Your Baby is the Size of A...

40 Weeks - Your baby is the size of a watermelon

Severus sat on a bar stool in his laboratory, prepping ingredients for Remus's potion under the watchful gaze of Hermoine. He shifted his weight, trying to find a position where the pressure on his hips would be bearable.

There wasn't one.

"It's very precise," he stressed. "If you were to chop where you should have shaved, the potency of the Wolfsbane could be altered. Which – as I'm currently sharing rooms with the werewolf – I'd rather not happen."

"You're worrying unnecessarily, Severus," the young woman tutted softly, giving him a wry smile. "I've always been a rather good student."

"Yes well . . . you're not the one trapped in those rooms with him once the moon rises, are you."

She gave a snort of amusement, holding her hand out for the knife – which Severus gave over readily, feeling very tired all of a sudden. He watched as Hermoine took up his movements, though slower, occasionally stopping to give him a glance as though she expected him to chastise her at any moment and reiterate the instructions.

"How much longer do you have, Severus? No offense, but you look as though you might explode at any moment . . . or fall over."

He rubbed his forehead tightly. At forty weeks, Severus was well beyond taking offense about comments like that – instead he felt them in his bones. "This is week forty; the baby is the size of a watermelon. Labor should be an any-day-now thing," he quoted Poppy, pushing hair back from his forehead and stretching his back. "Keep chopping; the dittany will brown quickly and be utter trash if you let it."

Silence spilled in around them, and Severus made sure to carefully watch every motion his ex-student made . . . which was perhaps unnecessary as Granger had always been competent at potions but gave him something to do.

"Are you and Remus . . . together," she finally asked, which Severus had known it would only be a matter of time before she did.

"No," he replied curtly. "Thinner slivers. The aconite needs to be fine; it dissolves in the potion."

Hermonine's motions readjusted, her attention firmly on the ingredients.

"But . . . it's his, isn't it." A beat of silence. "The baby, I mean."

"Hardly any of your business, Granger," he said, tone a low and dangerous purr.

The young woman began cutting faster, the knife whispering through ingredients.

"I know that, Severus," she finally managed. "I just . . ." Her voice trailed off pitifully before she glanced upward at him.

"You just happened to read up on it," he scoffed, hating that the situation he found himself in only had a few causes.

"The Headmaster explained the situation . . . and of course I was curious," she stressed, stopping in her motions to give Severus a look.

He swept up the mortar and pestle, holding the heavy stoneware in his hand and regarding the moonstones thoughtfully – at least the present would come in handy. Gritting his teeth, jaw tensed, Severus brought the corundum stick down hard – the moonstones gave way, breaking and crumbling easily. He twisted, bearing down hard – grateful for something to do. "I'm sure you remember that when you're preparing ingredients, you need to conscious of the items you prepare them with. Ash is good for cutting boards – it reacts with very few ingredients. Corundum is good for crushing – it's hard enough to withstand a beating, nonporous."

"He likes you, you know," she continued, as though he hadn't spoken.

"Dark calls to dark."

"Remus Lupin is hardly a dark creature." She gave him a look, drawing in a sharp breath through her nose before returning her attention to the task at hand. "And simply because you are not always a nice man does not make you a dark wizard."