner, where he was snoozing, and plonked him down on the couch next to Hermione whilst handing her the book.

“Read and be enlightened, Miss Granger,” he instructed her. “But for pity’s sake, do not move from that couch and keep your familiar there too.”

“Why?” she questioned, noting that the book had no title. Flicking through, she noticed that it appeared to be made up of essays from various mediwizards and healers. All the essays appeared to be about pregnancy and conception. She sighed, knowing that she wasn’t going to like what she would find; Snape had been too pleased for the findings to be in her favour.

“I have to pack up the house, obviously,” he blithely answered as books started hurtling from the shelves and flying into conjured boxes. “We need to be absent when Lucius Bloody Malfoy decides to return.”

“Why would he come back here?” she asked, confused.

“To forcibly enlist my aid in destroying the Dark Lord, of course. He has a slight grudge against him at the moment, you see.”

“And you won’t help him because why?” she queried.

“Miss Granger, I am not going to allow myself to be indebted to a Malfoy for the rest of my life.”

“Even if it brings about the destruction of the Dark Lord?”

“Especially if it brings about the downfall of the Dark Lord.”

Hermione stared fixedly at him. “Whose side are you really on?”

“Why, Miss Granger, I thought that would be obvious,” he replied raising both his eyebrows in surprise.

“My side.”

And he smiled.

A/n Title based on John Donne’s Divine Meditation “Batter my heart three person’d God”. Donne basically states the only way he can be pure and new is to suffer through God breaking and raping him. I thought it appropriate for Hermione’s stance in this chapter. Dulce et Decorum etc. translated is it is sweet and right to die for your country. There’s also a quote from Jane Austen in here, if you can find it!!

Thank you to all you lovely reviewers (124 reviews!!!) and I\'m sorry this has taken awhile. I went to a Beer Festival in Brussels last weekend..... enough said!!


Grattitude is once again heaped at the feet of my betas - GinnyW, Claraminutes & (a new addition) JuneW. Not only do they take time out of their own busy schedules to check my stories, they also deal with my frivolous email habits ;-}

Now, before I get lots of emails about how cruel adoption is I have to say this: I thank my 17 year old birth mother every day for making the difficult decision to give me up to be brought up in a loving family. I also thank my parents for telling me I was adopted before I even knew what it meant. In fact, when we did find out about sex (from older siblings straight after they had a sex education class of course), I was the only kid in my class whose assertion that my parents didn’t have sex could not be refuted by the fact of my existence. My argument was that my parents were so disgusted by sex, that they adopted all their children instead. I do not necessarily think that it is the right decision for everybody, and I know of a lot of people whose babies were forcibly taken from them. However, there’s always more than one opinion and even if you don’t agree with my viewpoint, I ask you to respect it.