Witch Hunt

21

December

'POTTER RELATIVE DEAD AT 37'

Hermione stared at the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet. She read it a second time, and then a third. A fourth for good measure, and suddenly it sunk in. Bile rose up her throat, souring the taste of her breakfast. Nauseous, she set the paper down slowly and gripped the edge of the table.

Her new husband of six weeks raised his head from his book, eyeing her questioningly. "Everything alright, Hermione?"

Her eyes pricked with tears, and her breath caught in her throat. "No," she managed, a hoarse whisper as she fought not to scream. Potter relative dead at 37. They could not even be bothered to spell out her name.

It wasn't fair.

Alarmed, the man came around the table and kneeled next to her, trying to catch her eyes. "Breathe, you must breathe."

She shook her head, shutting her eyes tightly. "I can't," she muttered, a hand at her chest. Her heart was going to burst, it was hammering against her ribcage as though it wanted to escape. "It's Kate, she's dead."

He frowned, curious about his wife's reaction. "Snape's wife? Rotten luck."

Now, she was certain she would vomit. "Oh, Harry. I must go to him. He must be devastated."

The man nodded. "Alright, let me get your coat. We'll go."

By the time he had returned to the kitchen, she had already stepped through the Floo.

Flying through Grimmauld Place, she launched herself into Harry's arms. "Hermione, what's going on? When did you get here?"

Bewildered, she wiped a hand across her face, hurriedly drying her tears. "I came as soon as I saw. Harry, I'm so sorry."

He frowned. "What are you talking about? Hermione, it's barely 9. What is the urgency?"

Her heart sank as she realised he did not yet know the crushing news. He was not yet aware of the headlines. "Harry, have you seen the news?"

He shook his head, confirming her fear. Her hand came up to stifle a sob, forcing her eyes shut. Ginny ran into the kitchen then, paper in hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes red and raw. "Harry," she whimpered.

The boy-who-lived let go of his friend, reaching out for his wife. "What is it, what's happened? Who?"

There was only one thing that could result in this sort of reaction from two of the strongest women he knew. There wasn't much that could rattle them and he feared the worst. Anticipation churned in his stomach as his wife handed him the Prophet, quickly wrapping her arms around her friend.

'POTTER RELATIVE DEAD AT 37'

The words were bold and dark upon the pale paper. He did not want to believe them as they glared up at him. The moving photograph beneath the title caught his attention. Snape, with a swaddled babe in his arms, shoved aside a photographer as he yanked the hospital curtain shut.

Vultures, the lot of them.

He sighed. "She went into labour just two days ago," he stated plainly. "I'm going to see him. He'll need help with the baby. He's going to need us. All of us."

The Potters dressed quickly, donning their winter cloaks and were halfway to the Floo before Hermione had even moved. She was a statue, petrified into place by her fear.

Ginny lay a hand on her shoulder. "'Mione... This isn't your fault. No one could have seen this coming."

Hermione turned to her, tears falling freely now. "I could have prevented this. She didn't have to come out of hiding and marry him and get pregnant. This happened because of me. I should have gone to the blasted ball. He'll never forgive me."

Harry shook his head, staring down at the article again. "No offence, Hermione, but I don't think he'll see it that way just now. He's got a horde of journalists in his face with a brand new baby." He sighed, patting her shoulder. "Do what you think is right. Ginny and I will go to him."

He held out his hand, the redheaded witch curling her shaking fingers around his palm. They stepped into the Floo, shouted their destination, and off they were.

Hermione looked toward the low coffee table, where Harry had left the newspaper. If she did not read the article, perhaps she could convince herself things were alright. Perhaps it was a cruel joke. Perhaps it was about someone else.

A violent tremor shook her hands as she reached out for it, pulling it into her lap. One hand flew to her belly, rubbing circles to try to calm her nausea. Gods, she was going to be sick.

Staring down at the article, she watched the photograph of the man pulling shut the curtain over and over. Behind him, one could see the vague outline of a hospital gurney. There was a white sheet over the entirety of it.

She nearly dropped the paper.

Still, she pushed on, forcing herself to read. Though, her mind screamed at her to stop, to look away. Enough cowardice.

'Katherine E. Potter Snape was declared dead at 3:17 this morning at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries after a gruelling 36 hours of labour. The babe, a boy, was born at 27 weeks. The tiny thing is doing well and thriving, though the same cannot be said for his mother. Motherless, the boy will return to Dunbeath Estate with his father, Potions' Master Severus T. Snape under careful surveillance of Healers and Mediwitches. Katherine leaves behind a grieving husband, a newborn son, her nephew Apprentice Auror Harry J. Potter, and the Sleekeazy hair potion empire.

No word yet on how the inheritance is to be divided.'

She had been out and about not one month earlier with her husband in Hogsmeade. It had been in the papers. Now she was dead, leaving Snape with a brand new baby.

Merlin, she felt terrible. How could she ever face him again after that? She should write to him. No, she couldn't. Could she?

Was it appropriate? Would he answer? Did he hate her? Would they ever speak again?

She had about a million questions and not one single answer. She hid behind her hands as she sobbed for what seemed like an eternity. She was interrupted by a pair of hands on her shoulders. Looking up, she saw Justin and a fresh round of tears came to her. He wasn't the person she wanted to see. He had never understood the peculiar friendship she had developed with Severus. He had judged her and forbade her from speaking to him. He had intercepted their correspondence and monitored the Floo.

She was his wife, and by law, she belonged to him. Hermione Jean Granger, war hero, the brightest witch of her age and order of Merlin first class reduced to a controlled housewife whose only purpose was to produce offspring. The very thing she had feared when she was told she had to marry Snape. It seemed like a lifetime ago, already. She would do anything to go back now.

Married to Justin Finch-Fletchley, though there was none of the compatibility she had felt with Snape. None of the ease, none of the desire, none of the passion, of the intellect, of easy conversation.

All she could think of was the swaddled babe. A boy who had to grow up without his mother.