Title: Arcana
By: Emily Brunson
Pairing: Gil/Nick & Nick/Snape (Harry Potter)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: mpreg, WIP
Summary: The crossover that launched a thousand crits.

Chapter One

 

The very thought made him feel ill. Barbarism, complete and total barbarism.

And yet what could he do? The laws were not his to choose from; they applied to all equally, and to him no less. Or to the person perhaps even more affected to it.

Of course he'd been a child when it was all arranged. Ten years old, not even summoned to Hogwarts yet. He did vaguely remember the ceremony. There was a baby, and a lot of grownups who looked rather grim and not at all delighted to be there, or to see that baby. Which seemed harmless enough, since all it did was sleep and then cry a bit.

He also remembered asking his mother what that had all been about, after it was over.

"You'll find out when you're older," came her frost-rimed reply.

He'd thought about it, wondered about the funny feeling when the baby wrapped a chubby hand around his finger. But all in all, it had been rather dull. Just the trip to London, a lot of chanting and incense, and then back to the usual routine. Not even any time to see the sights.

His conversation with Dumbledore prior to his departure had been less than edifying.

"This is patently ridiculous," Snape remarked icily.

Albus shrugged, completely at ease, evidently. "Perhaps it feels that way, Severus, but it's not. It's rather important, in fact. Gummy worm?" He held out a bowl of limp plastic-y-looking somethings.

Gritting his teeth, Snape ignored it. "Important to whom, specifically?"

"All of us."

"Oh, please." Snape rolled his eyes and crossed his arms again. "I've already said I'd do my duty for Merlin and country, so don't try to woo me with tales of prophecy."

"But it is prophecy."

"Rubbish. It's divination, is what it is, and we know how well THAT works, too much of the time."

Albus sipped his tea. "This is quite good, you know. Try some."

And although there had been a bit more fuming, and a few more calm, dry remarks from the headmaster, make the journey he had, and now here he was. In the United States, a country he had never particularly desired to visit, and now that he was here, was even more certain that he no more belonged here than a Muggle did in his classroom.

Snape stared out the window of the somewhat smelly taxi and clamped down on the misgivings. None of that mattered. He was here to fulfill his duty, that was all, and once it was done, however distasteful, he could go back to his life, back to whatever that life held for him. And if this other -- person -- could not, well, what fault was it of Snape's? He hadn't asked for his own part in it, and he certainly couldn't be blamed for how people were born, or in what form. That, thankfully, was entirely outside his range of influence.

He felt almost calm once more by the time the automobile had conveyed him to his destination. Outside the inn, three people waited, two men and a woman.

"Thank you for coming," one of the men said in his flat American voice. His smile was shaky and somewhat awed. "I'm Randall Cunningham."

Snape gave him a short nod. "Severus Snape."

"These are my -- associates. William Johnson," Cunningham waited for the other man, a portly fellow of probably sixty years, to nod, before adding, "And Juliet Sanders." The woman, perishingly plain but for glimmering purplish eyes, smiled briefly. "Would you like a drink? We do have tea."

Snape regarded him without interest. "I have no intention of remaining here any longer than I must," he told the man icily. "Pleasantries are best kept for those for whom they hold appeal. Where is -- he?"

Cunningham's meager smile fell off his face with an almost audible plop. "Well, I can't -- See, it's not that --"

"What he's trying to say, sir," Sanders interrupted smoothly, "is that your -- partner -- isn't ready yet."

"And why is that?" Snape asked, holding onto immediate anger.

"He's been somewhat -- resistant. It's complicated."

"That is unimportant. He has his duty, as I have mine. Cold feet --"

"He's spelled himself," the second man -- Johnson -- said, in a gruff voice. His face was quite red.

Snape felt himself sneering, and didn't mind the sensation one bit. "In what way, may I ask?"

"To hide what he is. For years now. It's proving a difficult spell to break."

Snape hid his consternation beneath understandable surprise. "There shouldn't be any need for breaking," he answered coldly. "He must release the spell himself."

"He refuses," the woman told him in a soft voice.

"Then he breaks the law!"

"He doesn't care. He is adamant. He simply refuses."

---

Juliet gave Snape an anxious look, and then stood aside. "Mr. Snape. This is Nicholas Stokes."

Whatever he'd been expecting, this certainly wasn't it.

The boy -- man, most certainly, this was no boy -- was undeniably masculine. Strong jaw, clean of form, quite handsome. Although Snape could see almost immediately the minuscule flicker of enchantment about him; a glamour, yes, and a deft one. No Muggle, seeing him, would ever suspect the truth.

He met Stokes's eyes and wanted to recoil. Lovely dark eyes, but filled with rage, a cold fire barely held in check as the man stalked into the room.

"You have no RIGHT," he snapped in a voice icy enough to give Snape himself a run for his money. "I won't do it. I will NOT do it."

Snape made himself nod. "In that case we can force you to comply," he returned steadily. "The law requires it."

"FUCK your law!"

"It's yours as well, or have you forgotten that? Living here, so far from the source?"

Stokes paced away from him, glaring at Juliet until she shut the door behind her. With his back turned he hissed, "I don't recognize your law. I don't give a damn about it, or you!"

"Your parents did. Enough that they did what was required."

"I don't care." The man turned his pretty, snapping eyes back in Snape's direction. "I won't do it," he repeated furiously. "You can't make me."

"I can."

He watched Stokes draw himself up, shock as evident as anger in his expression. "You wouldn't."

Snape stood up, recognizing his far greater height as he did so. Stokes wasn't particularly tall, then. "I'd vastly prefer not to," he agreed in his most distant, formal tone. "But I honor the law, as do all wizards with a jot of sense in them. To do otherwise is to be banished. Is that what you'd prefer? Azkaban?"

Stokes went a little whiter. "I didn't ask for this," he said, taking a step back. "I don't want it, I never wanted it!"

And you think I do? Snape almost asked, but cut it off in time. "The law stands, regardless. We were bound to this arrangement when you were first recognized. There is nothing either of us can do to change that."

Stokes's cheeks flushed. "You make me sick, all of you," he said, shaking his head. "This makes me sick." His hand went to his belly, probably unconsciously, Snape thought. "This is my life! You can't make decisions for me, not even --"

"I didn't make this decision," Snape interrupted, somewhat tiredly. "And you know that."

"I -- I can't."

"You must."

Stokes swallowed. "Don't make me. Don't make me do this."

"Once it is done, you will be absolved of your responsibility. You may be whatever you choose to be. But for the moment, duty binds us equally."

"I won't -- I won't let it go." Stokes looked terrified at his own words, but that strong jaw jutted stubbornly. "You can't make me do that."

Snape sighed. "Then you make it worse than it has to be."

"Then it'll be worse!"

"Very well." He gave him a curt nod and went over to his valise.

"What's that?" Stokes asked, seeing what he took out.

"A potion," Snape answered remotely, shaking the vial. "Surely you've been told I'm a potions master."

A look of terrible fear flitted across Stokes's face. "Is that -- I won't take it. I won't." He backed away some more, until his back hit the door.

"Yes. You will."

Snape held out the vial, and Stokes shook his head wildly. "No! You'll -- I won't take it!" He spun around and grabbed for the doorknob. It resolutely did not turn. "Let me out! Let me out of here, you BAST --"

"I'd rather not force you. But I can compel you, if necessary. As you know."

Stokes turned slowly to face him. His handsome face was drawn with terror, eyes wandering oddly. "Please," he husked, pressing back against the door. "Please, please don't. Oh, please."

Feeling like the worst of any villains he'd ever had the misfortune to know – and there had been a number of those, so he felt he was reasonably conversant on the subject -- Snape said only, "I must." He held out the vial again.

Moving impressively fast, Stokes lashed out and struck the glass vial from his hand. It shattered on the tile floor, filling the room with the odor of herbs and cinnamon. "No," the man said crisply. "I told you. I won't."

So it was that way, then. Feeling tired, Snape nodded. "Very well, then. It will be as you require it to be." He drew his wand out from its hiding place inside his Muggle coat. "Transfixus."

Inside his valise he found another vial, twin to the first. When he faced Stokes again he marveled at the man's singleness of purpose. The spell held; of course, the man could not speak a counter-spell, but the struggle was obvious. He must know he could not possibly break it, and yet he tried. Eyes wide with terror and fury, cords standing out on his neck.

"Drink, and it will all soon be over." Snape unstoppered the vial and walked over to where Stokes stood, motionless and wild-eyed. "Drink."

The potion went down easily, once he closed Stokes's mouth over it, and he released the spell. Stokes staggered, falling to his knees.

Hating himself with a kind of tired familiarity, Snape remarked, "I've several more. If you vomit that up I'll simply give you another, until you keep it down."

Stokes only huddled on the floor, face hidden, body tight with dread. The spells he'd cast to conceal himself, to control his true nature, dissipated slowly. Even when he knew they were gone, Snape couldn't tell any difference. Not until Stokes finally looked up.

His features were only marginally different. No longer so carved, jaw softened a little. No Adam's apple anymore. That had been the illusion. This, here, was not a woman, but not quite a man, either.

Slow tears spilled from Stokes's eyes. "No," he whispered brokenly, shaking his head. "Oh, no."

Then he blurted a cry of pain and clutched his midsection.

Even as Snape darted to his side, the door flung open and their three sorcerous duennas rushed in.

"What is it?" Snape asked harshly. Stokes's face was contorted with pain, nothing of artifice about it. This was very, very real.

"We were afraid of this." Juliet knelt at Stokes's other side. "The glamour -- he's held it too long. His body is reacting to the loss."

Snape stared at her. "How long?"

"Most of his adult life. Perhaps longer, I don't know."

"But that -- That's terribly dangerous, and you let me give him --"

"There was no other way," she interrupted, glaring back at him.

The man on the floor uttered a hoarse cry of agony and clutched at his abdomen.

"Hold a glamour too long and the body begins to believe what's false is true," Snape said coldly. "He should not have been allowed to continue such a charade!"

"That was not my decision. Nor any of us. We did not know until recently."

Snape stared down at him. A glamour to confuse the eye was one thing. To make one not-see the faintly feminine aspects of the face, or disguise the line of the body. But nothing like this would happen with such a thing. This glamour had been a true disguising. With a cold sense of dread he took in Stokes's position, the way he held his belly. The silly git had tried to make himself TRULY male.

"Get my valise," he told Juliet curtly. "I can help him."

Oh, this was a real cockup. He wished furiously for his well-stocked laboratory at the school as he took out items he had hoped he would not need. "Leave us," he snapped, when Juliet bobbed back into view. "Now."

He held the new potion in one hand while with the other he reached out to touch Stokes's tense arm. "Drink this. It will help the pain."

Eyes bright with misery, Stokes made no objection. He made a face after quaffing the potion. "You think I'm an idiot, don't you?"

"Yes," Snape told him coldly, sliding an arm around him and easing him up to sit. "Fortunately for you it won't kill you."

"Better if it did."

"Rest now. Let your body readjust. The pain should not return; what I've given you will hold it until your body has restored itself."

"I hate you," Stokes breathed, eyelids fluttering tiredly.

"And I'm not at all fond of you," Snape shot back, but the man was already dozing.

---

 

Chapter Two

 

It was really amazing, what you could convince yourself of if you really tried.

Himself, for instance. It had been a long time since he’d thought about any of it. So long that it became sort of like a bad dream you had once, years ago. The kind of rare dream that you didn’t forget, but which also lost a great deal of its power over time. You thought about it every once in a while, took out the memory and marveled or wrinkled your nose at it, and then you put it away again, because it was long ago and unimportant, really.

Until two weeks ago, when he saw an owl perched on the roof of his brand-new Denali, and felt his entire body go ice-cold with shock.

Time. It’s time.

The letter, of course, was from the Ministry of Magic. The big one, the original one, the one in England. There had only been one other letter from the Ministry in his entire life, and he’d been three weeks old at the time, so it wasn’t like he’d seen it. His mother had kept it, and offered to show it to him once. That godawful day when he was thirteen and it was time to go back to school, and he looked at himself in the mirror and saw what he really was. Not a him at all. Not a her. Both.

"It’s what you are, Nicky," his mother said patiently, standing there looking as calm as if she really didn’t think he was the biggest fucking freak on the planet. "Miraculous. You’re special. You really are."

Special. Right. He was pretty sure the guys in his class would think he was REAL special when they saw the tits on his chest when they took a shower.

When she offered to get out the letter, he’d declined. He didn’t need to read a stupid letter. He already knew. Blah blah, once in a generation, important moment in magical history, blah blah, come to London for a ceremony and sign the kid’s life away, blah blah end.

But the second letter he couldn’t avoid. He could have tried, but there’d have been another the next day, and another after that, and eventually someone would have shown up to hand-deliver it, and he really, really didn’t want to see whoever that might be, so he took the letter and said thank-you to the owl, really pretty one actually, small, was that a tawny owl? and went inside to read it.

Short and sweet, very much to the point. It’s time to do your duty, freak-boy, or we’ll hunt you down like a criminal and banish your ass. Permanently.

Phrased a little nicer, maybe. But that was like gold-plating a set of handcuffs. You might prettify it, but that didn’t change the essential nature of the thing. No matter how much you might pretend it did.

He wasn’t fooled. And he’d wadded up that letter and chunked it in the trash, and decided to see just how serious they were about it. Because, really, you couldn’t force someone to have SEX. That, in the trade, was what was known as RAPE, and there were laws against that, too. Muggle laws, maybe, but he’d bet good money those would hold.

Now, staring at the ceiling of a hotel room he had once inspected for trace evidence after a REAL rape, he thought, Guess they really mean it after all.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. Even felt different now. Whatever that asshole Snape had given him to take, it had done a fast number on the pain, which was good, but now he couldn’t pretend any longer. Now he had to FEEL what he was, and that was a whole different kind of pain. The kind a stupid potion didn’t do jack for.

It wasn’t really the boobs. He didn’t have much in the way of breasts, never had, thanks to the potion that also kept him from menstruating. That was one potion he’d learned real well his third year in school. Didn’t much give a crap about the rest of them, but that one? He could make in his sleep, and it wasn’t third-year work, either. It was complicated.

So he’d kept from developing much in the way of tits, and aside from a couple of months when he’d still been learning the potion and it hadn’t worked very well, he’d never had a period. But there were other parts that just pretty much stayed the same all the time. And it was those parts, now, that made him curl up on the bed and cringe.

Never thought that the simple act of disguising yourself could feel so bad later. Okay, granted, not so simple, but then again it wasn’t as if he’d disguised himself as, say, a sparrow, or a rock. He’d stayed within in his species, after all. Just a few tweaks. He was really pretty proud of the work, when you came right down to it. Things like five-o’clock shadow. Never mind he’d never needed to shave a day in his life; it was the kind of thing people expected to see on a guy. And damn, but it was good work on his chest. Looked fine. Now if people TOUCHED it, well, that was another story, but then chest-touching went hand-in-hand with having sex, and he didn’t have much of that. Wanted it, sometimes wanted it very very much, but didn’t allow it except occasionally. Times when he felt his partner was less…judgmental, for example. Kristy hadn’t been judgmental. Of course she’d been a prostitute, and that sorta went with the territory, but still, she’d seen what he had and probably thought he had a little problem with man-tits, and then she died, so it wasn’t as if she had time to go around talking about Nick Stokes and his need for a training bra.

Had he even HAD sex since Kristy died? Well, if he couldn’t remember it, must mean he hadn’t.

He sat up, made a face at the low ache in his back. And now he was going to have sex again. Only this time, he’d be having a different kind of sex. The kind he’d never had before. Terra not especially incognita down there, but most definitely off-limits. But not for Snape, to whom in the eyes of the magical community Nick had been MARRIED since he was a month old.

With a deep sigh he went into the bathroom and gazed at himself. Didn’t look right. It wasn’t just other people he’d fooled; himself, too, and now he saw himself for what he really was.

Say it, you chickenshit. A hermaphrodite. Intersexed. Not a man, not a woman, but both in the same package.

And unlike Muggles, both your sexes work. You can make kids, you can HAVE kids, and it’s the latter that everyone wants. Your kid, the kid you’re going to make with Tall, Greasy, and Ugly out there. You’re just the incubator, and don’t forget it. Barely magical enough to rate an invitation to a third-rate school, got by because you were pretty good with animals just as weird as you and a damn good chaser, and because you were Special. Because there was a prophecy a few days after you were born, or hatched, or however it is that freaks like you come into the world, and that prophecy said that someday you’d have a baby that would be worth a shitload more than you ever were.

After that, well, you’re on your own, buddy. Or sweetheart, since well, having a kid means your old glamours aren’t going to quite cut it anymore. A lot harder to disguise a D cup. Not to mention a belly as big as Reno.

He stared hard into the mirror, and said, "Freak."

Eyes stinging, he turned away.

---

A day later, as Snape had predicted, Stokes’s physical discomfort was gone. In its place was a reality Stokes didn't even want to entertain, much less accept.

"I'm not a woman," came the mulish reply when Snape went into the bedroom to check on him.

Snape felt his jaw clenching. "No-one has said that you are."

"But that's the part of me you want." His voice was muffled as he hid his face in the pillow.

"I don't want any part of you," Snape informed the back of his head icily. "I do what is required of me, by law. As will you."

A pause, and then Stokes asked, "When?"

"The healer will examine you. If you're ready, as soon as possible." And then I'll be well shut of you, he thought about adding, but bit it back. No sense in reminding the -- man -- of what they both knew. Snape was just the donor, essentially. Stokes's life would be very altered. For a while, at least.

The healer, unfortunately, did not have the best of news. In the hallway, facing Snape's icy glare with absolute equanimity, she said, "He's not ready."

A muscle began to jump in Snape's jaw. "And so I've made this trip for nothing?"

"Not necessarily." She shrugged. "Free of the enchantments, his body is restored to what passes for normal for him. But there's no ovulation. Not yet. He can't conceive until that time."

"I see. And when might that be?"

"Now that you're here? Soon, I imagine. A day, a week, perhaps. He's responding to your presence, as he should." She cocked her head to one side a little. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but really, Mr. Snape, you can't rush nature."

"Muggles can. Why not --"

"You know the answer to that." She looked a bit ruffled. "It won't work on him. He's too different."

Worth a try, he thought darkly, but bit it back.

And Stokes was equally impatient, although for his own reasons. "I can’t just stay on vacation forever," he snapped late on the third afternoon. "I gotta get back to work, you know?"

Snape blamed his own combination of boredom and dread for the words he said in response. "If you don’t think that this is more important than tagging along after a few policemen all night, perhaps you should reconsider your priorities."

Stokes gave him a white-faced stare, and turned away. He didn’t say a word the remainder of the day, and Snape went out and paced the hallway a few dozen times, cursing his damnable temper.

But on Thursday, five days after Snape’s reluctant arrival in this loud, painfully American city, Juliet announced that the time had finally come.

"So he’s ready?" Snape swallowed a sharp stab of trepidation.

"As he will ever be." Juliet regarded him with a severe look so reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall, Snape was a little taken aback. "He’s quite anxious. Perhaps –"

"Oh, for pity’s sake," Snape said tightly. "I won’t ravish him, if that’s what you’re suggesting. But I can hardly fulfill my part of the agreement from out here in the hallway, now can I?"

"One of us must stay," she told him quietly. "I'm sorry, but it's the law."

"I'm aware of the law. Can't we just get this over with?"

She colored slightly, but her resolute expression didn’t waver. "Of course. Well, then. Let’s get started."

---

It was his worst nightmare, and it was happening. After all this time, all the care he'd taken, the work he'd done to ensure no one, but NO ONE knew -- it really was happening.

He tensed when he felt the bed shift. "Nicholas?"

He couldn't say anything. The embarrassment was too much.

He heard Snape sigh. "I realize there's no way this can't be something of an ordeal for both of us, but can you at least look at me?"

Nick peeked at him. Snape was fully dressed, as severe and faintly greasy as ever, and as oddly attractive. "Well, it's an improvement," he remarked dryly. "Are you ready?"

"No," Nick whispered. "I'm not going to be ready."

Snape's mouth twitched. "This doesn't have to be a rape, you know," he retorted acidly.

"Then what else is it?"

"Responsibility."

Nick covered his face again. "Just -- get it over with. I don't care."

He tensed when Snape touched his leg, sliding the sheet away. "Please, try to relax," Snape told him quietly. "I have no intention of hurting you."

You already have, Nick thought bleakly, but said nothing. The sheet disappeared, and he cringed, feeling cool air between his legs. And then something else down there as well, a judicious touch, not at all hurtful but only cautious.

"You're a virgin," Snape murmured. "Of course."

Nick made a strangled sound when a slim finger slid inside him. Wet, he was WET, and he didn't even want this, couldn't imagine wanting anything in the world LESS than he wanted this. So why was it -- slippery down there?

"You know how this must be," Snape said, as if Nick had asked the question aloud. "A biological response. We're joined."

To his humiliation his eyes filled with tears. "I don't even know you," Nick whispered, turning his head.

"I'm sorry. I wish it were otherwise." The finger kept probing him, a horribly luxuriant feeling that kept his legs apart even while his mind was screaming to kick, jump off this bed, throw himself out the WINDOW if only it would make this STOP.

"Stop --" Nick said hoarsely, swallowing. "Stop -- doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Trying to make it better. It's not going to be better, all right? Just -- do it. Do it, damn it."

"Very well."

He expected it to hurt, and it did. He WAS a virgin, and now he knew what a woman felt when her hymen burst. Not an unbearable pain, but nothing to sniff at, either. And even in the midst of his brain screaming how WRONG this was, and his -- vagina -- sending out alarms, his body just wasn't on the same wavelength. The merest touch of Snape's penis against him sent a spasm of fiery joy arcing up his spine. No matter that he didn't want it; his body did, wanted it to the exclusion of all else, and he heard himself moan and couldn't even recognize the sound. That couldn't be HIM. No. Nonononono.

"Relax," Snape whispered, sliding further inside him. His hands were hot on Nick's thighs, stroking gently. "That's it. Relax."

And here he was, being RAPED -- impregnated by this complete stranger, against his will -- and yet he was hard, his crotch on fire with pleasure, the motion of the cock inside him absolutely fantastically wonderful. Even his chest felt odd: his tiny breasts somehow more alive than they'd ever felt, nipples hard. His vagrant hand slid down to brush his breast and Snape whispered, "That's it. Just let it happen, Nicholas. Let yourself enjoy it."

It WAS enjoyable, it was one of the most incredible feelings of his entire life. Even in the midst of loathing it, he couldn't not love it at the same time. Everything that was wrong, was also right.

He whimpered a little and moved urgently under Snape's lean body, and felt as if he might simply go insane from the collision inside his head.

---

 

Chapter Three

 

 

What made it even more shocking was, it no longer felt like a duty. It felt like something he truly wanted to do.

The realization filled him with utter astonishment. Never -- NEVER had he believed it, truly. Oh, he'd done what was required of him, both thirty-five years ago and now. Certainly. But it had never meant anything real.

Snape gazed down at Nicholas's body, the confusing mix of penis and vagina, the lean narrow hips and tiny budding breasts, and had to clench his teeth iron-hard to keep from groaning in pure bliss. The heat, the elastic kiss of Nicholas's body, were almost unbearably sweet. And regardless of all the harsh words, the distasteful things that had had to happen in order to see them here, it was clear that Nicholas too felt the connection. Not only the physical, but something else, something almost impossible to define. A ringing sense of rightness that made the hair on Snape's arms stand up, made him want to lean down and kiss Nicholas's open mouth, lick one of those hard pink nipples and see what Nicholas did in response.

No longer afraid he was hurting him, he thrust with more vigor, bewildered and gratified when Nicholas met him with the same flavor of startled eagerness. Strong legs locked behind his back, pulling him as deep as he could possibly go.

He came with a throttled cry, unable to help himself, only vaguely aware of the way Nicholas panted and jerked underneath him. In all his life there had never been an orgasm like this, so long, and obliterating, and almost unbearably sweet.

Some last jolt of awareness kept him from collapsing on top of him, instead holding himself on trembling arms while he caught his breath and reluctantly withdrew. There was blood on Nicholas's thighs, but not so much, and the smear of semen on Nicholas's chest spoke to his own pleasure.

With shaking hands Snape made himself reach down to grasp the abandoned bed sheet, pulling it back over Nicholas's body. For once no remark came to his lips, sarcastic or otherwise. He was utterly drained, in more ways than one, and it was all he could do to step back into his trousers and stagger to a chair.

"Don't sit up, Nick," he heard Juliet say, and Snape's eyes shot open at the reminder that she'd been there the whole time. He watched her pat Nicholas's leg. "You need to stay like this for a few minutes, all right?"

Nicholas still had his eyes closed, but his breathing was harshly audible. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Okay."

As quickly as it had started, the weird connection was gone. Suddenly Snape felt only exhaustion, and a deep sense of furtive disgust. Damn them. Damn them for not explaining how this would be, damn them thricely for all that they had never said. With an inarticulate sound he stood and made his way to the small en-suite bathroom.

Cleaned up and, if not exactly himself again, at least sufficiently composed, he emerged ten minutes later in time to see Juliet standing over the bed once more. Nicholas lay still, legs open under the sheet. Snape curled his lip angrily at the tendril of desire in his groin, and crossed his arms.

"What are you doing?" Nicholas asked the woman in a slurry voice.

"Checking," she replied absently, holding up the sheet to touch his abdomen. A pause, and then she put it back to rights again. She glanced at Snape and shook her head minutely.

"What?" Snape asked in a cold voice. "What does that mean?"

"He hasn't quickened."

Ignoring Nicholas's questioning sound Snape stalked over to stand nearby. "How can you possibly tell?"

"The same way any healing witch can." Juliet regarded him calmly. "It is my particular gift. And in this case, I tell you, as ready as you both are, it hasn't taken this time."

"Hasn't TAKEN?"

"He hasn't conceived."

Nicholas rolled over, his face terribly pale. "Wait a second." He sat up awkwardly, shrouded in a sheet no whiter than his cheeks. "It didn't work?"

The witch gave him a sympathetic look. "Not this time. I'm sorry. Perhaps --"

"You mean we have to do it AGAIN?"

"Yes, you must."

"Oh, CRAP," Nicholas whispered, and flopped back on the bed.

---

He should have thought of it himself. He’d watched Cabe and Marie try for years to have a baby, and he thought it’d be wham, bam, first time’s the charm? Not.

It didn’t much help. He ate the food Juliet brought him, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. On top of everything else, he was kinda sore down there. And just knowing the reason why felt like an out-of-body experience.

Snape sliced into his eggplant and said, "How do you feel?"

Nick shrugged. "How do you think I feel?"

The man regarded him impassively. "I don’t think," he said slowly, as if Nick hadn’t even spoken, "I believed it. Until today."

Nick fought down a bite of overcooked beef. "Believed what?"

"That it was real."

Fighting down the urge to snap something about how if he wanted to be sure it was real, try feeling it after you just got your cherry popped, Nick said briefly, "Well, it is. I guess. So." He placed his fork on the plate. Food just didn’t taste like anything but crap tonight. "When do we do it again?"

His brisk tone made Snape’s eyebrow arch upward. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and replied, "Whenever you feel you’re ready."

"Isn’t that up to them? I mean, it’s not like I have any say in it."

It sounded like whining to his own ears, and he saw Snape’s expression darken. "If you are physically uncomfortable," he enunciated, "we will wait until such time as that is no longer the case."

Abashed, and absolutely unable to apologize, Nick stared at his plate. "Then that’ll be forever."

Snape didn’t dignify that particular statement with a reply at all. No need.

---

Late that night, after a long sullen silence, Nicholas sank down on the bed and muttered, "So let’s get it over with, okay?"

Snape allowed a short nod. "If you’re certain." At Nicholas’s bleak assent, he went to the door and murmured a spell.

When he returned, Nicholas regarded him blankly. Without the sullen look, he was startlingly attractive. "Where's the -- Juliet?"

"The duenna? She's not coming," Snape replied calmly, sitting down to unlace his shoes.

"But -- She said she had to --"

"I don't give a damn what she said." Snape pulled off a sock and turned to look him full in the eye. "This room is locked and warded. If their spells are insufficient, then so be it. But I'll not have onlookers again. No more."

The look on Nicholas's face was both shocked and relieved. "Th -- Thank you," he said in an awkward whisper.

"Don't," Snape said shortly. "Should never have let them in the first place. Bloody snoops."

"I'm glad they won't be -- watching."

Snape sat up. "Listen to me," he said with a calm he didn't precisely feel. "I can't explain to you all of what is happening. No one can, I don't think. But I -- have a thought. One I'd like to share with you."

Nicholas swallowed visibly. "Okay."

"For whatever reason, however -- arcane it is, I'm very attracted to you." Snape drew a deep breath, oddly off-balance. "And I'd very much rather do away with the clinical aspects."

"Go on," Nicholas whispered, his eyes rapt.

"I'd like to make love to you," Snape said hesitantly.

Nicholas gave him a slow nod. "Take -- Take off your clothes?"

Snape allowed himself a tiny smile. "Of course."

He undressed silently, aware of Nicholas's taut eyes on him. Nude, he sat on the edge of the bed and toyed with the edge of the sheet. "We're going about this rather backwards."

Nicholas nodded. "But -- I like this better. I think."

"As do I. Would you like me to kiss you?"

"Yyeah."

A part of his mind still irrationally expected to feel as though he were kissing a man. Had done that before, years ago, but this was nothing like that. Nicholas’s lips were soft, and there was no beard stubble; his skin was smooth, softer than a man’s.

Aware of the ache in his groin, Snape retreated a fraction, gazing down into Nicholas’s dark unfathomable eyes. "Better?" he asked gently.

Nicholas gave a slow nod. Biting his lip, he said, "I feel it, too."

Snape nodded. "I know," he whispered.

When he bent to kiss Nicholas’s tiny breasts, he heard his gasp of unbidden pleasure. And another, and small aimless movements while Snape explored Nicholas’s body, the flat planes of his stomach and knobby arch of hipbones, the half-erect cock and nearly hairless scrotum. And behind that overtly masculine symbol, the surprise of pink flesh, parting as Nicholas spread his thighs, uttering a shaky sigh.

Snape kissed the soft skin of Nicholas’s inner thigh and felt him trembling, relaxing a little, then shivering anew when Snape tasted those folds for the first time. Nicholas produced a high warbling sound, as much surprise as pleasure. Smoothing into a hoarse moan that held no fear or startlement whatsoever.

This time when he entered him there was no resistance, inner or outward, and he slid into Nicholas’s body with a sigh of his own, partly relief, but mostly eagerness. And the same bone-shaking sense of rightness suffused him. As bizarre as it seemed, as strong as his doubts had been, not to mention Nicholas’s, at least this part of the old prophecy was true. They were indeed meant to do this.

"I didn’t know," Nicholas said in a shaky whisper, his cheeks flushed. "I didn’t know it would – be like this."

Snape shook his head and bent to kiss his lips. "How could you? Or I?"

Nicholas arched upward for another kiss, his eyelids fluttering closed.

All too soon he could no longer resist, and once again Nicholas met his passion with equal fervor, writhing ardently beneath him and gasping when his climax struck. And just as he felt his own body tighten with his release, he heard something, far-off, like bells on a cloudy morning from miles away. Every hair on his body stood up, and Nicholas cried out harshly, eyes wide with terror and blazing joy.

---

He felt it, when Gareth was conceived. Not yet called Gareth, of course, but that moment when he came into existence. A microscopic split, one cell becoming two, and four. It felt as if his bones had shattered and been instantly repaired, singing with amazed strength.

For a very long moment Snape hung over him, lean body tense with pleasure and surprise. And then he let out a harsh gasp and sagged, long hair drifting to brush Nick’s face.

Not that greasy, Nick thought dizzily. Why’d I think that?

Breathing hard, Snape’s eyes met his own.

"I think we did it," Nick said fuzzily, and grinned.

With a short nod Snape slid free of him, and Nick couldn’t help a disappointed mumble as he rolled over to lie beside him.

"That," Snape said very clearly, "was not quite what I expected, either."

Nick frowned. "You don’t –"

"Much, much more." Snape’s head turned, his hand reaching out to touch Nick’s belly, a whisper of fingertips. "I suppose we should tell the duenna."

Suddenly sleepy, Nick yawned and rolled against him, throwing an experimental leg over Snape’s thighs and feeling him tense, then relax. "In the morning," Nick mumbled. "They can wait that long."

Snape’s arm curved around Nick’s back, fingers lightly stroking his skin. "They can indeed," he murmured.

---

 

Chapter Four

 

 

The next morning, staring at the backlit curtains, Snape said, "I can't just leave you. Not like this."

Nicholas stirred in his arms, turning to slide his hand over Snape's bare stomach. "Like what? Knocked up?"

Snape allowed a brief smile. "That, too." He pushed himself away enough to look at him. "What will you do now?" he asked, the smile slipping away. "Have you made any plans?"

Nicholas gazed at him, and then shook his head. "I wasn't -- I don't think I believed this would ever happen. Could ever happen. How could I plan for that?"

"Is there someplace you can go? For the duration?"

Nicholas appeared to consider it. "Home, I guess." His tone was doubtful. "They'd take care of me."

"Or?"

With a sigh Nicholas drew away, pulling up the blankets. "There isn't an 'or.' I'll think of something."

Hating himself a little, Snape laid a hand on Nicholas's flat belly. "You're with child now," he said baldly. "If the tales are true -- if what we've done here has been the right thing, and I think now we both believe it has -- then this child must be protected. There are many in the world who would stop at little to hurt you. Or it. Both of you."

"You don't think I know that?" Nick replied harshly, sitting up. "I FEEL it. You don't have to lecture me."

"Then come back with me."

He had no idea who was more surprised: Nicholas, at hearing it, or himself at saying it. "Come with you?" Nicholas echoed, staring at him. "To England?"

"Scotland, actually, but never mind. Yes. What better place?"

"You've got to be --"

"I'm not joking," Snape said sharply. He sat up himself, catching one of Nicholas's hands and clasping it tightly. "I would not see you hurt, in any way, because of this," he continued. "And at Hogwarts we can make sure you're safe. Dozens of wizards, witches, all manner of folk, all of whom know the meaning of this. Know how very important this is. You would be protected. And," he added, when he saw Nicholas draw breath to interrupt. "And there would be no foolishness of having to try to explain to all these damned Muggles how a handsome fellow like you just happens to have a bun in the oven."

A reluctant smile twitched the corners of Nicholas's mouth. "Good point," he conceded after a moment. "But I don't even know what -- how --"

"Ask for a leave of absence. They have such things in your country, do they not?"

"Of course." Nicholas's eyes narrowed a bit. "But not just because you decide you want one. There has to be a reason."

"Tell them you have to go abroad for family reasons."

"I'm not sure."

Snape waited a moment before saying softly, "You can't stay. You know that. Is -- Would you be willing to leave your position?"

Nicholas's face crumpled a little. "I don't want to," he cried in a low, hurt voice. "You want me to give up my whole life, and it's --"

"I don't want you to do anything, necessarily," Snape interrupted. "In Merlin's name, no. I only want to help, if I might."

Reaching up to rub his eye, Nicholas said only, "I need to think about it. I just -- I can’t decide this just like that."

"Understood," Snape whispered. "Of course."

---

When he opened the door, he found all three of his local benefactors standing outside, looking anxious and a little pissed off.

"Well," Nick said slowly. "We’re done."

Juliet Sanders’ eyes narrowed, and then a beatific smile lit her face. "Yes," she whispered. "You are, aren’t you?"

Cunningham cleared his throat officiously. And then, to Nick’s surprise and discomfort, he bowed deeply, a gesture immediately copied by his two companions.

"Uh, thanks," Nick mumbled.

When the trio straightened, he was shocked all over again to see tears in Juliet’s eyes. "Just think," she whispered, brushing her cheeks with both hands. "We were here to see it."

Johnson’s cheeks were very red, and he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder before giving Nick a look hardly less adoring than hers had been. "Well," he said in a heavily jovial voice. "Guess we’re all done, too."

Nick nodded cautiously. "So that’s it? I can go?"

"Of course, of course. I –" He paused. "You do have some sort of, well. Support, don’t you? Family? Friends?"

Nick swallowed. "I’ll manage."

"But what about pre-natal care?" Juliet now looked worried all over again. "You’ll need regular medical checkups. You can’t just –"

"Look, I’ve only been pr –" He faltered. "Like this," he mumbled, "for like, eight hours or something. I mean, I’m not gonna pop in the next thirty minutes, okay? There’s time."

"She’s right."

He flinched, hearing Snape’s even, rich voice behind him. Shrouded in his customary black once more, the man looked forbidding, and not anything like the guy Nick had just been in bed with half an hour ago. "A doctor’s care is not the only thing you will need in the next nine months," Snape continued slowly. "A protected environment, to name another."

"I said I needed time to think about it," Nick hissed.

"Then I will remain with you until such time as you’ve thought it over," came the immediate clipped reply. "Or do I not have some say in the matter, as the child’s father?"

Nick blinked at him. "Stay – here?"

An impatient look. "Here, in this city, yes. I’d prefer to find somewhat more spacious accommodations, but otherwise -- Right here."

"But your job –"

"—Can be handled by someone else in my absence. Somewhat adequately, one hopes," Snape added darkly. "My concern is you at the moment."

"I’ll be fine," Nick snapped, even though, well, was that true? After all, now he was

PREGNANT

and what the hell did he know about fine?

Snape’s dubious expression said he was thinking along the very same lines. "Be that as it may," he said in a calm, faintly annoying voice, "this pregnancy changes everything. Until such time as you are better – situated, you understand."

"We can help you, Nick," Juliet told him, her hand warm on his arm. "In fact we’d be honored."

"You don’t see this sort of thing every day," said Cunningham. An awkward, honest smile creased his features. "Once in a lifetime. You can depend on us."

"Absolutely," Johnson mumbled. "No doubt about it."

Glancing helplessly at Snape, Nick caught his uncertain look. "I want to go home," Nick blurted. Shocked, he realized he was about half an inch from bawling his eyes out. Too much, too fast, way too intense. Didn’t even feel like he could breathing, suddenly. "Can I do that?"

Everyone babbled at once, about of course, and Merlin’s name, and is your bag ready. Snape said nothing, his dark eyes filled with doubt.

---

Nicholas lived in an apartment, the sort of thing Snape vaguely recollected being called a condominium. Not as large as Snape’s own set of apartments at Hogwarts, of course, not nearly, but considerably better than a cramped, impersonal hotel room.

Nicholas set his bag on the floor and glanced at him. "Want something to drink?"

Snape lifted his chin. "You have no fireplace."

"Huh? Oh." Nicholas’s eyebrows lifted. "I don’t floo much. My old place had one, but not this one."

"You apparate instead?"

The open look on Nicholas’s face shuttered a bit. "Not much."

"Then how do you travel? Surely you don’t confine yourself to Muggle –"

"Airplanes aren’t so bad. You should try it sometime."

Snape allowed a delicate shudder. "Out of the question."

Nicholas shrugged and walked into the kitchen. "Do you drink beer?"

"I could, yes."

"Cool."

While he got the drinks, Snape walked slowly around the living area. Comfortably furnished, and not a magical article in sight. In fact, it felt as if he’d been plopped into the middle of mainstream Muggle life. If he hadn’t known from the start that Nicholas was in many ways as magical as he was, there certainly would have been no way of telling from this residence. It was as bland and ordinary as paper.

"Here you go."

Snape turned, accepting the chilly bottle Nicholas held out. The ale tasted rich and dark, and he lifted an eloquent eyebrow before saying, "Do you hate magic that much, then?"

Nicholas blinked, meeting his inquisitive eyes briefly before glancing away. "I don’t hate it," he muttered.

Seating himself on the broad divan, Snape shrugged. "But you refuse to use it. By all appearances, at least. I find it curious."

Nicholas sat opposite him, tense in an overstuffed chair. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and with a slow sense of worry Snape registered the immense tiredness in his eyes. "It’s not that intentional," Nicholas said slowly. "Or it wasn’t. I work with Muggles. My parents are Muggles, all of my family. I’m the only one in my family with any magic at all, since my uncle. It just didn’t feel – right to use magic when nobody else could."

"But here, in your own home –"

"I wasn’t ever really that good at it," Nicholas mumbled. His cheeks had gone distinctly red. "I mean, I barely passed my O.W.L.s. I’m like, a magical retard or something."

Snape gazed at him. "But you -- You’re –" He clamped his lips over the startled half-questions, distantly annoyed with himself.

"I know." Nicholas produced a tired, self-deprecating smile. "All this, and I can barely apparate. I mean, if I hadn’t been born this way, you know, freaky, I think they’d never have invited me to go to wizard school."

"You aren’t freakish," Snape said severely. "Unique in your generation, perhaps. Definitely. But not freakish."

Nicholas gave a limp shrug. "Whatever." He sipped his ale.

"Should you be drinking that? Under the circumstances?"

Nicholas regarded both him and the bottle with equal surprise. "Oh. Crap."

Snape shifted and shook his head. "Nicholas, I must say –"

"Call me Nick. Okay?"

Snape gazed at him, and he added, awkwardly, "Nobody calls me Nicholas. So – formal."

"All right, then. Nick. Would you be more comfortable calling me Severus?"

Nick mouthed the word, and grinned. "It’s a mouthful. Sure."

"Nick, then. I feel less than reassured. You’re woefully unprepared for any of this, can’t you see? The care that must be taken, both physically and magically. This isn’t something you can simply forget about for the next nine months. It won’t –"

"I’m not forgetting about it!" Nick flared.

"Even so." Snape regarded him soberly. "Do you know what happened to your predecessor?"

Nick stared at him, then ducked his head. "He died."

"He didn’t just die, Nick. He was killed. Murdered. Quite viciously."

"I know that," Nick muttered.

Fighting down an urge to snap at him, Snape said, "Then you understand my concern."

"I’m gonna be fine."

His control faltered. "That is precisely the mindset I am trying to address," Snape said fiercely. "Without certain safeguards in effect, you will NOT be fine. Nor will the child. It is a risk I am unprepared to take!"

"I’m not your wife," Nick snapped, going tense. "I’m not gonna stand around barefoot in the goddamn KITCHEN for the next year! I have a LIFE, Sn – Severus! I’m not just a freakin’ INCUBATOR!"

"No one has said that you are," Snape returned just as tightly. "No one. But you must – you MUST – find some sort of compromise!"

"And I will! Just – give me some time to THINK!"

"Think all you like! Just make sure your cogitation doesn’t leave you open to attack!"

Nick drew back a little. "No one’s going – to attack me," he said unsteadily. "There’s no reason."

Allowing a sigh of pure frustration, Snape said, "That is precisely my point. There is confidence, Nicholas, and then there is outright stupidity. What you’ve just said is one of those. Care to hazard a guess which?"

"But who?" There was no real anger in his voice any longer. He sounded quenched, far less certain. "Who’d want to do that? It doesn’t – make sense."

"It isn’t required to make sense," Snape said coldly. "It simply is. The last individual like yourself died choking on his own blood. For whatever reason, his existence – the existence of the child he carried – was perceived as a threat. And that threat was eliminated. I would very much prefer NOT to see you meet the same fate. Is that clear?"

"But –"

"Listen to me, Nicholas." Injecting every bit of compassion into his voice he could, and wishing bleakly it weren’t so difficult for him, Snape continued, "Folk like yourself have always been born. One per generation, always carrying children with immense power. Need I remind you of historical precedent? Few of those children have ever survived to be born. The last one to live became a very important person, but his siblings, in that particular sense, were rarely so fortunate. This child – OUR child," he added fiercely, "MUST be protected. And you are no less important, do you understand me? Whether or not you admit it, you are unique, and valued, and it is not only because of the life you carry but because of who you ARE."

Nick’s mouth opened and closed, but he said nothing. His dark eyes were filled with fear, and bleak understanding.

"Merlin," Snape muttered, leaning back on the divan. "If it’s all the same to you," he said tiredly, lifting the empty bottle in his hand, "I wouldn’t mind another of these."

"Yeah," Nick agreed hollowly. "Me, either."

"Perhaps you should confine yourself to a bit of pumpkin juice instead."

"I got orange."

"That will do."

Sitting up again, Snape said awkwardly, "I’m sorry to be so blunt. I’m afraid it’s a – tendency."

The exhaustion in Nick’s features had intensified. He nodded. "It’s okay," he replied dully. "I don’t -- I’m not sure what to do."

"Be careful," Snape whispered. "For starters."

"Yeah. Okay."

---

Chapter Five

 

 

A week later, he was back at work, and very, very close to murdering the father of his child.

"Would you quit WATCHING me?" Nick snapped early one morning, glaring at Severus.

"Pardon me," came Snape’s icy reply. "Difficult to avoid the spectacle of someone making an utter and complete dolt of himself."

Nick snorted and went back to juicing oranges. "I don’t see you contributing anything. Why don’t you go back to your precious Hogwarts and make a potion or something? Maybe one that gives you something approximating a real human personality?"

"You know, if someone were to attack you right at this very moment, I would give serious thought as to whether or not to render assistance."

"Fine. If I’m dead, at least I don’t have to deal with YOU anymore."

"That could be arranged."

"Eat me."

"What?"

Keeping his back turned, Nick fought down a grin. "Stuff it. Get lost. Floo your complaining over-watchful ass back to Neverland."

"I can’t floo; there’s no fireplace. And Never –" A moment of silence. "Mockery is a last bastion of small minds, Nicholas."

"Call me Nicholas one more time and I’m stuffing this orange where the sun don’t shine."

"Continue to act as you are, and I will sneak a potion into your dinner that will give you breasts the size of –"

"You WOULDN’T."

"My darling dear, light of my life, bearer of my unborn progeny – I most certainly would."

"Asshole."

"WHY must you do this the Muggle way?" With an impatient huff Snape walked to the breakfast bar, standing over him like some kind of supercilious raven. "The simplest of spells, and observe." Where a bowl full of oranges had sat, patiently awaiting their turn through the juicer, there now stood a brimming pitcher of bright orange juice. "Even you can master that. Surely."

Nick stared at him. "That’s cheating."

"That’s MAGIC! An art to which you, too, are most definitely inclined, if you would only –"

"What? If I would only what? Be like you?" Nick snorted. "I want my bowl back."

"Conjure it yourself."

"Hey, YOU made it disappear! YOU do it!"

"Prove to me you can, and next time I will."

Nick narrowed his eyes. "What, you think I can’t? Is that it?"

Snape gave a delicate shrug.

With a muttered obscenity, Nick spun on his heel and walked into the bedroom. Somewhere, in the chest, maybe. He pawed through sweaters and his old yearbooks. No. Closet? One of the boxes. Maybe.

When he returned twenty minutes later, brandishing his slightly dusty wand, Snape was calmly sipping orange juice. Mustering himself, Nick murmured a spell.

The glass in Snape’s hand gave a tiny leap, and became a very alarmed, very live fish.

"Merlin!" Snape yelped, flinging the startled fish into the sink.

"I said ‘glass,’ not ‘bass,’" Nick whispered. "Damn it."

With a muttered few words the terrified fish vanished, and Snape turned to regard him with cold eyes. "That," he enunciated, "is precisely why."

Nick stuck his chin out, but inside he was a little alarmed. So he was rusty. Didn’t use magic any more than he had to, and since he left Dallas that wasn’t much. Wasn’t any, actually. Crap, he hadn’t even known where his wand WAS, much less have much practice with it.

But damn. A FISH?

"I believe," Severus added, "that my point has been adequately demonstrated. You are hopelessly out of practice. You must – MUST come with me to Hogwarts."

Casting a dirty look at his wand, Nick sighed. "I told you what I decided, Sev." He laid the wand on the counter and slung himself onto a bar stool. "I’ll go when the time is right. All right? Until then, I’m staying here. Doing my job."

"I truly believe you may be the most insufferably, intentionally exasperating, monumentally –"

"You warded the house. Right?"

Snape gave a stiff nod. "Of course, but –"

"And you put that spell on my truck."

"Work that would not have been necessary had you only –"

"Juliet checked me out yesterday. I’m fine, the baby’s fine."

"That was yesterday. What about –"

"So I’m staying here, until I start getting to be about the same SIZE as my truck. And then I’ll go stay in Scotland, or wherever." Nick stared at him. "We AGREED to all that. Or was that just a bunch of crap?"

Lips tight, Snape said, "And if you’re attacked?"

"They can’t attack me here."

"Your workplace is completely unwarded. Anyone, at any time, could –"

"They haven’t. And I don’t think they’re gonna. But if they do, man, we talked about this, too. If something happens, then yeah. I’ll go. But it’s not gonna. I’m gonna be okay. We’re both gonna be okay."

Snape’s expression was utterly unconvinced.

"Look, you’re driving yourself crazy here." Nick reached out and touched Snape’s black-clad arm. "You’re driving ME crazy. You don’t have anything to do, you’re sitting around making me miserable and yourself, and you don’t NEED to."

"You may need me," came Snape’s surprisingly unsteady reply.

Nick crossed his arms. "You know what you are?"

"I believe the most recent term was ‘asshole’ –"

"You’re sexist."

Snape’s mouth opened, and after a moment he huffed, "I most certainly am NOT."

"You are an asshole. A sexist, chauvinist asshole."

"You –"

"If I were really a guy? You’d have said good luck, owl me if you need anything. Wouldn’t you?" Nick demanded.

Snape’s cheeks had gone an alarmingly purplish shade. "Of course not!"

"Liar. Well, go ahead. Go! Because I AM still a guy, in case you’d forgotten, all right! I can take care of myself! AND the baby!"

Apoplectic, Snape said something inarticulate, and then gave a slow, over-controlled nod. "Do you really want me to go that badly?"

Nick stood with his own mouth open, gazing at him. Did he? Snape was annoying, that much was definitely true. Aggravating, oh yes. Pretty much an asshole, and the sexist part wasn’t that off the mark, either.

But really leave? As in don’t come back, don’t call me I’ll call you?

He sighed, and shook his head slowly. "No," he said after a very long moment. "Not really."

Snape stood very still, drawn up to his full height, a tall lean crow figure still marvelously out of place in Nick’s living room. "I apologize," he said clearly, "if I’ve offended your sensibilities. I am concerned, Nicholas."

Relenting, Nick walked slowly over to him, ignoring the touch-me-not veneer and leaning against him. He waited until a reluctant hand whispered over his shoulder, and mumbled, "Just let me do my job, okay? While I still can. All right?"

"Very well." Stiff, but not as freeze-dried as a few moments ago.

"And I’ll practice. I will. You can help me with that, right?"

"Of course."

"And everything’ll be cool."

"Possibly."

"It will."

Snape’s lip curled eloquently. "Compromise?" he said hesitantly.

Nick grinned. "Now you’re talkin’."

"You’ll have me driving that infernal automobile of yours next."

"You know, that reminds me…."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t particularly care for the current arrangement in the lab. Oh, from a professional standpoint it wasn’t without some basis in logic: split shifts meant broader coverage, more overlap, that sort of thing. But from a personal point of view, he felt critically isolated.

Plainly put, he missed his guys.

Take this evening. He had no idea what Warrick or Nick had been up to. It wasn’t supposed to matter, after all. Catherine had things well in hand. And yet Gil felt like asking. So, anything interesting today? Tell me what you’ve been doing.

Would either one perceive that as professional courtesy, or rather prying? Checking up on them, or just touching base? He couldn’t tell. And the uncertainty kept him from asking, even when he felt almost sure neither man would mind it in the slightest.

Tonight, the lab felt quiet. Nothing huge, then, in the early evening. He wouldn’t only have been told; he’d have felt it. Ratchet the tension high enough, and even he noticed. So there were no big cases to hand off to night shift.

So instead of hunting down Warrick or Nick, just to be friendly, he went to his office and pushed papers, and wished a little forlornly for someone to drop by.

Gratifyingly, they both did.

"Easy night," Warrick proclaimed, commandeering the chair across from Gil’s desk. "Hope you brought some cards."

"Hey," Nick said indignantly. "Not THAT easy."

Gil took off his glasses and found a smile on his face. "I take it you disagree, Nick?"

Warrick grinned. "He’s just bitching because he had to get his feet wet."

"Try soaked, man." Nick perched on the edge of the table against the left wall of Gil’s office. "Coulda told me ahead of time I’d need waders."

"Like I said," was Warrick’s complacent reply. "Bitching."

Gil lifted his chin. "Weren’t you on vacation?" he asked Nick.

"Yeah." Nick’s expression turned opaque.

"The OTHER reason he’s bitching." Warrick hadn’t stopped grinning.

"When did you get back?"

"Couple days ago."

"Go anywhere?"

Nick crossed his arms. "Nah, had some visitors," he said briefly.

Still studying him, Gil felt his smile slipping. Nick’s usual carefree nature was noticeably damped tonight. Bad visit? Who could say? "I see," Gil said uncertainly.

"Aw, come on." Warrick stood officiously. "Let’s go grab some food."

Nick didn’t look particularly mollified. "Okay, but you’re buyin’."

Warrick shrugged. "Long as you don’t want filet mignon, man."

"Actually –"

"Not EVEN."

Nick grinned. "Paco’s?"

"That’s more like it." Warrick glanced at Gil. "Wanna join us?"

Gil put his glasses back on. "Unfortunately, for some of us the night is just beginning."

"All right. Later, man."

Nick looked at him and made a sympathetic face. "Have a good night, Grissom."

"You, too, Nicky," Gil said quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t think much about it after that. Shifts were the way they were, and if he missed working with Warrick and Nick, he didn’t mind those he did work with. Greg’s skills were improving, along with his confidence, and Sara had never been short on either. If there was no real equivalent with his former coworkers’ easy banter, there were enough positives to balance out.

So when he went to visit the john, about two weeks after his last friendly chat with his erstwhile colleagues, he was not at all prepared to find Nick sitting fully dressed on the single toilet, sobbing his heart out.

"I." Gil stopped short, jaw sagging. "Nick?"

Nick floundered, a fast horrified look before he visibly gathered himself, using toilet paper to wipe his nose. "Hey, sorry." His voice was clogged with tears, but he cleared his throat loudly as he stood, depositing the soggy paper in the toilet and flushing it. "It’s all yours, man."

"The – door wasn’t locked. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…." Gil trailed off, feeling desperately uncomfortable.

"Nah, it’s okay. Musta forgot." Nick gave a fast, game smile that didn’t involve him actually looking Gil in the eye. He went over to wash his hands, and Gil saw his fingers trembling.

Gil leaned against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You want to talk about it?" he asked helplessly.

Nick gave a brisk shake of his head. "No, man, thanks. Just – one of those nights, you know? No biggie."

Taking in Nick’s terrible pallor, Gil frowned prodigiously. "Nicky, what’s going on? I know we don’t work together very much any longer, but my door is always open. Always."

Nick splashed water on his face and fumbled for a paper towel. "Yeah, thanks, I ah. Appreciate that." He threw the towels in the trash and sniffed. "I better, you know. Get back to it."

"Did something happen?"

An odd, bitter smile came and went, leaving Nick paler than before. "Just some crap," Nick muttered. The next smile was bigger, and falser. "Don’t worry about it. Hey, but thanks."

"Any time," Gil murmured, as Nick brushed past him and walked rapidly away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

But he watched after that. Much more closely than before. Not that it was easy to do. He flat-out had no excuse to see much of Nick, not on their adjusted schedules, and so it took arriving a few minutes early, lingering in areas he really had little business occupying.

What he saw only added to his increasing sense of wrongness.

There was no more crying, at least not where Gil, or to his knowledge anyone else, ever saw. But Nick’s haggard appearance did not appreciably improve. He looked tired, and often vaguely ill.

And one night, watching Nick furtively from the ell next to the fibers lab, it occurred to Gil that Nick looked different. Truly different, in ways Gil wondered at in the same moment he saw them. His sharply chiseled features were the tiniest bit softer. Weight? Nick didn’t look any heavier, but there was no question his jaw wasn’t quite the heroic lantern it used to be. Everything about his face seemed just the least bit – softened.

The next time he saw him, the impression was gone. Nick looked perfectly ordinary. With a stab of sharp uncertainty, Gil frowned. Now you see it, now you don’t? Just a few pounds’ fluctuation? What else could it be?

Shaking his head, he cast a long look at Nick’s restored jaw, and went on with his work.

---

Chapter Six

 

 

Eventually he and Snape reached an agreement they both could live with, at least for the moment. Snape promised to stop getting on his case about prophecies and threats and muttering about how the climate in Scotland was very lovely this time of year and I admit the castle’s just the tiniest bit drafty, and well, the ghosts are annoying at times, yes, but wouldn’t you prefer that to, well, DEATH, and Nick promised to stop being bullheaded about denying there WAS any threat and admit that yes, it’s true that the last person like me met a really gross fate and was sort of stupid in assuming he could fight off all attacks, and Vegas is tacky and loud and way too hot, and I’ll call you if I need anything. At all.

In the meantime, Snape would be staying weekends, and probably popping in during the week at times, too, and that was that. Glowering at him, Snape extracted an additional promise that sometime in the next month he’d come to Hogwarts for a visit, meet the folks, that sort of thing. Nick rather suspected it was a ruse, and Snape intended it to be proof that Nick belonged with wizards and witches and lots of kids with no better magical skills than he had, but he was willing to offer the benefit of the doubt. Marginally.

"Here," Snape said gruffly one afternoon, handing him a crude medallion. "Take this."

Nick examined it curiously. Heavy, obviously gold. "Wow, is this real?"

"Very real, and very old. Please do take some care with it; it’s been in my family for a great number of generations."

"Doubloon?" Nick considered biting it, and thought again. "So what’s it for?"

With a gusty sigh Snape replied, "It’s a portkey, and don’t be thick."

"Oh."

He put Snape’s portkey in his pocket, with the assurance that yes, he was quite aware of how to use it, and would if the time seemed right. Snape gave him a lingering, uncertain look, and vanished.

And it wasn’t like he really missed the guy. Although it was nice having someone to come home to. Well, nice when that someone wasn’t bitching at him about something. But two days later Snape scared the shit out of him by suddenly apparating into the living room, and after Nick’s palpitations eased up, they had a nice dinner – breakfast, really – and Snape told a dry, utterly hilarious story about some kid at the school named Neville and his amazing exploding potions, and all of a sudden Nick felt a hot, tight sensation in his belly that had nothing at all to do with the parasite in his abdomen and everything to do with the proximity of Snape’s elegant black-clad form.

After Snape left, Nick sat nursing his pumpkin juice – found a place downtown that stocked it, although he pretty much doubted the store was on any Muggle shopping lists – and thinking about the fact that he’d really like to see what it was like to have sex with Snape without anyone watching over them or waiting.

Maybe even, you know. Girl-part sex.

He went to bed, alone and horny, and had dreams about long-fingered hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~

About two months after he returned to work, he started noticing a few things. The first was in a lot of ways the biggest, and yet for whatever contrary reason he dealt with it the easiest: He started throwing up. Morning sickness, gotta love it, and his struck with dismal regularity. About an hour after he got up, well, time to hork.

It came and went fast, though, usually, and even if a few times he threw up at work, or out in the field, it didn’t happen that often, nor did he think anyone noticed. If they ever did, he reasoned, he could always say he’d had to work with something especially gruesome. He didn’t have a rep for barfing at the sight of blood or body parts, but it sure wasn’t out of the question.

And for the first time in his life, he was aware of being female. Not too hard to figure, right? After all he was

PREGNANT

which was just about the ultimate expression of femininity, period. But knowing that was one thing; feeling it, another.

For one thing, his boobs hurt. They weren’t much bigger, fortunately, but man, they were tender. Strapping them down was physically painful, and he was never so relieved as when he got home and could undo it all. Even his damn SHIRTS hurt.

Not to mention he peed all the time. What was up with that? Thought that only happened later, but he took so many leaks it really WAS something other people would notice. People like Warrick, who one evening stunned him by asking flat-out if he had some kind of infection. No, Nick thought dizzily, just another one of the many joys of being preggo, man. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, doncha know.

And the ensuing spate of hysterical laughter was bad, because it was part of the freaking emotional rollercoaster he was on these days. Crying one minute, ten-minute laughing jag the next. Clocking out one night, Catherine looked at him funny and said, "You know, if you were a woman I’d assume it was that time of the month."

That laugh lasted nearly twenty minutes. Nothing like going for an all-time best.

This was no rollercoaster; it was the goddamn Hormone Express, and this particular ride wasn’t gonna let up anytime real soon.

Which led him to the third thing, and compared to that the other two were cake. Because Grissom caught him bawling in the john one time, and after that, it was like being under the microscope every night.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know he was taking some risks. A part of him – a heavily Snape-influenced part, no doubt – said, Shoulda gone to Scotland, Nick-eee. Hide decently. Sure, no matter where you go there are gonna be people staring, because hello? Pregnant man? Yeah. Never mind you aren’t a man; you still look enough like one to pass – mostly, for the moment at least – and that’s plenty. But at least in Magicville there are other weird things, a lot of ‘em so weird you’d be cake by comparison.

Another part dug in its heels and said, In my own damn time, and no sooner. Because he didn’t want to leave. This was home. This was familiar, this was safe. Or sort of safe, at least.

But when the lights were low and there was nobody around but himself and the marble inside his stomach, well. He could admit the real reason, the bedrock-deep reason he put up such a struggle against the idea of leaving Las Vegas. Going meant leaving people. People he cared very much about. Oh, it wasn’t like he was protecting anyone; they’d be perfectly fine without him around. Not that. No, this was more about himself. As in, he wasn’t completely sure HE would be okay without THEM.

Specifically, Gil Grissom.

Hard enough when the shifts got jacked up. He loved Catherine, really did, but she was flat-out the supervisor from hell a lot of the time, and he wished he had a dollar for every time he’d thought about telling her to take one of her high-heeled shoes and stick it. Hello? Had she forgotten the fact that not so long ago she and Nick had been elbow-to-elbow in the goddamn trenches? Or that even more recently, it had been HIS name up for promotion, and the only reason he hadn’t promoted was some bureaucratic butt-fucking behind the scenes?

So right, the current shift structure was less than perfect. Way less. But he’d stay, probably stay if Ecklie himself were to decide to take over swing shift. Because staying meant being within hailing distance of Grissom. And that, after all was said and done, was what it was all about.

Except now he was starting to wonder about the wisdom of that. Because it might take a two-by-four to make Grissom see interpersonal things. He skated happily along the top layer of relationships, professional ones at least, and blithely didn’t see a hell of a lot that was right in front of his eyes.

But Grissom was sharp as NAILS when it came to evidence. And whether he wanted to or not, Nick had given him something to look at.

Bad enough that Grissom chose the worst possible moment to barge in on him in the bathroom. That was rank stupidity on Nick’s part; if you’re gonna have a meltdown and bawl your eyes out in the john, at least lock the damn door before you do. But it had been a crap shift, lots of uncomfortable domestic-disturbance shit, and he couldn’t stop thinking about his OWN bizarre arrangement with Severus Snape and the kidlet he had baking in his oven, and for the first time he thought, I’m gonna have to squeeze this thing out of my BODY one of these days, and it’s gonna HURT, and I’m SCARED.

So when the express came roaring through, he sat in the john and cried, didn’t have much choice about the crying part and at least it was solitary. Buckets of tears, fountain of snot, the whole enchilada, giving Grissom a real eyeful when he walked in.

Covering was pretty much impossible. He did the best he could, and beat it, and hoped for the best while realizing, coldly, that he might just have let the cat out of the bag with that miscalculation.

Still might have flown. But Grissom was watching, paying attention, and Nick had never been so suddenly glad that they worked different shifts now, because Snape’s vigilant regard was one thing, but Gil Grissom had Snape beat hands-down in the figuring-out-the-puzzle competition. Once he DID notice something, he couldn’t rest until he’d figured out its secrets.

And there were things to notice. Because for the first time in his adult life, Nick was having trouble maintaining his seamless glamours. Maybe it was physiology; maybe it was lack of focus; maybe something wonky was happening to him as a result of being

PREGNANT

and it meant he had to tweak the works, restructure the way he formatted his particular trick-of-the-eye spells. Whatever, he was catching glimpses of himself in mirrors and glass walls and seeing he had no beard stubble, or his invented Adam’s apple was missing, things like that. And one of these days, Grissom was going to see that. See it, because he was looking for shit, looking for clues, and Nick was giving them to him.

Getting ready for his shift one afternoon, he gazed at himself sternly in the mirror and thought, No fuckups allowed, Stokes. Get it right, or don’t bother at all. This was your idea, this staying thing. Make it work, or make Snape happy and disapparate to Hogwarts, because it’s either/or. No shirt, no shoes, no service.

~~~~~~~~~

With a sigh, Gil leaned back in his chair. Going to be one of those nights, one criminalist short. Sara, on a long-scheduled trip to Chicago to present a paper, an absence he had completely forgotten to notate. Greg was capable, and certainly a hard worker, but two people would have trouble handling a full shift by themselves, no matter how much experience they had between them. Just a hard fact.

Offered double callback, Warrick turned him down flat. "Got plans, man, sorry. Can’t break ‘em."

Or didn’t want to, for mere cash, Gil thought glumly.

Nick, on the other hand, shrugged and said, "Sure. I mean, I’m already here. What you got?"

Relieved, Gil leaned against the door jamb. "Greg’s up to his ears in evidence on the Horton case; I don’t want to pull him away from that. Time-sensitive. Care to join me for a hit-and-run?"

Nick grinned. "Be like old times."

Gil snorted and nodded.

The scene was an understandable shambles. Made infinitely worse by the tender age of the victim: a ten-year-old girl, darting away from her parents’ care to chase after a cat.

The sobbing mother was no help, but the father kept it together long enough to explain that their family pet had been killed less than a year ago, run over by a car. The girl, sadly named Angel, had had a soft spot for animals in jeopardy ever since, but no, he’d never thought she’d get out of the car to help one, and not in traffic.

"Didn’t even save that damn cat," Mr. Lopez blurted, and burst into tears.

He’d left Nick to photograph the body. Now, as the coroner’s van rumbled away, Gil caught up with him, frowning at Nick’s drawn appearance.

"I don’t think charges will be filed," Gil said evenly, with a glance at the shaken driver now being gruffly questioned by officers. "Misadventure. Sad, but it happens."

Nick gave a slow nod. "Girl just wanted to help a stray cat," he murmured. "Guess she wasn’t thinking."

"No. You all right, Nicky?"

"Yeah." Nick drew a fast breath. "I’m on it."

He kept an eye on him anyway. He’d worked with Nick a long time; the man had a soft heart, one thus far not irreparably dented by the grisly, often tragic nature of their work. Gil devoutly hoped that day would never come.

And once started, he couldn’t stop watching. Because the sense of subtle difference was back. Could chalk it up to time, his memory exaggerating Nick’s appearance, his demeanor. But he didn’t think that was it. The tickle he reluctantly recognized as instinct told him this was something else. Something far odder.

For one thing, Nick looked good. Granted, he’d always been a handsome guy, and Gil had never been completely immune to that fact, no matter how often he’d told himself in the past that it was irrelevant. Now, though, Nick was, well.

Glowing.

Even sobered by the Lopez girl’s untimely death, there was an…aura about him, one that Gil couldn’t quite define but most definitely recognize. And it was far more noticeable in the stronger light of the lab. Nick looked healthy, substantial, VITAL.

It was a quite devastatingly good look for him, and Gil clamped down a bit wearily on the part of himself that whispered, Good enough to eat, and sighed.

Nick glanced at him, eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"Are you taking vitamins?"

Nick sat up, his open expression visibly shuttering. "Vitamins?" he echoed dubiously.

Gil produced a rueful smile. "You look different. I couldn’t help noticing."

"I take vitamins, yeah," Nick said. His cheeks had gone pink. "Guess they’re doing their job, huh."

With a sharp, icy shock, Gil realized Nick’s Adam’s apple was gone.

"What?" Gil whispered.

"What?" Nick asked breathlessly.

"Nick. You really do look different." A cold curl of new alarm rippled down Gil’s spine, and he sat up straight. "You have no Adam’s apple."

Nick’s color ebbed away before his eyes, and he watched Nick touch his throat gingerly. "Yes, I do."

"No. You don’t. And that’s impos –"

Nick put his hand in his lap. The missing Adam’s apple was right there. Plain as day.

"But," Gil said.

"Maybe you’re tired," Nick said, although his smile was ghostly, as evanescent as fog.

"It wasn’t there," Gil told him huffily. "And then it was."

"Want some coffee? Maybe you need to eat something. Low blood sugar?"

Eyeing Nick’s untrustworthy smile – and the amazing now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t Adam’s apple – Gil shook his head. "That’s not it."

"I’ll go get you a sandwich."

When Nick stood, Gil did, too. "I know what I saw. How is that possible? Nick, what’s going on?"

Nick’s smile faltered and fell. "Nothing," he said urgently. "I promise. I’ll be right back."

"I don’t want a sandwich, I want an explanation!"

"Crap." Nick’s color was ghastly now, and Gil flashed immediately on that odd moment weeks ago when he’d happened across Nick in the john. Crying, and he looked about an inch from it right now. "It’s – nothing," Nick stammered, eyes wide and beseeching. "Really."

"I don’t believe that," Gil said harshly. "Not for a moment. Nick, are you ill?"

Nick clapped his hand over his mouth and fled.

---

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

One fact was very true, in the magical world and in the Muggle one, as well: When you were sick, it was really hard to focus on anything else. That meant you didn’t work, or talk, because you were too busy throwing up.

Which was why, he thought later, at a time when he most needed every obscuring skill he possessed, they all failed him at the same time. He couldn’t not throw up, and unless he wanted to yark all over the lab, he had to do it in the bathroom. And that was where Gil Grissom found him, far too soon after he’d started.

Without any glamours whatsoever. His real self.

"Here," Grissom muttered, crowded in alongside him and sliding him a damp paper towel. "God, Nicky."

Nick took the towel and held it, and his stomach turned over and he closed his eyes.

When it was done, he wiped his mouth and made himself meet Grissom’s pitying eyes. Which widened, staring at him with a totally flummoxed expression.

"It’s gone again," Grissom said hoarsely.

Without replying, Nick hauled himself to his feet and wiped his mouth, bending over to sip from the faucet and rinsing. He could no longer tell if he had any glamour working at all. He felt too sick, and too tired to care.

"I’m taking you to see Robbins."

There was something charming in Grissom’s voice then: some strange and lovely assurance that a doctor could explain all this. To Grissom, everything had an explanation, even the weirdest things. It was all a matter of deduction. Process: theory and hypothesis and proof.

Nick gazed at his flushed, beardless, too-soft face in the mirror. "It won’t help," he said bleakly.

"But –"

"I’m not sick, Grissom." Nick wadded up the towel and threw it in the trash.

"Obviously you are," came the aggrieved reply.

"I’ll be better in a few minutes."

"I’m not sure I believe that."

"Believe what you want," Nick said wearily. "Won’t make any difference."

When he glanced at him, Grissom’s face was set in familiar, imperturbable lines. "Let’s let Al be the judge of that," he replied.

"Is that an order?"

"I can make it one."

Nick gave a listless shrug. "Suit yourself."

Oh, Snape was going to FREAK.

He wondered what the Ministry would have to say about this, as he let Grissom lead him down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~

Al Robbins was in his office, typing away, and gave them a distracted look over his glasses. "Gentlemen? Got something for me?"

Gil gave a tight nod. "Something, but it’s Nick here."

Robbins glanced at Nick, who hadn’t said a word since Gil dragged him down the hallway to the elevator. Nick shrugged, and Gil added, "He’s not feeling well. I hoped you could have a look." And tell me you see what I’m seeing, please. Because if you aren’t, I may need you to have a look at ME next.

"Well, certainly." Robbins stowed his glasses in his pocket and reached for his crutches. "Not that often I get a live patient. Adds a little spice."

Normally Gil would have waited for Nick to make some sort of crack about not getting any bright ideas once he got near that steel table. But this strange version of Nick just sighed.

Twenty minutes later, it was Robbins’ turn to shrug. "Well, Nick, your blood pressure’s a little high, and you’re a little thinner than I’d like, but otherwise? Seemingly in perfect health." He gave Gil a look. "Now would you two like to explain what I might actually be looking for?"

Gil turned to Nick. "Maybe Nick’s the one to ask," he said shortly.

Nick didn’t meet his eyes, or Robbins’, either. "I told you, I’m fine," he muttered.

"Half an hour ago you were so sick you couldn’t stand up on your own. That’s not fine, Nick."

"I’m fine now."

"All right, so." Robbins lifted his eyebrows. "What are we talking about? Emesis?"

Gil gave an impatient nod. "Look at him! Doesn’t he look…different to you?"

After a moment’s consideration, Robbins said slowly, "A trace of edema, perhaps. But nothing…."

"His Adam’s apple is gone!"

Nick sighed, while Robbins took that in. "How many times in your career," Gil continued tightly, "have you seen a spontaneous regression like that? What could cause it? Hormonal imbalance?"

Nick flinched, and then uttered a high giggle.

"What?" Gil snapped.

The giggling became laughter, Nick waving his hand and shaking his head vigorously.

Robbins wasn’t smiling. "Let me see, Nick," he said calmly.

"Do – Doesn’t matter," Nick gasped, reaching up to wipe tears of mirth from his cheeks. "It’s okay, Merlin’s name."

Gil blinked. "Merlin?"

"I mean, swear to God." Nick hiccuped a couple of times and bubbled another laugh before sobering a little. "Really," he said with another sigh. "I never had one, okay? It didn’t disappear. It was never there to start with."

"Never had one?" Robbins looked as if Nick had suddenly grown an extra eye. "All men have an Adam’s apple, Nick. Some more pronounced than others, granted, but –"

"Not me." The ghost of a giggle escaped, and Nick visibly clamped down on it. "Never did."

"But I’ve seen it," Gil cried in consternation. "A hundred times!"

Nick cast him a fast, oblique glance. "Well, you thought you did," he said quietly.

"Nick –"

"Look." A much different voice, harder, flatter. "I can explain. But man, you both gotta swear this goes nowhere, all right? Not outside this room. Not even Super Dave," he added, looking at Robbins.

"I can guarantee your privacy, Nick," Robbins shot back in a ruffled tone. "But if this is an anatomical abnormality, it’s not as if it’s the first –"

"There’s more," Nick said.

The morgue had never felt as chilly as it did right at that moment. Gil fought down a ridiculous sophomoric urge to shiver, and said, "What?"

Nick’s eyes were dark and unreadable. "You remember that guy? The one who did the thing with the birthdays? The tape recordings?"

Gil’s head snapped back. "Paul Millander," he said hoarsely. "Of course I remember."

"Yeah." Nick nodded slowly, still watching him very intently. "He started out a girl, right? Kinda male and female at the same time?"

"He called it an ‘endocrinic ambiguity.’"

"That – pretty much describes me, too."

For a moment Gil could only stare at him. At his side, Robbins gaped wordlessly.

"That’s why I don’t have the Adam’s apple," Nick continued wearily. "I wasn’t born with one. All right? So relax."

"That’s….remarkable," Robbins said in a dazed voice. "Nick, are you serious? But – you’ve had physicals! I’ve seen your results; by all accounts you’re a perfectly normal male."

"I have all the guy parts." Nick paused. "I just, you know. Have the other stuff, too."

"Other – stuff?" Gil managed.

"Girl stuff, female stuff."

"You have female reproductive organs?" Robbins sounded as if he’d just taken a whiff of helium. "A complete set?"

Nick’s cheeks flushed, and he directed his gaze downward again. "Yep," he said hollowly. "All the usual things."

Staring at him, a number of things occurred to Gil just then. Make a list, Mr. Grissom, and check it twice. Vomiting. Emotional extremes. Female organs. Nick is intersexed, Nick is a hermaphrodite. Even if he looks mostly male, you’ve seen it with your own eyes now: there’s something missing, something extra.

"But they don’t function. Do they?" Robbins had lost the deer-in-the-headlights look, and now seemed almost feverishly fascinated. "Hermaphrodites are sterile; they can’t –"

"They function," Nick interrupted gloomily. "Trust me."

"A functional hermaphrodite," Robbins whispered. "Good God almighty."

"So just relax, okay?" Nick’s smile was shaky but reassuring. "I’m fine. Really."

"Nick," Robbins said reverently, "would you mind if I did a – more thorough examination?"

Nick glared at him.

"It’s only that I’ve never seen -- Well, that is to say, functional male AND female organs in the same mammal –"

"Just not the, you know." Nick made a splayed-out gesture with his fingers. His face was now fire-engine red. "Thing."

"Speculum?"

"Right. I mean, that’s a little more personal than I want to get, Doc. No offense."

Looking disappointed, Robbins gave a reluctant nod. "Very well."

While Nick grudgingly submitted to a bit of palpation, Gil said, "You do realize you’ve only answered half my question."

Nick made a face when Robbins prodded his belly. "What’s the other half?"

Gil swallowed. "I can understand that you have no Adam’s apple. That you’re – both male and female." The words tripped him up a bit, and he marveled distantly at the bizarre turn this evening had taken. "But what you haven’t told me is how you made it appear as if you DID have one. Before."

"Oh." Nick met his eyes, and then looked away. "It’s complicated."

"Try me."

"It’s just –"

"Nick?"

Robbins’ querulous tone caught both their attention, and Gil frowned, seeing the medical examiner’s flummoxed expression.

"Nick, there’s something – I think you should be aware of," Robbins continued in that same throttled voice. He was very pale.

"What?" Nick asked. Then he flinched. "Oh. That."

"Your – uterus," Robbins continued delicately, "is somewhat enlarged. Is that normal for you?"

Watching Robbins’ hand gently probe Nick’s abdomen, Gil felt a wave of odd dizziness sweep over him.

"Not normal." Nick sounded as if he was about to start laughing again. "Damn it." He sat up, drawing into himself and away from Robbins’ exploring hands.

"Nick, is there any chance you could be –"

Nick snickered, staring down at his interlaced hands.

"Good lord," Robbins whispered. "My goodness."

"What?" Gil snapped, blinking away the motes that spun in front of his dazzled eyes.

Robbins visibly collected himself. "It appears," he said slowly, "from my examination, that Nick is, erm. I should say."

"Knocked up?" Nick asked merrily. "In the family way? Fertile and multiplying?"

"Pregnant," Robbins told Gil, lips trembling. "About two or three months’ gestation, I’d estimate."

The sparks in front of Gil’s eyes swarmed, and he reached blindly behind him for a chair.

~~~~~~~~

"Shit!" Nick snapped, jumping off the table. "Grab him!"

Between them, they got Grissom to a chair. Not exactly a faint, but not really that conscious, either. His face was the exact same shade of gray as the linoleum floor, and Nick thought briefly about how he’d never seen Grissom go that color, not even at the grossest crime sites, the most decayed bodies.

Well. There’s a news flash. Say you’ve got a bun in your oven and watch Gil Grissom keel over like a trainee at his first autopsy.

"Hey, man, it’s all right." Nick hunkered down, staring anxiously at Grissom’s paper-white face.

Grissom’s mouth worked. "I didn’t just do what I think – I just did. Did I?"

"Sorta."

"A little near-syncope." At his side, Robbins didn’t look much better than Grissom. "Understandable."

Grissom stared at Nick. "You’re pr."

Nick winced. "Yeah."

"Preg."

"Uh-huh."

Grissom drew a loud, shaky breath. "Pregnant."

Nick forced a smile. "That’s what they call it."

"My god."

Robbins was nodding vigorously. "This is astounding! Precedent-setting! Nick, you have to let me do a full exam."

Nick gave him a horrified look. "No!"

"Now, I realize this seems uncomfortably personal, but –"

"It IS personal! I mean, shit! No way!"

Robbins’ face twisted into misery, as if Nick had just ripped his favorite woobie right out of his hands. "But this has to be documented! My god, the ultrasound alone would set the obstetrical fellows on their collective ears! In fact –"

"Doc, listen to me." Heart pounding, Nick put every bit of intensity he had into his voice. Gratifyingly, it got Robbins’ attention. "This is – private," Nick said, widening his eyes for emphasis. "Okay? Remember how I asked you guys to not tell anyone? I mean, ANYONE. All right?"

"You’re pregnant," Gil said breathily. His eyes were blank and stunned.

Nick nodded. "Two months, two weeks, six days. So relax, okay? I’m good, just – well. Now you know." And you knowing was never, ever part of the game plan. So stop freaking me out and go back to being Grissom, okay? You’re looking at me like you’ve never seen me before.

Well, to be perfectly honest, Grissom HADN’T ever seen him before, not all of him, at least. But still.

A smile broke over Grissom’s features, like sun from behind clouds. "You’re having a baby," he whispered.

Nick stared at him. "Grissom, I think we’re clear on that part. Right, Al?" He glanced at Robbins, who gave a fast, birdlike nod. "So I’m gonna, you know, go be pregnant now. And y’all, just – calm down. Okay? It’s all under control."

Robbins cleared his throat. "You know, Nick, you won’t be able to keep this a secret much longer. You’ll begin to – well, show. Have you considered that?"

Nick gave him a grim look. "Yeah," he said thinly. "But I think Grissom’s mind is blown enough for one night, don’t you?"

"Point. Nick?"

"WHAT?"

"Ultrasonography IS non-invasive. Only take a quarter of an –"

"Doc, I mean, I’m sorry but." Nick scrubbed his hand through his hair, and noted distantly that it felt thicker than he had a few weeks ago. And he needed a haircut, but bad. "Maybe – someday, all right? Best I can do."

Robbins didn’t look impressed. "You do have pre-natal care, don’t you? Who are you seeing?"

Flushing, Nick looked down. "Ah. Not a doctor as such."

"Nurse practitioner?"

"Sorta. Yeah."

"Nick, the unusual nature of this pregnancy warrants a physician’s attention. Surely you can see that."

"Yeah, and who would you recommend, huh?" Nick snapped. "I’m not letting some doctor turn this into a freakshow. And you know that’s what would happen, all right? Shit, you want to do the same thing!"

"I’m sorry if you feel that way," Robbins said in a small voice.

"Who’s the father?" Grissom asked clearly.

Nick gaped at him. "What? Oh, no. No, now listen. YOU wanted to know what was wrong with me, and now you do, okay? So just -- Just –" He met Grissom’s stormy eyes and felt the express train coming in for a stop. "Shit," he whispered, swallowing tears. "I’m gonna leave now. Just – leave me alone. Okay?"

Grissom’s expression darkened. "Nick, you can’t possibly do this by yoursel –"

"Yes, I can!" Nick cried. He stood fast, and the room wavered a little before stabilizing. "Leave me alone! Stop – asking me shit, and poking and prodding me, and just leave me ALONE!"

One nice thing about the morgue doors. They slammed really well. Nice, satisfying thud.

---

Chapter Eight

 

 

"You did WHAT?"

Somehow it was the worst, being yelled at in an English accent. Made the words bite worse than normal, something.

Or maybe it was just that Snape had a real talent for yelling. A bona-fide prodigy.

"Have you gone completely MAD?" Snape bellowed, staring disbelievingly at him.

"Look, you weren’t there, okay?" Nick said defensively. "You didn’t have to deal with this guy. Believe me, lying wouldn’t have worked."

Snape kept right on shaking his head, as if Nick hadn’t spoken a word. "We’ll have to notify the Ministry about this," he said, pacing across the room. His black robes billowed behind him. "They’ll need to take action. We’ll need an obliviator, of course."

"Wait a second." Nick stood up, fighting off another wearying wave of dizziness. "I told you, it’s OKAY! We can trust these guys. It’s not that big –"

Snape whirled on him. "Trust? TRUST? I knew you were a rather easygoing sort, but are you truly IMPAIRED? You would have me trust a MUGGLE? Two, no less?"

Stung, Nick snapped, "I’d rather you trust me. MY judgment, MY call."

An aghast look had momentarily taken the place of shock and disdain. "This is – hormonal, isn’t it?" Snape muttered. "Why couldn’t you have had a simple craving for crisps and Braxton pickle? No, instead you must go prancing about, trumpeting your – delicate status for all Muggles to hear. Well, it won’t do, Nicholas, it simply won’t! Impossible!"

He was furious. Beyond furious, and he had lots of practice at arguing. Had to, with six siblings.

So it really pissed him off that instead of giving as good as he got – and he could do that, way could do that – he stared at Snape, and burst into tears.

"Oh, for Merlin’s sake," Snape blurted, but a contrite look now wreathed his aquiline features. He hurried over to pause, wavering, while Nick flopped back down on the couch and put his hands over his face. "Don’t cry," Snape said uneasily. "Please?"

Nick shook his head, and kept on doing it.

The couch shifted when Snape sat down next to him. His hand was cold and awkward, patting Nick’s shaking shoulders. "I didn’t intend to – hurt your – feelings," he spoke stiffly. "But surely you must see that –"

"He SAW me!" Nick said between his fingers.

"Who saw you?"

"G-GRISSOM!"

"Saw you…in what way, exactly? You mean…"

Nick took his hands away and stared at Snape through his tears. "My guh-glamours don’t work suh-so well now," he said in a hitching voice. "And he suh-SAW me. And he wouldn’t suh-STOP, and made me see Robbins, and it all – it all –" He put his hands back. "It juh-just HAPPENED."

"I see."

It didn’t sound quite as furious as earlier, and when Nick ventured a look Snape didn’t look as furious, either. More thoughtful, although still worried.

"Why didn’t you tell me," Snape asked slowly, "that you were having difficulties with your glamours?"

"It duh-didn’t seem like it was that big of a deal. Until last night."

"It’s a critical necessity," Snape said sharply. "Without functional glamours you cannot remain here. Out of the question. The only reason we agreed to it at all was because you were so very good at that beforehand."

Nick stared at him. "We? Who’s ‘we?’"

"Really, Nicholas, it isn’t as if you and I are the only beings affected by this, you know." Avoiding quite meeting his eyes, Snape stood again, crossing his arms and walking to the window. "Everyone is invested in this to one degree or another. We do not exist in the proverbial vacuum."

"But." Nick wiped his eyes and sniffed, frowning. "You mean you told -- You told other people I wanted to stay here? Are you saying you got PERMISSION?"

Snape drew a long breath and still didn’t look at him. "Of a sort. Yes."

"From the MINISTRY? Or –"

"The Ministry of Magic is well aware of the situation, yes, and not particularly fond of it. But as a matter of fact, I consulted with an individual regarding my concerns for your safety."

Nick glared at him. "Which individual?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

"But he’s –"

"The greatest wizard in our time, thus far," Snape said coldly. "And a man I respect and admire more than any other." He turned finally, revealing a perfectly composed expression. Cold, and remote. "Dumbledore believed your actions to be quite understandable," he continued, managing to clearly convey his own dissatisfaction with that truth. "But he, too, saw the risks involved. And now you’ve proved my point, Nicholas, by revealing the most essential truths about yourself to a pair of men whose motives cannot be known. This goes beyond mere magic, don’t you see? This is your very NATURE. And there is only one of you. If your friends cannot hold their tongues, people will find out. More people, and more, and soon everyone will know."

"Not everyone," Nick said harshly. "And they won’t tell. They won’t!"

Snape gave a crisp nod. "Do you know the primary reason Dumbledore agreed to this ridiculous arrangement? The main reason, Nicholas, is because your enemies are unlikely to realize where exactly it is you live. In America, not Britain at all, and far, far away from almost everything. It was the absurd nature of where you reside that gave you your first and most formidable line of defense. Who would think to look for you, here? Very few, at least early on."

"I don’t –"

"And now," Snape lumbered on, "the advantage is lost. You yourself have scotched it all." He sounded weary suddenly, sagging down on a chair. "There’s no choice," he said tightly. "Now you must return with me to Hogwarts. Immediately."

Nick gaped at him. "What? But you said –"

"Everything has changed now. You’re vulnerable, even more so than before." Snape released a brief tight sigh. "This time Dumbledore must agree with me," he continued softly. "Hogwarts is the only possible place for you to go."

"I’m not going anywhere," Nick snapped. "This is my HOME!"

Snape regarded him coolly. "Do you value your life so little? Your child’s? You have little magic to speak of. No defensive powers."

"But," Nick whispered without thinking, "it’s Grissom."

If anything, Snape’s expression became even more remote. "Yes, Grissom. Let’s talk about that, shall we? Is there something you’d care to tell me about this man? Why is it that you’d fling caution to the four winds as you have done? Did you think you’d impress him? Show him how special you were? Is that it?"

Wounded, Nick drew back. "He’s – important," he blurted. "He’s the reason I’m here."

"Are you lovers?"

"No," Nick said urgently. "Of course not."

Snape gave a short nod. "He’s your, what, then? Mentor? Role model?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah."

"And so you risk everything – everything, Nicholas – in order to maintain proximity to him?" Snape gave an eloquent snort. "Don’t you think your logic is a bit suspect? Would this mentor person require you to risk your own life and that of your unborn child, simply to remain here with him?"

Staring at him, Nick swallowed. "No," he said in a small voice. "Probably he wouldn’t. But –"

"Then he’s a wise man in that regard. And you are not, Nicholas, because you can’t possibly think your motives are this pure." Icily formal, Snape added, "You refer to him as a mentor, but your tone says otherwise."

"He’s not -- We’ve never –"

"None of that matters," Snape bit off. "The fact is, you’ve made your decision to stay here on the basis of your interest in this man. An interest you do not know is reciprocated, by all appearances. Now I must ask you to choose. Which is more important to you? This Grissom fellow, or the baby you carry?"

He felt the color drain out of his face. "That’s not fair," Nick whispered.

"I don’t give a damn about fairness. I do care that you survive this pregnancy! And if he were asked – which I devoutly hope he will not be – I’m sure your Grissom would agree."

Weirdly, in spite of the fact he’d been bawling his eyes out just a few minutes ago, he’d never felt so far from crying in his life at the moment. Instead he felt cold. Cold and very alone. "I don’t want to go," he whispered.

"Yes, that much is quite obvious, thank you." Snape was silent for a moment, and then released his breath in a sigh. "Look, it isn’t prison, Nicholas."

"Then what is it?"

"Think of it as a sanctuary. Where you can be protected, and the child."

His apartment was so cold. It was summer; why was it so cold? How long had he known Snape, anyway? Nearly three months? Practically a stranger. Someone he didn’t know well, someone he was just supposed to trust, like that. Nick shivered. "Call it whatever you want," he said dully. "Doesn’t change anything."

"Really, Nicholas, it’s not as if –"

"I’ll need some time to get ready," Nick told him, studying the hands clasped tightly in his lap. "Make some plans."

"You’ll be provided for." A trace of petulance had crept into Snape’s voice. "It isn’t as if you’ll lack for anything."

No. Just my own home, my job, my place. My friends.

Just pretty much everything.

"I’ll be ready to go in a week or two," Nick said hollowly. "I’ll let you know."

"Nicholas –"

"Now I’d like you to leave."

Snape drew a deep breath. "I can help –"

"I don’t want your help." Nick raised his head and met Snape’s unnerved gaze. "I don’t need your help. Not with this. Unless you want to go ahead and kidnap me, in which case, you know, fuck you."

Snape drew back, honest shock in his expression. "It’s for your own good," he said unsteadily. "Surely you must recognize that."

"No," Nick said crisply. "I recognize that it’s for everybody else. It’s not for me, none of this is for me. You don’t even KNOW me."

Snape’s lips pressed together, and after a moment he gave a curt nod. "Perhaps you’re right. Please be careful, Nicholas. You are in very real danger, whether or not you want to admit it."

"Won’t be the first time," Nick replied. "Don’t worry about it. Tell the Ministry I’ll be a good lapdog here real soon."

"You make this much, much harder than it needs to be."

Nick smiled coldly. "I didn’t make anything here, Severus. I did what I was ordered to do. And I’ll keep doing it, if you’ll just leave me the fuck alone so I can get on with it. All right?"

Snape gave another slow nod. His face was completely bleached of color; he looked vaguely ill. "Very well then," he murmured. "Two weeks."

"Two weeks. I don’t want to see you until then. Okay?"

"Quite frankly, the prospect of seeing you does not exactly fill me with joy, either."

Nick snorted. "Good. Then we’re finally on the same page."

"Indeed."

Nick watched, and after a silent moment Snape muttered his incantation and vanished.

~~~~~~~~~~

It occurred to him, striding down the echoing hallway, that it was a very good thing the spring term was over and done with. As it stood, his examinations had been poorly written and far, far too simple. He hadn’t been able to concentrate, not as he normally did, and even his grading had suffered. He’d let Potter’s miserable scrawl go unremarked, blotted parchment and all; he’d even passed that idiot Neville.

If it wasn’t proof his mind wasn’t where it should be, he didn’t know what would qualify.

But it was summer, the school rather dismally emptied of students, and there was no one about to see his discomfiture.

No one, that was, save the two personages he was meeting with this morning. As if invoked, Minerva McGonagall waved cheerily at him from the entrance to Dumbledore’s chambers.

"Good morning, Severus. Sleep well?"

He glowered at her and twitched his robes into better alignment. "As it happens," he said shortly, "I have yet to sleep at all."

Her glasses inched down her nose as she frowned. "Ah. The time difference?"

"Among other things. Is he in?"

"He’s waiting for us. Shall we?"

Normally he found Dumbledore’s cluttered residence to be obscurely comforting. Today, however, it was simply irritating.

"Tea?" Dumbledore asked solicitously.

It actually sounded rather good. But Snape shook his head. "Matters have been proceeding," he said shortly.

Albus cocked an eyebrow. "How does he fare?"

"His – condition is progressing."

Minerva uttered a soft laugh. "Goodness, Severus, you talk as if he had some dreadful disease. ‘His condition is progressing.’ It’s a baby, not a tumor."

May as well be, for as much maternal love as he shows it, Snape thought, and eyed her. "He told some of his Muggle colleagues the state of affairs."

That wiped her smile away entirely, and even Dumbledore’s posture stiffened.

"He – told them?" Minerva whispered.

"He says," Snape said tightly, "he mentioned nothing of magic. Only his own nature, and the rest. And he says it was unplanned. It just – happened."

"You sound rather doubtful of that last," Albus said calmly.

"He’s impossible!" Snape flared. "My every concern for his safety, for the CHILD’S safety, he waves away as if it were – thistledown, wafting on the breeze. I’ll be fine, he says. Don’t worry, he says." He snorted. "If he isn’t going to, someone had bloody well better."

"But he must come here," Minerva said, her hands clutched together in an anxious knot. "We can see to him here. Surely he’ll come?"

"He was – resistant," Snape told her. He paused to swallow. "Highly resistant."

Albus sipped his tea and set the cup carefully in its saucer. "He is in a difficult position," he said slowly. "As are we all, I’m afraid. He feels he has had his free will taken from him. It’s a logical fear."

"Logic be damned! What about his safety?"

"That is of paramount concern, yes." Albus nodded. "Tell me, Severus: Does he know? All of it?"

Snape shrugged. "He knows what the Ministry has decreed he ought to know. Nothing more."

He caught Minerva’s anxious glance at Dumbledore. "Perhaps we should tell him the rest. Then he might understand. Cooperate."

"And what might we tell him, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked evenly. "That we aren’t quite sure of anything? That, had matters not been as they are with Voldemort, he might have been allowed to live out his life in perfect peace? Only reproducing if he felt the honest urge?" He shook his head. "As matters stand, he believes what he’s been told. And we cannot be sure of the rest. It is perhaps underhanded of me to support it, but I cannot see a clearer course." His steady gaze shifted to Snape. "Severus, you must let him remain in the United States, if that is his true wish. Until such time as matters progress, we cannot dictate everything."

"But the prophecy –"

"The prophecy states nothing about this. It says only that the child must be born. No mention is made of anything preceding that event."

Snape swallowed his indignant reply and said instead, "He could be attacked. At any time. And he has few defenses. Does the prophecy say we should let him die?"

A gentle smile warmed Dumbledore’s features. "Never that."

Flummoxed, Snape shook his head. "I don’t – understand."

"Whether you feel comfortable admitting it, Severus," Minerva said warmly, "your feelings are at stake here as well. He’s carrying your child, too. We understand your concern."

Snape stared at her. "Are you saying," he bit off, "that you believe I’m overreacting?"

"No one would blame you."

"But – I can’t just LEAVE him there! Alone, unprotected!"

"There are more folk watching him than even you may be aware of," Dumbledore told him. "He is not entirely unprotected, not at all."

"But they don’t know the rest," Snape whispered. "Do they?"

"No." Dumbledore dipped his head slightly, conceding the point. "Like the rest of wizardkind, they believe it is the child that needs protecting."

"It’s –"

"I know, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "I know."

"If he knew –"

"If he knew, it would change things. Almost certainly not for the better. And for what? An old man’s crackpot theory?" Dumbledore shook his head. "No, it’s far better this way. Events will proceed in their own due time. And who knows? Perhaps it’s better that Nicholas has a few Muggle allies. He’s more comfortable with Muggle ways."

Snape sat up straight. "You aren’t calling in an obliviator? Albus, but –"

"As difficult as it may be, Severus," Minerva said gently, "we must trust Nicholas as far as we possibly can. We need him. The entire magical world may need him. Do we risk alienating him, possibly losing him entirely, on the basis of our need to keep him safe?"

"I may have already done," Snape murmured.

"Go to him. He will understand. Trust him."

~~~~~~~~~~

This time he materialized outside Nicholas’s dwelling. His welcome was certainly in question; he suspected Nicholas would simply slam the door in his face once he saw who was there.

Sparing a moment to curse the heavy, dry heat of the desert, he wiped sweat from his brow and rapped three times on the door.

It took another knock before Nicholas answered. When he did, Snape’s resolve faltered. Nicholas had obviously been weeping again, his dark eyes red-rimmed and swollen, cheeks blotchy. He frowned and shook his head.

"What’s it gonna take to get rid of you?" Nicholas asked in a hoarse voice. "Haven’t you done enough already?"

"I’ve something to tell you," Snape said slowly. "If you’ll allow me." He swallowed. "Please?"

Face set in stubborn, tense lines, Nicholas said nothing, but after a moment he stepped silently aside.

Anxiously pleating the folds of his robe with his unseen fingers, Snape waited until Nicholas had secured the lock, and said, "I’ve been – less than sympathetic to your wishes, I’m afraid. As long as no direct threat presents itself –" He paused, and cleared his throat. "What I mean is, I think you should stay."

Nicholas’s dark eyes regarded him suspiciously. "You changed your mind?"

"I’m afraid I may not be – entirely rational, where you are concerned." Snape drew a long breath, and let it out in a silent sigh. "But I certainly never meant to cause you undue pain. As I have done."

"Seve –"

"There is no bond save duty between us," Snape continued heavily. "Duty, and the life you carry, are all that connect us. And that does not give me the right to – interfere in your life, to that extent. If you wish to remain here, to be near this Grissom person – then so be it."

Nicholas touched the barely visible swell of his belly. "If things get bad," he said unsteadily. "I’ll go. But I want to stay here. As long as I can."

Snape nodded. "Then stay you shall."

"You’re not gonna make them forget?"

"Not at the moment. Not if you trust them."

"I do."

"Then that all that need be said." He forced a smile, and knew it didn’t work well. "I should go."

Nicholas regarded him. "You can stay, too," he said slowly. "If you want."

Snape met his steady gaze, and shrugged. "I am – invested in what happens, Nick," he murmured. "I cannot pretend otherwise."

"Then don’t. Just – hang out with me. When you feel like it."

The notion of himself ever "hanging out" was ludicrous, but like so many things Nicholas had a tendency to say, oddly charming as well. "Very well," Snape whispered. "Yes."

A sweet, slow smile blossomed on Nicholas’s face. "His name is Gareth," he said shakily.

Startled, Snape frowned. "You know it’s a boy? Did Juliet –"

"He told me."

Snape kept on staring at him. "The baby? Told you?"

Nicholas nodded, smile becoming a grin. "A few minutes after you left. Do you know what it’s like, to hear something like that? He talked to me. He said, ‘I’m not a marble, Mom, I’m Gareth.’"

"It’s – a very good name," Snape managed, still gaping.

"He’s real, Severus," Nicholas said in a tremulous voice. "He’s a boy, he’s real."

"Yes," Snape agreed. "Very real."

He gazed at Nicholas’s flushed face, bathed in that honest joy. And a part of him stepped to the side, as it so often did, and whispered, Perhaps Dumbledore’s theory isn’t so crackpot after all.

---

Chapter Nine

 

 

The moment he saw Nick the following evening, he realized everything had changed.

Oh, certainly it had; after all, Nick was not who Gil had blithely assumed him to be all this time, and that revelation had power Gil was only now beginning to be able to analyze. But knowing it in an intellectual way was one thing. Feeling it – that was entirely something else.

He couldn’t help watching him. Was "him" even the appropriate pronoun any longer? It didn’t fit, but what did? Her? It? No, "it" was sexless, and Nick was if anything doubly sexed; "it" was even less meaningful than the other two.

"Hir?" He’d run across that dubious term in some of his long-ago science-fiction reading. But that one seemed clunky and too artificial.

He was still mulling that over when he saw Nick down the hall. Casual conversation with Bobby, distracted, giving Gil the opportunity to covertly assess him. And like before, there was little to see. Nick’s smile was the same, his easy bonhomie. And yet the longer Gil looked, the more he made out. The slight thickening of Nick’s waist, so easily attributable to a few too many beers on his off hours if one didn’t know him. If one didn’t know that Nick’s weight had a tendency to go down, not up. The healthy smooth glow of his skin. Clean living, except it wasn’t only that.

And neither of those things mattered a hill of beans next to the shine of happiness in Nick’s bottomless brown eyes. Something had changed, something essential, between the odd, shocking examination in Robbins’ chilly morgue and tonight.

Immediate, hot curiosity flooded through him. Curiosity, and a touch of something narrow-eyed and guilty and immediately recognizable as reluctant jealousy.

Someone had gotten Nick pregnant. As insanely bizarre as it sounded, still. And like an ulcer gnawing at his belly, Gil wished to know who that was. What he might do with the information once he had it, he didn’t know. Very likely nothing at all. But the burning question throbbed in his mind.

As if drawn by the calculating heat of Gil’s regard, Nick glanced his direction, smiled and lifted his chin in greeting. And a moment after Gil ducked guiltily back into his office, Nick strolled in. Hands in his pockets, his easy grin fading to caution.

"Hey," Nick said softly. "What’s up?"

Gil glanced up. "Hi, Nick." Admiring the steadiness of his own voice. "How’d it go today?"

Nick sank down in the chair and shrugged. "Nothing much going on," he replied. "I think Cath’s gonna talk to you about this B&E we had. Kinda hinky."

"All right." Gil made himself nod. "How are you feeling?"

"Me? Feel fine. Thanks."

"Nick –"

"Listen." With an uneasy glance at the door, Nick leaned forward. "About yesterday, you know?" Bright color suffused his cheeks. "You won’t tell anyone, right?"

"I keep my promises, Nick," Gil returned evenly. "Don’t worry."

Nick sighed gustily and relaxed. "Okay. Cool. I mean, I’m sorry to, you know. Be so intense about it. You know? But it’s important."

"Although I wouldn’t mind being told the rest of the story."

Nick tensed again. "Not much else to tell," he said, avoiding meeting Gil’s eyes.

"I think there is." Gil sighed. "But I won’t press you beyond that. I’m simply concerned."

"It’s okay. I mean, I’m feeling great." Nick paused, and gave another conspiratorial glance around. "Did I tell you it’s a boy?" he whispered.

Gil blinked and gathered himself. "No," he managed. "Congratulations."

Nick wasn’t just grinning, he was BEAMING. So this was the source of the glow. Now it all made sense. "His name is Gareth."

Unsteadily, Gil managed a nod. "That’s…remarkable," he said weakly.

"I keep thinking I should learn how to knit or something," Nick told him, and giggled. "It’s like, it wasn’t real until now. You know? Now it’s like --" He broke off and giggled again. "This is really happening."

Utterly at a loss, Gil blurted, "Gareth’s a very nice name. British?"

"Think so. I’m not even sure."

And then he did something very strange. Cocked his head to one side, and then grinned again. "I think it’s British, yeah."

"Nick?" Gil asked cautiously.

"So you know." Nick cleared his throat – his? Oh, damn it. "Guess I oughta head out. Starving."

Eating for two. Gil swallowed. "Night, Nicky," he said faintly.

"Night, Griss."

~~~~~~~

For some reason, only Paco’s would do. This late, it was the hardcore folks: cops on break, couple of truckers. Suited Nick just fine. He took a seat at a booth and ordered four tacos with a double helping of refritos, and wistfully wished for a beer before settling on iced tea.

The four tacos only took the edge off. He polished off another order, and while he wiped his mouth and finished his tea, he thought, Wow. I just had my first pregnancy craving.

"You like Mexican food, too, huh?" he whispered, and touched his stomach. Tight with food, but that wasn’t all, was it? He could feel the difference. The bulge. The Gareth-bulge.

Inside his mind, Gareth sighed and gave a wordless assent.

Severus wasn’t there when he got home. It took a second of calculation to remember that he’d said something about a meeting this morning. Morning, where he was now. Here in Vegas, it was nighttime, and Nick was full and happy, and other than needing to whiz like a racehorse, it was all good.

He awoke to reddish morning sunshine, and someone ringing the doorbell.

"Be there in a sec," he called hoarsely, and groped for something to put on. His jeans were painfully tight around the belly. Christ, was it already time for MATERNITY clothes? He grabbed some sweats and yanked them up before stumbling to the door.

"Hi," Grissom said, and frowned. "Did I wake you?" He carried a couple of big plastic bags.

Nick drew a startled breath. "Hi," he gasped. "No, no. Come on in."

Grissom’s gaze went south, and Nick saw his cheeks go very red. "Um."

Glancing down at himself, Nick felt like cringing. Way to anticipate, Stokes. White tee shirt, and your tits are not that tiny anymore. Not to mention you’ve way got nipple hard-ons.

"Uh," Nick said. "Hang on a sec."

He fled back into the bedroom, and pulled a sweatshirt over his head. Scalding with embarrassment: Grissom just saw my TITS. His eyes got big as Frisbees, did you see? Nice, Nick-eee. Real nice.

As chastely covered as a virgin, he crept back into the living room. "You want some coffee?" he asked hesitantly.

"That’d be nice, thanks." Grissom resolutely kept his gaze eye-level, a fact for which Nick was devoutly thankful.

In the kitchen measuring coffee, he snickered. Well, well. Grissom’s a breast man. Learn something new every day.

"I thought you might like these," Grissom said from the doorway, and Nick glanced over his shoulder to see him putting the bags on the bar.

"Hey, cool." Nick turned on the coffee maker and walked over. "You didn’t have to do anything, man."

"I know." Grissom produced an awkward, sweet smile. "I felt like it."

"Where’d you get all this?" Nick glanced at the clock. "Oh. Man, I didn’t know it was this late."

Grissom pushed one of the bags at him. "Here."

Nick grinned. "Can’t believe you did this."

CDs, a big bunch of them. A lot of music, almost none of which he recognized. He picked up one CD – someone named Custer Larue – and read the CD title. "Lullaby Journey." Flushing, Nick met Grissom’s abashed look. "Aw, MAN," Nick mumbled, appalled to feel his eyes burning. "Aw, Griss."

"Her voice is luminous," Grissom told him hoarsely. "Pure and sweet. I couldn’t stop thinking of her, so I went to find a copy."

"That’s so damn cool."

"Did you know your voice is higher?"

Nick gazed at him and swallowed. "Didn’t know if anyone had picked up on that."

"You – were always a tenor. Now you sound like a contralto. Maybe a mezzo-soprano."

Unable to think of what to say to that, Nick rummaged with the CDs, placing them in a neat stack. Seven, damn, that was a lot of music.

"There’s more," Grissom said hesitantly. "I may have – overstepped myself. You may already have things like this."

"Dunno. I haven’t, you know. Bought much of anything yet."

Grissom grinned. "Good."

The second bag was somehow mortifying and yet charming at the same time. Books, like "Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn." He didn’t have diddly like this, and he was already a third of the way there. Multivitamins, specifically for mothers.

"Just in case," Grissom said haltingly, while Nick set the bottle on the counter.

A funny-shaped pillow. And a jar of something called "Beautiful Belly Butter," that made him squint at Grissom and see another bright-red blush.

"To prevent stretch marks," Grissom mumbled.

Nick grinned, and then threw his head back and laughed.

"Just in case," Grissom added, studying the countertop intently.

"That’s so cool," Nick managed, and wiped his eyes. "Freaky, but very cool. Thank you."

The blush hadn’t subsided. "I’ll take some of that coffee now, if that’s all right," Grissom said.

"Oh. Yeah."

He poured two cups, and when he turned he caught Grissom’s faintly stunned stare again. Not his boobs this time, but his stomach.

"That’s not just your shirt," Grissom whispered. "Is it?"

Nick set the coffee on the counter, shaking his head. "He’s not all that big yet, but part of that’s him. Yeah."

"Could I." Grissom swallowed visibly.

"What? You wanna see?" Nick shrugged. "Not that much to see, but sure."

Although it was, he had to admit, pretty noticeable once he pulled his shirt up. Little belly, little Gareth-lump. For the first time he noticed that his belly button was very soon going to disappear, at least from his view.

"My God," Grissom whispered. "How far along are you again?"

"Nearly three months."

"Nick, it looks more like five."

Nick glanced down, frowning. "Well, I’m real clear on the when, man. Guess he’s gonna be big, huh?"

"Is – the father –"

"What? Big? Tall. Not fat."

"Ah."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Nick tugged his sweatshirt back down. "Anyway."

"You’re due around Christmas?"

"Something like that."

Grissom drank half his coffee, and set the cup down again. His hands were shaking a little, Nick noted. "I understand your wish for secrecy," he said, and paused. "No. I’m not sure I do understand it," he corrected, shaking his head. "But never mind. How do you plan to hide it, when – that – isn’t so small any longer?"

Cradling his warm cup between his hands, Nick nodded slowly. "I’ll take a leave of absence," he said slowly. "I guess."

"Will you stay here? For the – duration?"

"Probably not."

"Home? To your family?"

Nick shook his head. "No. I got a place. Don’t worry about it."

"I do worry," Grissom said heavily. "In fact I’m quite worried. For one thing, the lab. Until you do take your mater -- your leave of absence, there may be things you shouldn’t be doing. Exposure to certain chemicals, reagents, that sort of thing. Just to give one example."

Nick regarded him blankly. "I hadn’t thought of that."

"I can see that." Grissom sighed. "You should be on restricted duty, Nick. The last thing I want to see is your – child’s health suffering, or yours, because of some work-related issue."

"I’m okay, Mom," Gareth whispered inside his head, and Nick flinched.

Grissom frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Nothing, just -- Goose stepped over my grave."

Awkward comprehension dawned. "I don’t mean to frighten you. I simply -- Well, I call it as I see it, Nick."

Nick gave a tight nod. "Yeah. I mean, right."

Grissom drew a breath, but whatever he’d been about to say, Nick never knew. Just then his ears popped a little, and behind Grissom’s form he saw Snape materialize in the living room.

Wearing his usual stark black, face reserved. Drawing into tight, stormy lines when he took in Grissom’s presence.

Oh, fuck, Nick thought, and closed his eyes.

---

Chapter Ten

 

He knew right away, of course. This was the Muggle of whom Nicholas had so often spoken. The mentor, the disputed apple of his wistful eye.

This was Nicholas’s Grissom.

Who now turned a startled look at Snape, eyes immediately narrowing. "What the hell?" he whispered.

Ignoring him, Snape looked at Nicholas, who stood frozen near the kitchen entrance, as guilty as a sixth-year caught performing erotic transformations in the dormitory.

"It appears," Snape said coolly, "that I have arrived at an unfortunate time."

Nicholas thawed from his stock-still pose enough to blurt, "No, it’s okay. Gr- Grissom just stopped by."

The Muggle glanced at Nicholas, then back at Snape. The inquisitive look was more pronounced now. "I didn’t hear the door," he said levelly. "How did you get in here?"

Snape glanced disdainfully at him. "The usual way." Not a lie, after all. Apparating was his usual method of transportation. Not his matter if this Grissom didn’t know about it.

"And what way is that?"

"Um." Nicholas fidgeted, took a few quick steps between them. "Severus, this is Gil Grissom. Grissom, this is Severus Snape. A fffriend of mine." With a bright smile plastered on his pale face, he had not even begun to lose the guilty expression.

The Muggle held out his hand. "Pleasure," he said dubiously.

Snape glanced at the hand and disregarded it. "I can return at another time," he told Nicholas. "I did not realize you were – entertaining."

"It’s okay," Nicholas blurted. "Stay. Want some tea? I can make some."

It went against his better judgment. One thing was as clear to him as the brilliant sunshine outside this too-small condominium, and that was that Grissom could not be less like Nicholas himself. The bright blue eyes still trained on Snape were too penetrating; the man was a Muggle, yes, but not a fool, and Snape had just demonstrated an advanced magic of the sort strictly forbidden in front of any non-magical being. With a flicker of weariness, Snape realized this quite likely violated the laws even more than Nicholas’s own revelation not so very long ago.

"Very well," he said curtly.

"British?" Grissom asked.

"If you’re referring to my origins, you would be correct," Snape said heavily.

Grissom gave a curt nod, his expression icy enough to send a flicker of respect down Snape’s stiff spine. "And you’re responsible for that," he added, lifting his chin in Nicholas’s direction.

"I believe," Snape said frigidly, "that two parties are required in order to conceive a child." Where did the man possibly get the nerve? "As certainly as I am of the fact that it is none of your business whatsoever."

"Maybe not." Grissom gave a single brisk nod. "So maybe we should go back to how you got here. Without using the door. Any chance that’s related to Nick’s ability to make himself look male? The magical appearing/disappearing beard, for example?"

"Trick of the eye," Nick said in a high, thin voice, scurrying back into the living room. "I made your tea," he told Snape, although his hands were empty.

"Trick of the eye?" Grissom turned nearly as withering a look on his erstwhile colleague as he had on Snape. "Nicky, you’ll have to do a little better than that."

A flare of something hot and ugly ignited in Snape’s belly, seeing that condescending expression. "He shall do exactly as he sees fit," he snapped. "No explanations are owed you, Mr. – Grissom. As a matter of fact, one might ask precisely what your own motivations are, hmm? Arriving on the doorstep, gifts in hand?" He gave a meaningful look at the pile of articles on the countertop. "Might there perhaps be some, shall we say, hidden agenda at work here?"

"I’m concerned," Grissom said shortly. "That’s all."

"Is that what you call it," Snape returned silkily.

"Okay, wait a second." Nicholas raised his hands and shook his head. "We’re all on the same side here, right? Y’all just – calm down, okay?"

"Do you realize," Grissom continued as if Nicholas wasn’t even present, "just how remarkable this entire thing is? And yet according to Nick, he doesn’t even have a doctor. I don’t think you understand what it is you’ve done here."

"The lack of understanding," Snape bit off, "is entirely on your side. And neither Nicholas nor I have the time nor the inclination to explain it all to you, and so I must ask you to desist."

Grissom smiled slowly, revealing neat white teeth. "You can ask," he whispered.

"Nicholas," Snape said, without looking away. "The Ministry would be most displeased at the current state of affairs. Would you not agree?"

"Oh, crap," Nicholas moaned.

Grissom’s brows drew together. "Ministry? What ministry?"

"Nicholas, you say you trust this Mug – man."

"I do," Nicholas blurted.

Finally Snape glanced at him. "With your life? With Gareth’s life?"

Nicholas nodded dumbly.

"Then perhaps you can explain to him, exactly what it is he does not yet comprehend."

Nicholas’s eyes widened. "You mean – tell him?"

"I should enjoy seeing that." And, he told himself, we can then call in an obliviator, and make it all simply disappear. Just like – magic.

~~~~~~~~

He knew, of course, right away. Even before he heard the man speak, heard the accent. The baby’s British name, the man’s British speaking voice – Gil hadn’t been an investigator for nothing. If only all cases were so simple.

There was nothing simple, however, about the man’s appearance. Tall, rangy, clad in severe black. What was that, a robe? Had he just gotten out of choir practice or something? Who wore black robes in Las Vegas heat?

Beaky nose, narrow, cold eyes, and that hair. Long, as black as his clothing, just faintly greasy-looking.

If ever he’d pictured Nick with anyone not of the feminine persuasion – and he had to admit there had been a few, wistful times – it had not been with anyone even remotely like this.

Not to mention the fact that Snape had evidently just sort of…popped into existence, inside the apartment, without using a door.

"Tell me what?" he asked thinly.

The arrogant hauteur on Snape’s aristocratic features intensified. "Yes, Nicholas," he drawled. "Where exactly to begin?"

"I’m not – what you think I am," Nick said in a strangled voice.

Gil forced a nod. "So you aren’t a hermaphrodite?"

"Oh. Well, yeah. I am that."

"Okay. So what aren’t you?"

Nick looked as if he were about to either cry or faint, Gil couldn’t tell. Maybe both. "It’s hard to explain," he mumbled miserably.

"Oh, for Merlin’s sake," Snape said tightly. His eyes were flat and murderous, trained on Gil. "Let me make it simple for you. He is a wizard. I am a wizard. And you, sir, are not."

"Sort of a wizard," Nick whispered.

Gil glanced back and forth between them. "You’re wizards." Something ticklish flared in his belly.

"Quite so," Snape said. "Any more questions, or can we get on with it?"

Nick cast Snape an anxious look. "Get on with what?"

"Wizards," Gil repeated. "You’re wizards." The tickle had become something else, and a snicker escaped before he could catch it. "So this is all – magic, right?" The chuckle had a few siblings. A lot of siblings.

Neither Nick nor Snape were smiling. "Exactly," Snape enunciated. "Would you care for a demonstration?"

"Severus," Nick moaned. "You can’t."

"He won’t believe, otherwise. Will you, Mr. Grissom?"

Shaking with the effort of controlling his laughter, Gil shook his head. "No. I mean, demonstrate away. I can’t wait." He bent a little at the waist, shoulders hitching with laughs.

"A transfiguration, I think."

Gil caught a glimpse of a slim wooden rod in Snape’s long white fingers. Somewhere close by, he heard Nick’s voice shouting, "No!"

"A scientist, did you say, Nicholas? Well, there will be some poetic justice."

And then the room grew, as he shrunk. Gil let out a startled cry, and was appalled to hear a squeak instead.

~~~~~~~~

Dropping to his knees, Nick gaped.

"You turned him into a MOUSE!"

The Grissom-mouse – pure white, sleek and healthy – squeaked agitatedly.

"There. That takes care of THAT."

Nick gazed up at Snape, horrified. "Change him back! That’s GRISSOM! You can’t –"

"I most certainly can, and have." Snape stowed his wand away. His expression was thunderous. "Now we may have peace."

Scooping up the astonished Grissom-mouse, Nick cradled it to his chest. A dull ache had begun in his lower back, hot and uncomfortable. "You can’t DO this!" he cried. "Are you NUTS? This is insane!"

"No less sane," Snape replied, "than you allowing Grissom to know your true state. Now do you see why you must leave, Nicholas? It will not END. One thing will lead to another, and this – Grissom fellow – does not strike me as the sort to give up easily. Now, pack your things."

"PACK?" Nick gaped at him. "Leave? I can’t LEAVE!"

"Indeed we can, and shall, forthwith." Snape lifted his chin imperiously.

"But what about – Grissom?" The mouse squeaked forlornly against his throat. Inside his head, Gareth moaned. "I can’t leave him here!"

"Of course not. Bring him with you. It’ll make things easier when the obliviator arrives."

"Obliv –" Nick shook his head. "You can’t!"

"I strongly suspect at this point there will be little choice in the matter."

"But YOU did this! I didn’t, YOU did!"

Snape’s expression grew even more bleak. "I fully recognize that fact," he said remotely, "and I’m certain I’ll be held accountable for it as well. Now, since we’re completely clear on the fact that it will be both of us with heads on the chopping block -- Would you mind getting ready? No point waiting."

The mouse sniffed his chin, and Nick swallowed. "Severus," he whispered. "I think I’m bleeding."

---

Chapter Eleven

 

Snape rarely thought much about Hogwarts’ magical protections. After all, they’d come in handy much more than once. And the safety of the children was paramount.

But right at the moment, he wished for all those spells and charms to fall by the wayside in toto, if only long enough for him to apparate inside the castle rather than outside the grounds.

"Severus," Nicholas moaned, leaning heavily on him. "What’s happening?"

"We shall soon find out," Snape muttered. "Working yourself into a state will not help matters, Nicholas."

"I’m BLEEDING! What do you want me to do, laugh?"

Shutting up would do for starters, Snape thought ungraciously, and regretted it immediately. "Everything will be all right, I promise you. Madame Pomfrey –"

"Oh, no, Gareth," Nicholas whispered, sitting down abruptly. "No, it isn’t time yet. No, oh Merlin, please, please."

Something icy and terrible gripped Snape’s heart. He dropped to his knees beside Nicholas, stricken. "What is it? What?"

"He’s so quiet," Nicholas gasped, and burst into tears.

Snape flew to his feet, casting about. Damn this for being summer, instead of fall or spring when there would have been people about! There, down the hill. Hagrid’s hut. And behind it, that unmistakably enormous form, placidly feeding one of his wretched precious beasts.

"Hagrid!" Snape bellowed.

Hagrid whirled around, and then gave a cheery wave. "Hellooo, Perfesser!" he called. "Back so soon, are ye?"

"Get Pomfrey!" Snape screamed. "IMMEDIATELY!"

For a moment Hagrid didn’t move at all, hand still frozen in mid-wave. And then he lumbered towards them, instead of making for the castle.

"POMFREY! HE NEEDS POMFREY!"

Hagrid’s loud breathing was audible halfway up the hill. Snape drew a breath to shout something else, and Nicholas said, "I think he’s asleep."

Snape whirled, throwing himself back down to the ground. "Who?" he demanded. "Who is asleep?"

Face streaked with tears, Nicholas said, "Gareth. That’s why he’s so quiet."

Snape swallowed and said, "Well, good, then, right? He’s fine, Nicholas. And you’re fine. I promise you." He glanced down, and fought off the urge to shiver. Nicholas’s sweat pants were stained at the crotch, deep maroon. "We’ll see to it," Snape muttered helplessly. "Not to worry."

"Am I losing my baby?" Nicholas asked, fresh tears welling in his eyes. "Am I?"

"Of course not, don’t be ridiculous." But he wouldn’t have trusted his own voice, either. Not as shaky as it sounded.

"Oh, dear," Hagrid rumbled behind him.

Snape turned his head sharply to the left. "He needs Madame Pomfrey, Hagrid. Did you not hear me –"

"No time to waste, then," Hagrid said brusquely, and went around him to gather Nicholas up in his enormous arms.

"Who – Who are you?" Nicholas gasped.

"Rubeus Hagrid. Now don’t you worry there, little mum, I gotcha."

Nicholas sobbed, and glared at Snape. "Grissom!"

"You’re thinking of HIM? At a time like this?"

"Catch him!"

The cursed mouse squeaked and trundled up the hill. With a muttered oath Snape leapt after it, catching it by the tail and getting a loud shriek in reply.

"Here," he called after Hagrid’s retreating form. He held up the mouse, dangling by its tail. "Satisfied?"

Nicholas was tiny against Hagrid’s bulk, but he nodded, and then his head sagged against the huge shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’d seen pictures of Hogwarts. Everyone had; it was the oldest, most illustrious school of wizardry in the whole world.

But nothing prepared him for its grandeur, its enchanted beauty.

"Wow," he wheezed inside the giant’s arms. "Hogwarts."

"Now you just save yer energy there," the giant – Ruby Hagrid? – told him. His coat smelled strongly like a barn. Not unpleasant, just – strong. "Enough time fer grand tours and the like when ye’re feelin’ better."

"Don’t let me lose him," Nick whispered, and had no idea if he was talking to Hagrid or himself, or maybe Merlin, or God. "Please, oh please, don’t let me lose him."

"No one’s losin’ nothin’," Hagrid puffed, although his pace sped up a little.

And he’d lost the Grissom-mouse. Would Snape take care of him?

"Grissom," Nick sighed, and closed his eyes.

Soon there were cool empty spaces around them, the echoing sounds of Hagrid’s boots on stone, and Nick heard voices, women, mostly. "It’ll be okay, Gareth," he whispered noiselessly. "Oh, peanut, it’ll all be okay. Are you sleeping? Gareth, wake up. Please, talk to me. Just say ‘Mom,’ that’s all I want. Okay?"

"There, there," Hagrid wheezed. "Ah, Perfesser McGonagall."

"Oh dear," one of the women said. Older, hair pulled back in a tight knot. Her mouth drew down in concern. "Where is Severus? Yes, Hagrid, do please bring him in here."

"Him?" Hagrid asked, but followed.

They took him into a huge room, big as a basketball court, and deposited him on a wonderfully soft bed. The other woman – younger by a few years, no less primly dressed, with starched white pinafore – leaned over him. "Nicholas? I’m Madame Pomfrey. Tell me: When did it start?"

Nick blinked back tears of shock and surprise. "Are you a d-doctor?"

"A specialist is on his way. Now: When?"

"Half – Half an hour ago. Something like that."

"Does your back hurt as well?"

He nodded. "Feels – crampy."

She gave a brisk nod and bent forward, placing a gentle hand on his abdomen.

"What’s happening? Is Gareth all right? He’s gotten all quiet, and –"

"Sshh." Pomfrey shook her head. "Give me a moment, please."

Her hand was deft and professional, not at all uncomfortable. Her head was cocked at an acute angle of concentration. And a moment after she began, Gareth whispered, "Sleepy."

Nick sobbed out loud. "I heard him! He’s there!"

Gareth made a sound so very like a yawn, Nick would have laughed at any other time. "Don’t like it when you get mad, Mom."

The Pomfrey woman yanked her hand away, gaping at him. "I felt – something," she said shakily. "But I haven’t the faintest idea what it was."

"He talks to me," Nick babbled, giggling through his tears. "He started doing that not too long ago. That’s how I know his name is Gareth, he talks to me. Only he didn’t, he stopped, and there’s all this blood." The giggles stopped, and he reached up to wipe his face. "Is he okay?"

Her astonished look faded back into professional concern as she nodded. "The child is fine, dear. We’ll wait for the specialist, just to make sure, but a bit of bleeding here and there in the early parts of pregnancy is not at all unusual."

She looked as if she would have added something else, but just then Snape burst in, face flushed, breathing hard as he rushed to Nick’s bedside. "Well?" he thundered. "Is he all right?"

The woman the giant had called McGonagall reached out to pat Snape’s arm. "He’ll be fine, they both will be. Calm yourself."

Snape wobbled over to slump in a nearby chair. "Nicholas?" he asked breathlessly. "How do you feel?"

"Gareth woke up," Nick said, gazing at him. "He said he doesn’t like it when I get mad."

Snape blinked at him. "I see," he murmured, in a tone that said he didn’t, really.

"Where’s Grissom?"

"Oh. Him." Snape fished in the arm of his robe and brought out a struggling white-furred form. "I’ll have you know he bit me for my trouble," he added sourly, and deposited the mouse on the coverlet.

"That," McGonagall said severely, "is most certainly NOT a mouse."

"Looks like one," came Hagrid’s interested reply.

"Hey, Grissom," Nick said tiredly, as the mouse crept up to tuck himself under Nick’s chin. "Sorry about all this."

"And who is Grissom?" McGonagall asked.

"My boss," Nick sighed.

Hagrid’s bulk trembled with a chuckle. "Bit of a wee thing, yer boss," he rumbled.

The mouse squeaked indignantly.

Bustling over to a cupboard, Pomfrey took out a dismally familiar hospital gown. "I’d like you to change, Mr. Stokes," she said, plopping the garment down. "The doctor will want to examine you more closely."

"Nick," he breathed. "Call me Nick, okay?"

Her smile was brief and warm. "Certainly, Nick."

~~~~~~~~~~

In the hallway, Snape looked up to see Albus Dumbledore approaching. "Headmaster," Snape said tightly.

"Severus." Dumbledore gave him a sweet smile. "Everything all right?"

"According to Pomfrey."

McGonagall’s hand was cool on his. "Severus, you’re pale as milk," she said gently. "Come. Time for tea."

"But Nicholas –"

"Will be quite all right with Madame Pomfrey," Dumbledore interrupted. "Never fear, dear boy."

Glowering, Snape let himself be led to Minerva’s cozy office, where a fat pot of tea already awaited them.

"Have a sandwich," Minerva told him, seating herself with a rustle of skirts. "You’ve had quite a shock."

The sandwich was ham, and quite good. He ate with more hunger than he’d realized, and when it was gone he drank his tea thirstily.

"There now," Minerva said calmly. "Better?"

"A bit." He set the cup in its saucer. "I thought," he said slowly, "he’d –"

"But he didn’t," she said. "He’ll be fine. You’re an expectant father, Severus. Even if the circumstances were not so extraordinary, no one would expect you to react differently."

"Tell me," Dumbledore interjected. "Was there any particular reason you chose to transform Nicholas’s supervisor into a mouse?"

~~~~~~~~

The examination was unpleasant, but thankfully brief. The doctor, a pudgy man named Makepeace, gave Nick time to arrange himself again, and then took a seat beside the bed.

"Your baby is fine," Makepeace said amiably. "Still, I’d like to confine you to bed rest for a few days, just to make sure there are no further, erm, events like today."

Nick sat up a little, conscious of the mouse now investigating his armpit. The whiskers tickled. "But what caused it?"

Makepeace shrugged. "Difficult to say with certainty. Bleeding is not at all uncommon early in a pregnancy. Although perhaps I don’t have to add that your case is not what I would call ‘common’ in and of itself." He allowed a tiny smile. "Have you been examined by a doctor previously?"

Nick shook his head. "Not exactly."

"Your physiology is, needless to say, a bit more complex than the norm. I don’t believe there will be anything specific you may expect, aside from normal symptoms and so on. But the baby is quite large for its gestational age. Three months?"

"Almost exactly."

The doctor pursed his lips. "Then you can probably expect a rather large baby to deliver. Perhaps as much as four kilos, maybe more."

Absently Nick translated that into pounds, and swallowed. "That’s a big baby," he said weakly.

"But healthy." Makepeace patted him jovially on the shoulder. "Now, rest here, no excitement, relax. I’ll be back in a couple of days to check on you, and if there are no further problems I see no reason why you cannot return to your usual activities." His smile slipped a fraction. "No sexual intercourse until that time, is that understood?"

"Not a problem," Nick muttered.

"Good, good. Very well then. Pomfrey knows how to reach me if need be. Pleasure to meet you, M – Nicholas."

"Thanks," Nick said.

After the doctor walked away, already speaking in low tones with Pomfrey, Nick reached under the sheet and plucked the Grissom-mouse out. "You know, I realize you’re a mouse right now, and you probably won’t remember a thing about all this." Nick placed the mouse on his chest. "But no fair peeking. All right?"

The mouse uttered a thin squeak and scurried back up to curl under his chin.

"Me and Snape have really gotta talk," Nick sighed, and stroked his fingers along the mouse’s silky back.

"How do you feel?"

Nick glanced over. "Was just thinking about you," he said tiredly.

Snape approached the bed slowly, looking stiff and uncertain. "I’m told you’ll be fine," he ventured, "with a bit of rest."

Nick nodded. "I was scared," he said thickly, and held out his hand.

"I," Snape told him, his fingers cool on Nick’s, "was a bit perturbed myself, I agree."

"You were scared shitless."

Snape gave a slow nod. "Indeed." He sat carefully in the chair next to the bed and gave a brief sigh. "Minerva McGonagall as much as called me an ‘hysterical father-to-be’ just now."

"Not really hysterical. Just sorta."

One corner of Snape’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. "For all intents and purposes."

"Severus," Nick said carefully, "now that things are okay -- Would you mind turning my boss back into a human being again?"

Snape drew back. The tiny smile vanished. "Here? Certainly not."

"But –"

"Hogwarts is at the beating heart of the magical world, Nicholas," Snape interrupted frostily. "If you think I’ll restore some Muggle here, of all places –"

"Honestly, man, you think he hasn’t figured out the magic parts by now?" Nick shook his head, clinging to Snape’s hand. "If being changed into a damn mouse hasn’t convinced him, I don’t guess anything will, okay?"

Snape said nothing, and Nick’s eyes narrowed. "You’re scared because he’s gonna be pissed."

"I am not SCARED," Snape said in icy affront. "But Nicholas, he is not magical!"

"Not really," Gareth murmured inside Nick’s head.

"Huh?" Nick blurted.

Snape shook his head. "I said –"

"Wait a second. What?"

Gareth’s thin lisping mind-voice sounded very sleepy. "Just a little, Mom."

Jaw hanging, Nick looked at Snape. "Gareth says, Grissom’s got a little magic."

"Preposterous."

"He sounds pretty sure."

"HE is a three-month-old fetus!"

Nick smiled slowly, tendrils of shocked delight spreading through his body. "He’s a little more than that, Severus," he whispered. "I think we’re pretty clear on that, you know?"

Staring at him, Snape was silent for a long moment. "Indeed," he said finally.

"Change him back. Please? I’d do it, but I left my wand in Las Vegas." He plucked the mouse out from under the sheet. "Here."

Mouth turned down in a ferocious scowl, Snape drew out his wand. "Oh, very well." He took the mouse and deposited it on the floor at the foot of the bed. A murmured incantation, a flick of his wand, and Nick drew a harsh breath when the mouse finally became Gil Grissom again.

His face was blank with utter shock. Nose twitching, he glared around, finally fixing Nick with a thunderous frown.

"Where in God’s name ARE we?"

"Hey, Grissom," Nick whispered.

---

Chapter Twelve

 

Snape really had to give the Muggle some reluctant credit. In spite of having spent the past several hours in a transformed state – a process even magical creatures often found upsetting when unplanned – Grissom’s focus was entirely upon Nicholas. The change of location, the post-transformative state: none seemed as important to the man as the idea that Nicholas was in hospital.

"What happened?" Grissom asked hoarsely. His legs visibly wobbled as he made his way to Nicholas’s bedside.

"You were a mouse," Nicholas told him.

Grissom blinked, but appeared to disregard it for the moment. "Are you all right? What the hell is going on?"

Nicholas glanced at Snape, and then back again. "I’m okay. It was -- I mean, just a scare, that’s all."

"SCARE?"

"Some bleeding, but –"

"BLEEDING?"

Gritting his teeth, Snape fought down a sympathetic twinge at Grissom’s horror-struck look. Damn him, really. From all his evident concern Gareth might have been his own child, and that was untenable.

"Nicholas is fine," Snape said tersely. "He is under a physician’s care."

Grissom gave him a disbelieving look. "Bleeding is NOT fine," he spat.

"This early in a pregnancy, it’s evidently not uncommon. And if you persist in being hysterical about it, I’d suggest you leave. Nicholas is supposed to be resting."

"I’m okay," Nicholas said quietly.

"Are you sure?" Grissom whispered. "Nicky, you were bleeding."

Nicholas blinked at him, as if the level of worry in Grissom’s tone had renewed his own fears, and Snape sighed. "Mr. Grissom," he said icily, "might I see you outside?"

"I’m not LEAVING –"

"There are numerous matters of which you are thus far unaware. And because the very last thing Nicholas needs at this point is to work himself into a state, I’d prefer to leave him in peace while we discuss them."

Now the worried look came Snape’s direction. "Severus," Nick said unsteadily, "are you sure this is a good –"

"Considering there are numerous implications to a Muggle’s presence here in the first place," Snape interrupted, "I think it’s a capital idea." He stood, brushing at his robes. "Shall we?"

"What the hell is a Muggle?" Grissom asked suspiciously.

"You, not to put too fine a point on it," Snape shot back. "If you please?"

"I’m not –"

"Ah, good." Pomfrey flitted in, giving Grissom a brief narrow look before ignoring him completely in favor of her patient. "Nicholas, I believe it was made clear that you were to rest," she continued severely, tsking under her breath. "Out, both of you. He’s had a long day, and doesn’t need you dithering over him."

Nodding, Snape eyed Grissom. "Just as I thought."

"Nick, if you need –"

"I know." Nick looked fretful. "Be nice to him, Severus."

Snape snorted. "But of course, dearest," he said darkly. "Shall we?"

Grissom followed him cautiously, casting a couple of worried glances over his shoulder until they reached the hallway. There, he gaped, taking in the stone walls and the massive clockworks ahead.

"Where in God’s name are we?" he asked hoarsely.

"This," Snape told him, "is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We’re in the infirmary wing, as you’ve no doubt guessed."

Grissom’s eyes narrowed. "Witchcraft. So we’re back to that?"

"Since we never left it," Snape said sharply, "we aren’t ‘back’ to anything. I’ve explained to you already, my nature, and Nicholas’s as well. Whether or not you choose to believe it is entirely up to you, sir."

Grissom drew back slightly. His cheeks had gone a little paler. "This looks like a castle."

"It very much is. Complete with tapestries, and a few wandering ghosts."

"There are no castles in Nevada," Grissom said reasonably. "Believe me, I’d know."

Rolling his eyes, Snape sighed, and grasped Grissom’s elbow. Tugging him down the hallway, he lifted his chin. "Look there. Beyond the clock, through the window. What do you see?"

Grissom jerked his arm away, but his eyes were widening, staring through the clock’s workings. "A c-courtyard," he said unsteadily.

"And beyond? Does the countryside bear any resemblance whatsoever to your benighted Las Vegas?"

Grissom shook his head slowly. "While I was – unconscious," he whispered. "You took me someplace."

"You were not unconscious," Snape told him. "You were transformed."

"Tr –" Grissom kept on shaking his head. "No. Where are we? Tell me!"

"As I SAID, Hogwarts School of –"

"Where? It looks like – Pennsylvania, or Ohio, or –"

"Much farther than that."

As if he hadn’t spoken at all, Grissom continued, "But it’s only been a few hours. We couldn’t have driven this far this fast. North? Montana –"

"We did not DRIVE," Snape said furiously. "We Disapparated, and arrived here seconds later."

"You mean we flew?"

"In a manner of sp –"

"Ah, Severus."

Snape whirled to see Dumbledore and McGonagall approaching. Both regarded Grissom without much surprise, and Snape heard McGonagall mutter, "A mouse," and snort softly.

"Headmaster," Snape said as evenly as he could. "This is –"

"Yes, Nicholas’s supervisor," Dumbledore proclaimed. "Good to see you restored to your true form. I am Albus Dumbledore, and this is Minerva McGonagall."

Grissom gave him a wall-eyed look. "Restored…."

"Although you made quite a handsome rodent," Dumbledore continued merrily. "Don’t you agree, Minerva?"

McGonagall gave a slow nod.

Fuming, Snape said, "I was just attempting to explain to our Muggle friend here the nature of –"

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore interrupted, nodding. "Quite right. Mr. – Grissom, is that it? Care to join me for a cup of tea? Or I could arrange for coffee, if you prefer."

"Tea is fine," Grissom said unsteadily.

"Perhaps you could use this time to get some rest, Severus," McGonagall said, her tone gentle. "You look quite exhausted."

"But Nicholas –"

"Is in Madame Pomfrey’s more than capable hands," she interrupted. "I’m quite sure he’ll be just fine with a bit of rest. As will you, dear."

Eyeing her, Snape gave a tight nod. Out of nowhere, a mantle of exhaustion settled over his shoulders. As annoying as any other part of this entirely frustrating proceeding. At Dumbledore, he asked, "Aren’t you going to send him back? Erase his memory, make –"

"Who, this fine gentleman?" Dumbledore looked perplexed. "Not at the moment, dear boy."

"But he’s –"

"Yes, yes. Off you go now." Dumbledore took Grissom’s arm, seemingly oblivious to the Muggle’s flinch. "Now, tell me," he continued, drawing the man in the direction of the stairs. "I’ve heard a bit here and there about a few Muggle games, and I was hoping you’d explain them to me. What exactly is ‘poker?’"

"What’s a Muggle?" Grissom asked plaintively. "Who are you?"

Scowling, Snape glared after them, and then stormed away.

~~~~~~~

"Here. Careful, it’s quite hot."

Gil took the cup and saucer, and set them on the table in front of him. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, at least. The oddity of his situation, however, wasn’t lessening.

"Thanks," he said carefully. "Now, would you mind explaining things to me? Where are we?"

"Hogwarts," said Dumbledore promptly. His beard twitched when he smiled.

Gil sighed. "And that’s where, exactly?"

"A bit difficult to describe, exactly. Let us say – Scotland."

"SCOTLAND?" Gil gaped at him. "That’s not possible."

"What, that we are located there? I assure you, it’s quite –"

"Look, this morning I was in Las Vegas," Gil snapped. "And I agree this definitely isn’t Nevada, but you are not going to tell me this is SCOT –"

"Nevertheless." Dumbledore held out a silver dish. "Jordan almond?"

"No."

"A new find. Muggle-made." Dumbledore crunched a candied nut happily. "Quite tasty."

"Look, you can’t honestly –"

"You don’t believe in magic, do you?"

Meeting those expressive, ancient eyes, Gil felt his certainty give a superstitious quiver. "I believe in the scientific method," he replied thinly. "Everything can be explained with science. It’s simply a matter of –"

"And yet only an hour or two ago, you yourself were no longer even human." Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. "Do you remember your transformation at all? Most don’t, although a few can."

"Hallucination, brought on by stress."

"I see." Dumbledore gave a sage nod. "Tell me, Mr. Grissom: have you ever observed anyone with physiology like our Nicholas’s?"

Taken off guard, Gil shook his head stiffly. "The only hermaphrodites I’ve heard of were sterile."

"And yet Nicholas is patently not."

"Well. No. But –"

"Folk like Nicholas are quite rare, you know," Dumbledore continued calmly. "One per generation. When he was born there was quite a fuss. An elaborate ceremony, a prophecy. Divination is of course one of the less tangible magical disciplines, but the message was in some ways quite clear. Protect him, at all costs. Do you know why, Mr. Grissom?"

"He’s unique," Gil said after a moment.

"Would you like to know something even young Nicholas does not know?" Dumbledore leaned forward conspiratorially. "My mother was another."

"Another –"

"Yes! Male and female both!" Dumbledore gave a delighted look, which faded quickly. "Sadly, she died very soon after my birth. And that was of course, hmm. Six generations past."

"Six," Gil echoed, and swallowed. "Just – how old are you, anyway?"

"Positively ancient," came the gleeful reply. "But you see, since my birth, every successive being like Nicholas and my parent has perished before their time. Two in childhood accidents, the rest –" He spread his fingers eloquently.

"What?" Gil snapped. "Are you telling me they were killed?"

"Just so."

"But." Gil cleared his rusty throat. His head had begun to ache, and he wondered if he were allergic to the bird sitting watching them with bright inquisitive eyes. No idea what sort of bird. Nick would know. "Why would anyone want to k-kill Nick?"

"Ah, to answer that –" Dumbledore gave a shrug. "One must not only know many centuries of magical history, but the current political climate as well."

Magical history. He wanted to snort, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not facing this particular man. "Political climate," Gil echoed weakly.

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed. "But forgive me. You must be exhausted after this rather fraught day. Let me escort you to your rooms."

Gil stared at him. "Rooms? I’m not staying. I need to get back, back to – Las Vegas, book a flight, and Nick –"

"Nicholas must stay," Dumbledore interrupted calmly. "Complete bed rest for several days."

Sagging, Gil licked his dry lips. "I can’t just – leave him here."

"And you are entirely welcome to remain. I confess it’s not particularly seemly to invite a Muggle to stay, but –"

"A Muggle is a what? Regular human? Non-magical?" He was proud of himself for saying it without curling his lip derisively.

Dumbledore simply nodded serenely. "Just so. But then you are not entirely without your own methods, are you?"

"Methods?"

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Gil felt a chill, as if the room’s temperature had suddenly dropped twenty degrees. It was over almost before he knew what it felt like, and another calm smile wreathed Dumbledore’s lined features. "Insufficient to warrant an invitation, or so it appears. But there is ability in your history. A grandparent, or great-grandparent. Perhaps even farther back. Yes."

Gil goggled at him. "Are you suggesting that I –"

"Come." Dumbledore stood gracefully. "You must rest, refresh yourself. There will be time later to discuss matters."

"I don’t believe you," Gil said harshly. "You do realize that, right? There is no such thing as real magic."

Unperturbed, Dumbledore gave a patient smile. "Here in this school, Mr. Grissom," he said, "the very air you breathe is saturated in magic."

---

Chapter Thirteen

 

Might have been the pure insanity of that never-ending day, but instead of lying there worrying about Gareth, and whether or not he was going to have something else unpleasant and possibly life-threatening seeping from his body, or if Snape had lost it and transfigured Gil into a bat and allowed him to fly off to some dank cave in Wales where Nick would never find him again, or maybe Gil was at this very moment gibbering while being transported to St. Mungo’s to have all his recent memories erased, Nick fell asleep.

Funny how that worked. Close your eyes for a second, and bam. Out like Nox.

He awoke to ferociously cheery sunshine and Madame Pomfrey’s equally cheery face.

"Now that’s more like it!" she declared, giving a brisk nod.

Nick tried to say something, and discovered his lips were stuck together. He prised them open and husked, "Th’ was somethin’ in tha’ pummin juice."

Pomfrey plumped the pillow while Nick’s groggy head was still lying on it. "Sorry? What language is that?"

"Something," Nick enunciated, "in the PUMPKIN juice. You put. There was."

"How about some nice herbal tea and a bit of toast?" She patted his cheek. "That should unstick you."

He sighed and nodded.

Snape showed up after half the tea was gone. Tasty, sort of like cherry, with a touch of pineapple.

"I trust you slept well?" Snape looked formidable as always, slightly greasy hair in a dramatic flood around his shoulders, robes immaculate. He towered over the bed, expressionless.

"Think Pomfrey slipped me a mickey," Nick said through a mouthful of buttered toast. "And I need to pee."

Snape’s upper lip twitched. "Do you require assistance?" he asked, in a tone that Nick was pretty sure begged for a negative.

Nick stuffed the rest of the toast in his mouth and mumbled, "Nope, I got it."

He visited the john – maybe he should start calling it the loo, just to see if he could start blending in – and came back to find Snape gazing out one of the windows. "Sorry. Morning."

Snape glanced at him. "It’s midday, Nicholas."

"Didn’t I tell you to call me Nick?" He blinked. "Hey. Where’s Grissom? You didn’t –"

"--Send him to Norway to serve as dragon bait? I thought about it." Snape’s mouth tightened; it didn’t sound much like a joke. "I assure you, he’s quite safe," he continued grudgingly. "I believe Hagrid has taken him on a tour of the grounds."

Fighting down a prickle of disappointment that Grissom hadn’t even come to see him, Nick climbed back into bed. "Oh. Okay."

"Only after he managed to pry him away from your bedside," Snape added after a moment.

Nick brightened.

"He seemed rather fascinated at the prospect of an Eight-Legged Venomous Flompwaggle."

Nick wrinkled his nose. "Sounds like him."

"A rather focused man, that Grissom."

"Yeah. Really focused. You have no idea."

"I’m beginning to have an inkling," came the dry retort.

"So he came to see me?"

Snape sniffed. "Not that it was very interesting. You snore, you know. Quite loudly."

"It’s this pillow. Too tall."

"A pillow is not t –"

"Hey, how do you know I was snoring?" Nick eyed him. "You were here, too, weren’t you? Aw, man. That’s sweet."

Snape sniffed again, louder, and glowered at him. "There are matters to be discussed."

Nick’s half-smile faded. "Severus, I haven’t even –"

"Grissom is not a Muggle. He’s a Squib."

"Huh?"

"According to Dumbledore. Even if he denies it – which he does, vehemently – there’s at least a drop or two of magical blood in his own veins."

Nick gaped at him. "Magic? Grissom?"

"Relatively speaking. Therefore," Snape added, turning and crossing his arms. "It appears that the services of an Obliviator will not be needed today after all."

"Grissom’s got magic?" Nick mumbled, thunderstruck.

Snape snorted. "No, he’s a Squib, which, as I certainly hope you know –"

"I know, I know," Nick interrupted crossly. "But – I mean, how freaky is that? That he’s got any connection at all?"

"’Freaky’ is not the word I would choose to describe it," came Snape’s taut reply.

"Not quite a Squib, either," Gareth whispered brightly.

Nick flinched, and Snape stared at him. "What?"

Shakily, Nick blurted, "Gareth says he’s not quite a Squib."

"Yes, well, thank you very much but I shall take the word of the greatest wizard of our time over that of a three-month –"

"You know, it’s kind of annoying, the way you say, ‘greatest wizard of our time,’ all the time. I get it, okay? Dumbledore’s awesome, all-knowing, blah blah bl –"

"Perhaps it would be best if you actually paid attention to that fact, since it is only with his help that you –"

"And this three-month-old fetus is your SON, remember, so don’t go –"

"Gentlemen."

Nick whipped around to stare at Professor McGonagall, who wore a faintly weary expression on her face. "Isn’t it a bit early for this sort of bickering?" she continued, and mustered a faint smile.

"Grissom’s a Squib," Nick said without thinking. "Except maybe not."

"Yes, dear, I know." She peered at him. "How are you feeling?"

Nick blinked. "Oh. Fine."

"Madame Pomfrey tells me you’re well on the mend. The baby’s all right?"

"He’s – fine, you know, I can hear him. He talks to me."

She nodded. "Yes, you mentioned that yesterday."

"How is that possible?" Nick whispered. "He’s not even – a real baby yet."

McGonagall glanced at Snape and then back to Nick. "It’s possible," she said carefully, "that the connection you share – umbilical cord for starters – is providing a kind of, well, conduit between the two of you. You are physically connected at the moment, you see?"

"But is that – normal?"

"Most children," Snape said curtly, "do not speak with their mothers in utero."

"But then Gareth isn’t most children, is he?" returned McGonagall, with a slow smile. "Perhaps you’d both best get used to that fact."

"She’s nice," Gareth murmured. "Like her."

"I do, too," Nick whispered.

~~~~~~~~

He had lunch with Snape, whose gloomy expression took all the zest out of what should have been pretty decent pasta. Or it could have been partly because Gareth was now moving. Tiny wiggles, felt more like hiccups in the wrong spot than anything else, but it made him put his fork down and stare fixedly into space, turned so far inward that it took three repetitions for Snape’s annoyed voice to penetrate.

"NICHOLAS."

"Oh." Nick looked up. "What?"

Snape gave a lengthy sigh. "I’ve been speaking to you for the past five minutes. Are you suddenly deaf?"

"Come here."

"What?"

Nick smiled. "You need to feel this."

Snape drew back an inch. "Feel what?"

"Damn it, just come HERE."

Grumbling, Snape rose from his chair and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Give me your hand."

"What f –"

Rolling his eyes, Nick reached over and grabbed Snape’s hand. The skin was cool and dry, and Nick squeezed Snape’s fingers briefly before setting his palm over Nick’s belly.

In an odd, thick voice Snape said, "I don’t feel anything."

Nick nodded. "Just wait."

"Wait –"

They both flinched when Gareth turned, another fish-quick flick of movement, and Nick turned to look at Snape and felt his smile faltering. Snape’s face had if anything gone even paler than usual, his throat working as he swallowed several times.

"What’s the matter?" Nick whispered.

"Nothing," came the strangled reply.

"He moved," Nick said, tightening his hold on Snape’s hand. "Feel that? He did it again."

"Y-yes. I felt it."

"That’s our baby," Nick whispered. Impulsively he leaned to the side, laying his cheek on Snape’s shoulder.

After a moment, to his surprise, Snape’s arm curved cautiously around his back. "Yes," Snape murmured. "So it is."

"At first I didn’t want him. All I could think was – how much of a pain this all was, how I was being forced to do it. Both of us." Nick sighed, and felt Severus’s lips brush his temple.

"And now?" Severus asked.

Angling his head to look at him, Nick smiled. "Now I can’t wait to meet him."

"Neither can I."

There was the oddest look on Severus’s face. As if for once, just for a moment, all his sneering and haughtiness and icy reserve had completely vanished. His dark eyes could be warm, Nick saw. Warm and wistful and afraid, and urgent.

And his lips were very soft. A long, gentle kiss, sweet as honey, and Nick sighed with pleasure and pure unanticipated interest, and heard voices in the hallway.

Snape pulled away, and with a lurch of real sadness Nick almost heard the portcullis crashing down. Gone was the warmth, the unexpected openness. Snape was himself again, retreating, drawing away.

Nick sighed, and turned to see Gil Grissom hurrying through the door.

And blinked, because of all the expressions he’d anticipated seeing on Grissom’s face, this – this absolutely goofy grin – was the very last one he expected.

"Good, you’re awake." Smears of dirt daubed Grissom’s shirt in various places, and he’d ripped through the right elbow somehow. A scrape on his right cheek had bled and crusted over already. He hurried up, brushing ineffectually at his dirty clothes. "How do you feel, Nicky?"

"Great." Nick gaped at him. "What the hell happened to you?"

"You were asleep when I came to see you earlier." Grissom’s grin hadn’t lost much of its power. His eyes flashed happily, bright blue and excited. Something very much like a scorch from a very hot iron discolored his front shirttail. "Then Hagrid came along, and said he had a creature I might really enjoy seeing."

"Yeah, the Eight-Legged – whatsits."

A fast birdlike nod. "Yes, yes, fascinating!" Ignoring Snape, Grissom grabbed a chair and hauled it closer, sitting on the edge of the seat. His foot tapped impatiently the minute he sat down. "Eight legs! But not a spider! Incredible! Nick, the Flompwaggle is a MAMMAL!" Grissom uttered a shaken laugh. "A mammal, of all things! I’ve never seen anything like it!"

He’s totally geeked out, Nick thought dazedly, and found himself grinning, too. "That what gave you the scratch?"

"The what?" Grissom reached up to touch his cheek. "Oh. No, that was – a newt. I think."

"Aren’t those kinda – slimy?"

"Not as such." Grissom looked vaguely disturbed. "There was fire involved."

"’Twas a skrewt, no’ a newt," trumpeted Hagrid from the doorway. He, Nick saw, was in slightly better shape, although his beard was a little lopsided. He lumbered inside, ducking a little as he passed through the door. "Blast-ended skrewt."

Grissom gave a breathless laugh. "I stand corrected."

"An’ yeh were lucky with tha’ Flompwaggle. I’ve seen ‘em three times larger, and about ten times meaner. Lucky to get away with jus’ a scratch."

From the broad beaming smile on Hagrid’s face, Nick thought that was less of a warning and more of a brag. A brag on Grissom, whose enthusiasm seemed to thoroughly delight the giant-sized man.

"Sounds like you had a fun morning," Nick said cautiously.

Looking back at him, Grissom’s smile ramped down a few watts. "Well, this morning was – interesting," he admitted. "The paintings here – They talk to you, you know."

Nick nodded. "Yeah. Wizard art has a tendency to be – interactive."

"Mine yelled at me." Grissom looked bewildered. "One said I was an outsider and something she called a ‘Mudblood,’ and the other one yelled at her for saying that and me for turning on the light, and I could swear there was only one person in each painting, but when I came back from the john there were three people in one and four in the other! All arguing!"

Nick nodded encouragingly. "So – that means you – believe it?"

"Believe what?"

"This place, us. That it’s – magic?"

Visibly considering how to say it, Grissom finally gave a tiny shrug. "I believe that you believe that."

Nick sagged. "You mean after all –"

"I will say this." Grissom cleared his throat. "If it’s fake, it’s the best fakery I’ve ever seen. That anyone’s seen, I’d wager."

"But it’s not fake," Nick whispered, glancing swiftly at Snape, whose dour expression gave no hint now of the softness of a few minutes ago. "It’s not."

Grissom nodded, looking a bit grim. "And if it’s not fake," he said slowly, "then there’s an explanation for it. One that very much is based in science."

"Like –"

"Something genetic. Something encoded down to the DNA level, that allows some people to do things others can’t. Muggles can’t do magic, right?"

"Right."

Grissom’s eyes gleamed speculatively, an expression with which Nick was very familiar. "Then there’s a reason for that," he mused. "Has anyone ever compared blood samples? DNA fragments?"

"I –" Nick trailed off. "I have no idea."

Snape cleared his throat. "To be quite honest," he said in a surprisingly level, non-goading voice, "there has traditionally been little curiosity as to that. One is magical, or one isn’t, after all."

Grissom squinted at him. "Can non-magical – Muggle – parents have a child who’s magical?"

"Of course." Now Snape sounded a little stiff.

"The woman who called you a Mudblood," Nick said quietly. "That’s what that means."

"And no one’s ever wondered how that happens?" Grissom demanded. "Made studies of it? Why on earth not?"

"Magic and science," Nick said awkwardly, "are kinda oil and water. They don’t – mix well."

"I don’t see why not," came Grissom’s tart reply. "At some level they’re one and the same."

"But –"

"Everything is science, Nick," Grissom said. "Only sometimes you have to dig deeper than others."

Faced with that blunt assessment, Nick could only give a hesitant nod. Snape’s expression darkened further, and he crossed his arms.

• Main CSI page
• The new stories
• Gil/Greg stories
• Gil/Nick stories
• Gil/Warrick stories
• Nick/Greg stories
• Nick/Warrick stories
• Greg/Warrick stories
• Nick/Bobby stories
• Jim Brass stories
• David Hodges stories
• CSI: New York stories
• CSI: Miami stories
• All f/f stories
• Other pairings & threesomes
• Gen CSI stories
• C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation: The Complete Ninth Season