Outside the Potions Classroom

Outside the Potions Classroom




Chapter Twelve




It must have been a dream.

Yes, that sounded right. A dream.

It felt as if it were just yesterday, too.

He was sitting in his office in this dream. He was correcting or doing something arbitrary related to his profession. He remembered looking at the scrolls before him, each more inept than the previous and feeling disappointed and aggravated. Frustrated. He was also randy as hell and his mood was not helping. Each piece of parchment only served to remind him of his grievous sin, the sin in which was devouring him.

He was bedding a student and as much as he knew it was wrong, he loved it.

They had been together in this office, on this desk. His hands remembered the feeling of soft female flesh onto the smooth cherry wood. He brought his head down and he could still smell female sweat deep in the porous wood. It smelled earthy, musky, unwholesomely attractive and addicting. He recalled her legs, her lovely legs wrapped around his waist as he took her there, watched her fall into blissful oblivion and know that he was the one who took her there. The more he recalled, the more he felt his erection press into his trousers. He was so aroused it was almost painful to ignore.

But he wasn’t alone anymore. He felt hands come from behind him, arms wrap around him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. It felt as if he was being smothered. He wanted to push his assailant away, but found himself powerless to do so.

His wrists bound behind him, he found himself faced with a rush of cold air on his naked flesh. His clothing seemed to dissolve away leaving him feeling exposed and cold – he was at the mercy of this invisible assailant.

But the startling cold was suddenly enveloped in warmth. It felt as if he was being kissed all over, thousands of tiny open-mouthed kisses upon his cool flesh. He could feel hands, soft, tiny, lithe fingers caress his shoulders, glide across his chest and down the plane of his stomach to his groin, taking his manhood gently but firmly and squeezing. The blood rushed through his being to his core, and he was no longer feeling exposed and cornered. He felt warm and safe and loved. Yes, he liked the feeling of being loved at the end of a long day. He could feel the last threads of his control slipping through his fingers as he came. He almost didn’t recognize the sound of his climax, the sound of his strangled moan foreign to his ears.

For the first time in years, he felt truly happy.

The tension in his face lessened and he opened his eyes slowly.

It was her.

Only, it wasn’t her from those years before, with that impish grin and rumbled uniform, heavy book bag in tow. No, sitting in his lap was the Hermione Granger of the present, her face matured, her familiar eyes misted with passion and her belly swollen with child.

That’s when he realized it had to be a dream.

Because that sure as hell wasn’t his reality.

He blamed the alcohol. Or at least when he really opened his eyes he did. His mind was throbbing in the throes of his hangover, his body ached and his stomach was tied in knots. He should have wised up and laid off the Firewhisky earlier than he had – he wasn’t a wizard of twenty-one anymore, able-bodied to drink the better part of the week away and still effectively wake up for seven am sharp every day. Now a hangover lasted three days. And students wondered why he was so irritable on Mondays.

He had made it to his bed, only his clothes hadn’t. He was starkers under the cotton sheet, his clothing hastily tossed across the room. He vaguely recalled waking up and feeling too hot by the fire, so he had decided to resume his pity party into the bedroom. He had consumed yet another couple glasses of Firewhisky, tried to unsuccessfully wank off, and eventually passed out again. It really hadn’t been a very enchanting evening.

Not to mention he still couldn’t stop thinking about fucking Hermione Granger. He ignored his double entrendre. That alone was enough to put him into a sour mood.

He tried to get out of bed, almost toppling over twice, and attempted to clean himself up so he could be somewhat presentable for class today. Although starting his days with first years was hardly the motivation he needed. At least he would get to see Hadrian right away. His son was intent on making it a habit to join him for breakfast in his office in the mornings, where they could be alone and free from the hundreds of staring eyes in the Great Hall. He shuddered to think of the potential fishbowl, he still had arrogant students snickering about the whole fainting episode.

When he entered his office he expected Hadrian to be there already waiting for him, but the room was empty. On his desk was his mail and a trail of Owl droppings. He cursed his luck and hoped this wasn’t an omen for the rest of his day. The first correspondence was from his mother. He couldn’t recognize the handwriting – she must have bullied one of the mediwitches into scribing it for her.

‘To Severus,’ she always was so curt when she wrote/dictated, ‘When are you going to bring your son to me? Signed, Mother’

He was tempted to write her back and write a simple ‘try a fortnight from never’ but he knew this would be the first of many letters with this request. Maybe she was ill and would die shortly. Then the crisis would be averted completely and Hadrian could grow up without the stain of Marianna Snape on his spirit.

The second letter was from Hermione. He was rather hesitant to open it, it looked so perfect. Most of the mail that went through Owls showed some wear and tear through handling, but she obviously placed a StayCrisp charm on it to keep it crease free. He recognized her neat handwriting on the address – he didn’t even need to look at the return address to know it was from her.

Curiosity won, and he carefully opened the letter.

‘Dear Severus,’ it began, ‘Dinner did not go the way I had planned last night, and for this I am truly sorry. I realize that it may have been too much for both of us, too soon. I think we have a few issues we should discuss before we attempt any more bonding time together with our son. Would you meet me at the Hog’s Head this evening so we can sit down and talk? Owl me. Please. Hermione.’

She said please. Not sentence, comma, please, but please, all on its own with a period. This had to mean something, maybe she-

“Is that from Mum?”

Severus jumped a mile when Hadrian’s voice smashed into his thought train. “What?” Severus nearly dropped the piece of parchment.

Hadrian looked concerned. “That is her stationary. It’s from her, right? Is it about me? Am I in trouble?”

Severus was taken back. “Why would you be in trouble?”

Hadrian shrugged. “I was the reason you two were fighting.”

Severus shook his head. “No, any disagreement between your mother and I stems from unresolved issues between the two of us, not you.” He frowned. “I suppose they do affect you though, and for that I do apologize. You were right last night. I wasn’t honest with you, or myself. I am an adult; it is my responsibility to set the example, which I did not. I shall remedy that.”

Hadrian nodded, snaking a hand through his unruly curls. “Thank you for saying that. I felt bad for chewing you out, Dad.”

Severus chuckled. “It took courage to ‘chew out’ your father, are you sure you weren’t sorted incorrectly?”

“Dad!” Hadrian cried in exasperation, “I was sorted right! There is nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff, so don’t go on. It’s bad enough that is all Uncle Ron went on about in his letters. He kept writing ‘surrounded by Gryffindors, fathered by a Slytherin and where did you end up? With the badgers.’ I like being a Hufflepuff, even if I’m the most cunning, courageous and intelligent one of the batch.” Hadrian winked at him with merriment.

“You forgot to add humble,” Severus replied. “The relationship between your mother and I is based on very old information – and over time that information has become distorted and forgotten. It may take a very long time before we can truly coexist and work together to your benefit. I want you to realize that while flawed, our intentions are true to you.”

“I understand it will take time. I don’t expect you two to fall in love and get married.” Hadrian smiled sheepishly. “Although the thought has crossed my mind.”

“Understandably. Most children want two parents that love each other.” Severus reflected upon his own abysmal childhood and frowned. “I had wanted that for my family.”

“You and Mum…you did love each other once, right?”

“It was a long time ago, Hadrian,” he sighed.

Hadrian was quiet, his expression thoughtful.

“I’m a very lucky kid, not many young wizards have a loving Mum and Dad to help them grow up. Even if you and Mum never truly see eye to eye, I’ll still be happy,” he said at last.

“But,” Severus prompted him to continue his thought.

Hadrian tried to hide the sheepishness again. “But if you two, say, fell in love and gave me some brothers and maybe a sister, I wouldn’t mind.”

Severus started laughing in spite of himself. “I hate to ruin those romantic plans, but how much of this ideal little future have you planned out?”

“Not that much. I figured Mum could keep our house in the city during the school year and you could Apparate on the weekends, then during the summer we could all live at Snape Manor. Mum would eventually get upset that she couldn’t see you as often and end up taking correspondence duties so she could take care of Octavian. Then would come Ptolemy.”

“You chose their names, too?”

Hadrian nodded. “Yeah! I figured Mum already started using Roman names in Snape tradition, why not continue? I want brothers so I can teach them Quidditch. I’d like a sister too. But only one, girls are kinda icky. She should have a pretty, classical name too. Like Cassandra. I can imagine what it would be like for her to bring boyfriends home too, older brothers and dreaded Potions Master for the poor guy to contend with. It would be pretty funny.”

“Hadrian, I already told you that I will not be able to father more children, it was only you. Snape tradition.”

“Adoption, Dad. I already looked over the forms and you and Mum would make great candidates.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Have I told you lately that you are your mother’s son?”

“Not today.”

“Well we all start somewhere,” he sighed. “So I hope you finished your homework, because I believe your Potions Professor is about to assign a pop quiz today.”

Hadrian smiled. “Of course. Can I go spread the quiz as gossip?”

Severus felt a serge of pride. “Now I can tell you are your father’s son as well. Go ahead, I think I’d enjoy terrifying the class into last minute studying and panic.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there. Bye Dad, have a good day at work,” Hadrian hugged him briefly before fleeing. They always ended their morning meetings the same way – in class Severus rarely acknowledged his son except to deduct points for not knowing better. The last thing either wanted was further alienation for Hadrian, so they said goodbye to father/son roles and hello to teacher/student ones.

It was so easy with Hadrian, why did it have to be so hard with Hermione?

He still had a few moments for Hadrian to spread panic before class would start, so he picked up a nearby quill and parchment. ‘Dear Ms. Granger,’ he started his letter, ‘I shall meet you there at 7:30 sharp. Please do not be late. Severus Snape’

He attached the scroll to his owl’s leg and wished for the best.

For them all.


Tbc.