Hermione Snape and the Divergence Point Vol. 4

Chapter One: Shattered Porcelain

"Hush, love," Severus tried to keep his voice even as he rocked the wailing thirteen-month-old.

Since Hermione was released from St Mungo's, crying fits were few and far in between, and he hadn't recalled her crying with such intensity since she had been with the muggles. She was a baby, of course she was going to cry, but it was nearly nine, and she was crying since before her bedtime at seven.

He considered getting her looked at, but there were more obvious reasons for his infant daughter's renewed intense crying. She had four teeth coming in, and an incredibly loud thunderstorm raged overhead.

A bottle of warm milk laced with Teething Solution (which she refused to drink!), a dry nappy, pacing the length of their living quarters, two bed-time stories (reading to her normally worked!) and even a number of half-remembered lullabies, but nothing would quieten her.

Severus had a stash of sleeping draughts adjusted for infants, but he'd recently read that over reliance before a child is five could lead to an impairment of the brain's ability to produce their own sleep chemicals as they grew. So, he ignored the admittedly strong temptation to do so.

"Will nothing quieten you?" he groaned. Switching tactics again, he put her on her back to rub her little tummy.

If I were your biological father would I have some instincts here? He thought back to the seventeen-year-old boy in over his head and dismissed the thought. Perhaps all those stories he'd heard of parents instinctively knowing how to handle their children were complete bullshit. His parents certainly had no clue what the hell they were doing, and while Hermione's biological parents showed no signs of abuse, they were certainly just as clueless.

For immediate needs, he had gotten used to gleaning her thoughts after establishing eye-contact. Though it was something he relied on much less, now that he had time to link specific expressions to her desires. Changing, feedings and fatigue were the easiest to ditch his reliance on legilimency for, but things to comfort her...they were still a mystery, even with the aid of magic. And when she was inconsolable? He guessed infant minds simply didn't make sense when their worries were more abstract.

Two hours of this and every scrap of information for those damned parenting books failed him. One more night surely won't form a lifelong dependency...and it has been a couple weeks since her last dose.

"Do you want your bottle?" he offered after ensuring the temperature was correct.

"Yes", "no", "please" and "thank you" were all in her vocabulary now, and simple gestures too. However, rather than using them, she kept crying.

"You're too old for these tantrums, little girl," he groaned. "Drink. Now."

A peel of thunder echoed through their living quarters, and Hermione continued to wail. The idea occurred to him to simply leave her in her crib until she tired herself, but at two hours he doubted she would exhaust herself.

He was seconds from force-feeding her the bottle when he heard a knock on the door. Something that brought fresh tears to Hermione's eyes.

"Silence," he whispered in her ear, to no avail.

He opened the door to find Dumbledore, holding his hat in his hand and his face drawn, as if something quite dire had happened. That's when he realised that was exactly it was.

"Headmaster?" he breathed.

"Severus," Dumbledore twisted his hat in hands. "I'm afraid I have some terrible news. You might need to sit down."

A knot formed in his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. The world around him grew colder and his chest tightened. He knew by the lines on Dumbledore's face, the glistening of his eyes, and the quirk of his mouth to the side. No magic or words needed.