peace_of

P E A C E O F M I N D -- a n HP F a n f i c

c o - w r i t t e n w i t h t o r i k o a m e

It was like some kind of weird flashback when the pensieve split wide open and then Sirius Black- What remained of his spirit, soul, whatever- jumped out of prison for the third, and hopefully last, time in his existence.

Naturally, the Penseive belonged to Severus Snape.

Somewhere, at this moment, Snape had scryed into his pensieve, and summoned a memory. So it was no trouble at all for Sirius to jump into the river flow of pure thoughts to hitch a ride.

After a brief, unexpected and somewhat alarming sensation that could only be explained as 'being thrown into the sky by a giant', he adjusted to the motion, as he always did like to fly, after all. And free, free! What a marvelous feeling! Freedom felt as light as Wingardum Leviosa! He laughed. Light brightened to a silvery pitch behind his eyes, so that he thought 'Yeah this is it!' and a small, traitorous part of him, the part of him that is selfish and not at all concerned with obligations of honour, wants to bask here in the light, wants to see Harry and Remus and his friends even if they can't see him-

No.

But you can apologize to Sniv- Snape later. A few more moments delay won't hurt, he thought wistfully. And it would be
so easy, so easy to twist a little, breaking the connection the flow of magic is so thin and you could. You could see Harry again.

"Oh no you don't,' and Sirius was surprised to hear that voice, it sounded startlingly familiar and vexed, and echoes of the prison he left behind.

Have you forgotten, even now, what you have learned?

Shift.

Sirius allowed himself to be wrenched back onto course, scowling, but determination returned. Oh fine, Frederick. Have it your way.

He would apologize to Snape, even if it was the last thing he'd ever do. Which was a likely scenario, because Snape, if anyone, could find a way to kill the dead twice. But let it be said that Sirius Black did keep his promises to his friends, even if said friends, like Fred, existed only in Snape's pensieve.

By then the silvery light had dissipated like fog, and he held perfectly still for a moment, while he gazed hungrily at Hogwarts for the first time in three years.

From behind Severus Snape's eyes, Sirius gazed upon Hogwarts.

He was in Snape's head!

Outside, it was day. Late evening sunlight slivered through the windows in the Great Hall, where Snape crouched, back leaning against the stone walls, sitting down to peer into his pensieve. Ah, he was looking for Death Eaters. Trying to identify from the recesses of his memory, a Death Eater who had escaped the attack on Hogwarts -- she was a blond-haired, blue-eyed witch with scars runing down her arms like spiders and-Sirius looked at the pensieve, greatly astonished. Was this not his prison of two years? Somehow it looked too small, lying there harmlessly on the floor next to Snape's feet.

Around them rushed the sound of many people, some of whose voices sounded familiar to Sirius... who were chattering, screaming. Running every which way. Casting spells. Look up, look up, Sirius muttered, standing stock still, absorbing the sight. I wish to to see Harry, where is Harry? But Snape granted neither of these distressing sounds his full attention. Instead, he sifted through his old memories, head buried so far under the Desert of Not Giving a Damn.

Selfish bastard, as ever.

As Minerva McGongall flew (quite literally carried by wings) past Snape, and past the remains of what looked like a table, smoldering with green fire that no one has put out yet, Sirius realized he had intruded on what appeared to be the makings of a small scale war. That, or the Slytherins had at last lost their faculties to madness. Perhaps both.

Whatever it was, the threat had passed. Well, Snape was uninjured at least. Looking around the room through Snape's senses, Sirius could see that few people: students and professors and magical creatures alike, had their wands drawn. Voldemort was nowhere in sight. Near the doors, a dementor or two lurked menacingly, and there was Hagrid casting rough healing spells with his umbrella and there two newly dead souls were flying around his head, one of them was Flitwick...

Oh, oh, but there was Harry, alive, and sitting at the Slytherin table with Draco bloody Malfoy, who was also alive. Their necks twined together and Snape-vision couldn't see what they were doing, but Snape-nose sniffed in a disdainful manner. Not happy, Sirius realized in a daze, that a godson of HIS was courting the Potter brat.

Make that both of us.

Shuddering, Sirius took a step away not quite willing to accept this ... courtship yet. In time perhaps... surely he could move beyond his feelings for the Malfoys if Harry really-Sirius took another step onto firmer ground and shook his head. Metaphorically speaking of course.

Deal with first things first. More pleasant things, even.

The inside of Severus Snape's head was just as he remembered, only brighter and noisier and more than in the pensieve.

A Gothic hospital construct loomed before him, the empty corridors snaking a long, crooked path; they were paved with old, cracked stone. Actually, it looked more like a Victorian madhouse: old style gloom mixed with English sensibility. Behind each door, Sirius knows, all he will find are empty beds. The walls will be bare too, but on the opposite side of each bed will hang a small mirror, and each room will be lit with small windows made from potions bottles that show nothing but gray, storming sky stretching as far as the eye can see...

At the same time, its overall shape seemed oddly appropriate for Snape's control freak personality, and yet you'd never expect his mind to be so calm ... on the surface.

"God dammit, Snape, don't make me walk through that maze to find you," Sirius groaned, walking faster. All he needed to do was apologize, explain what he had learned in Snape's pensieve, that's it. Then they could go about their business perfectly happy. Typical for Snape to make a simple apology so difficult.

"Where the hell are you?" He ran now, in no mood to be amused by the new sights - a file cabinet, a desk that rustled ominously with documents, lists. And he tried to ignore the sounds - typical paranoia murmured somewhere in the back, recounting a minute by minute play by play of the war cleanup. Not to mention the ominous sound of a clock ticking. (Perhaps tracking a time limit on something?) Not to mention Snape's subconscious competed for his attention, hoping to be heard over the combined noise of his unconscious and conscious. Each one of them speaking at once. Between them, there was a lot of profanity involved, and a person could hardly hear himself THINK in here, dammit.

If there was always this much going on in here, then it was a wonder the guy's temper wasn't even worse than it was.

Meanwhile, the war cleanup continued unabated somewhere in the background. The voices outside sounded tiny and soothing and unimportant. Minerva was trying to herd the Death Eaters out the Great Hall, and Hagrid was helping her.

Outside Snape, in the flesh, was standing up slowly and stiffly was making his way toward the scene of the carnage.

"... Black," came the voice he'd been expecting and reading. "In the slight chance this is not a hallucination brought on by stress, and laying awake three full nights because of the war, go back to hell where you belong." Snape stepped out from a door holding a list in his hand, and Sirius for a brain-dead second thought that this must be how he fooled Voldemort all those years ago, because all these rooms look alike...

A pack of Hufflepuffs, uniforms sadly singed by manticore breath were tottering by, as if shell shocked. Outside!Snape was idly patting Zacharias Smith on the head. The Hufflepuffs were choosing this moment to burst into tears.

To Sirius the greasy bastard looks older, with more wrinkles. Still wearing the same robes too. Tired. "...I don't know whether that was a compliment or an insult. Frankly, I don't care but it's just the principle of the thing, you see." Determined not to rise to the bait, Sirius says "I have something to say, and then I'll leave. It's important. It will only take a second."

Snape kept stumbling on until he reached Minerva. Flying about her head were Flitwick and Whatsitsname, who were trying to help her herd off the dementor from its perch on the wall. The dementor looked at them peacefully.

"No, you are not allowed to say anything," Snape hissed. For a moment they were staring at each other, frozen, then Snape was circling around him like a shark scenting weakness. "This is ... a welcome surprise, Black, yes it is. Ever since the event of your pointless and stupid and yet likely demise, I have often wished you were here. All the threats and hexes I saved up for you... Would you like to hear them? Do stay. Before I throw you out for the dementors' carnal pleasures, that is if Minerva hasn't yet dispelled them, we can have such a nice chat about your godson, for instance."

After a long, meaningful pause during which Sirius distinctly heard the screams of Flitwick and the loud, slurping sounds of a dementor, Sirius growled, good intentions forgotten. "Shut up about Ha --"

"Oh, I do think think I will rather speak my mind, Black," hissed Snape. "Listen closely. Your godson has always been a thorn in my side. Like you, he must do everything in his power to make my life miserable, including stealing my godson away!"

Outside, Flitwick continued to scream.

"HEY sure maybe the others, but THAT one was not my fault!"

"Oh my god," Harry was shouting, "We have to save Flictwick! Wands out, everyone! Patronsi at the ready!"

Snape was following the orders, his wand out.

"OH NOTHING is bloody ever your fault, according to Dumbledore, according to Harry Potter, according to the Order of the Phoenix, and just about bloody everyone who watched your poor, martyred death! 'Oh, your murderous impulses to 'Crucio' Sirius Black are unfounded and disturbing,' said Dumbledore. Not the prankster's fault he wanted to play a little joke with werewolves!" Snape was growling outright now.

Minerva was saying something about everyone being quiet and casting a group patronus on the count of three and Draco being second in command should she die in the attempt to channel their magic and they should all prepare themselves for spell backlash, with this much power flowing through the room.

One...

"I'm trying to apologize here, you greasy git. All you have to do is accept it, so take it! Take it now, or I'll rip your throat out with my teeth!!"

Two...

The dementor was burping.

The Hufflepuffs were crying.

Three. The Great Hall was ringing with the the sound of many silver patronsi. His was in the shape of dog.

"I want nothing of yours," Snape said, low and vicious, and all nuances of his voice were like jagged edges.

Then spell backlash hit, and Outside, in the flesh, Snape was not prepared at all to counter it...

Sirius had been about to deliver a particularly cutting obscenity, but he was interrupted as the ceiling then the whole building shook ominously, stopped for a brief moment as they looked up with wide eyes. Then with a sound like endlessly crashing glass, Severus Snape's overworked, undefended mind shattered from the magical backlash of a thousand and one Patronusi, not to mention, stress. For a long while, all was dark and quiet.

II.

"Shhh, don't move. There's glass all around us. Go back to sleep."

III.

"Hey, welcome back to consciousness."

"Black? I can't see anything."

"I'm sorry, this is all my fault."

"... You broke my head."

"Accio lights!"

"..."

"Get out."

"...I can't leave until you exorcise me."

IV.

"How did you get here, anyway. I thought you were a hallucination. I was shocked that you argued back-you never argued back before, so that must mean...."

"The usual. Actually, I've been locked up in your bloody pensieve for two years. Just recently escaped; when you were searching for the memory of the Death Eater girl-did you ever find her name by the way?-the ceiling opened and so, of course I followed the path of your summoning. It led me here."

"Black. You mean to tell me all this time you've been contaminating my thoughts, like a sweltering boil, all without my knowledge? Like... no, I can't even. I am never touching that pensieve again, even if it was a gift from Albus. Did you touch everything with your dirty paws? Did you find anything worth of interest there? No wonder you think to know all my secrets! And so you swaggered back into my head, just like that. Do tell me why I would bother to leave the back door open for you of all people. "

".... You must be feeling better to make those long winded remarks. And yeah. I did learn a lot worth of my interest there. For one, that you're not as much a cowardly, greasy bastard as I had thought. And also, I met Frederick there."

"... Whatever trick you're trying pull, it won't work. Tell me how you fell into my pensieve."

"Er. That's the embarrassing bit. See, I was not in complete control of my faculties just then. I'd just torn free from the veil somehow. Don't ask me how. All I remember about *that* is a mess of graveyards of crystal balls and something about sewing. Don't ask. Anyway, when I woke to consciousness, the one thing the only thing I remembered was magic. I practically lusted after the stuff. So I followed my spidey senses to the brightest magical aura I could find. Naturally, it was Hogwarts. By then, I could think in a somewhat coherent fashion, and I was desperate to find Harry. Too see if he was alive. Only, as I found out later, it was summer vacation and-him being a naturally normal boy-he wasn't staying at school for the holiday. Well, then I wandered into your rooms... And the pensieve was sitting on your bookcase. Remember now, my thoughts were fucked up, so I thought to myself, self! Mayhaps I can search the Greasy Git's pensieve to determine where Harry might be found! And... voila."

".... I give up. You have no mind at all."

"So..."

"I still don't accept your apology, Black."

Sigh.

Occasionally, Severus Snape would entrust Black to the care and repairs of his mind, and venture out into the real world, so Madame Pomfrey might not mistake his comatose body for dead, and cremate him. Also, Draco and Dumbledore would not be best pleased if they thought Snape was dead, or something silly like that. Also, he still had classes to teach.

Whether he was in his right mind, or not, Snape hated instructing Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Under normal circumstances, he wanted to throw himself off the top of the Astronomy Tower. Now, he just wanted to slit his wrists and be done with it. However, when he had them at the same time was when he was positively ready to commit homicide; and then suicide if he didn't succeed.

He wasn't aware that when he gave his support to the removal of the Astronomy class due to the dangers of being in the High Tower, that he would be roped into being a substitute for the replacement class. Especially a class as poncy as 'Eastern Magics.'

Ok, so it wasn't a poncy class. It was just the d?or in the classroom itself. Around the circular classroom were scattered fluffy pillows and low tables that served as the students work area. The air was ripe with visable tendrils of smoke from the burning incense the professor insisted on having, ?To set the mood? was the explanation given. Add more random Eastern decorations and there you have it. It might have been a charming room to someone who wasn't already feeling like they were on acid due to a certain...Member of the Most Noble and Ancient Mad House of Black. That, and the room was filled with Gryffindorks and Hufflepoufs who were looking as if someone murdered their puppy. Wait, that was a good thing.

Luckily, all he had to do was lecture on pensieves and give demonstrations. Why pensievess you ask? Pensieves are the only renowned Eastern magical item that was accepted by the British Ministry. Probably because the Minister in charge at the time was very promiscuous and wanted to preserve every sexual encounter he had. What better way to do it than a pensieves. At least, that's what he thought til the memories ended up in the Daily Prophet and caused quite the scandal which threw him out of office on charges of mentally scarring minors and causing the premature deaths of old wizards.

Snape contented himself with listening to the classes' disappointed voices as they glared at the pensieves, innocently sitting on a small ionic column in what was labeled as the front of the classroom.

"Merlin's beard...Why do we have to learn about pensieves again?!"

"As soon as we learn something interesting...It always comes back to those damn bowls."

"I'll have you know, pensieves are very interesting to learn about as they date back to-"

"Shut up, Hermione."

Oh damn it all to hell. Snape didn't realize he had Granger in this class. And where Granger is that Potter and Weasley boy are sure to be-

"Why is the greasy git playing substitute today?"

"I don't know, Ron. Let's just hope he doesn't get some of it on Professor D'Esprit's new carpets..."

By the time class was partway through, Black had already done the following: Made him impersonate Mrs.Norris, knock over three pensievess, and hit on Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. Needless to say, while Black may have been doing him a service of fixing his mind, he wasn't very good at the very principle of self-control. He was sure to become the fuel of many a rumour til Christmas Hols. What joy, what rapture, what torture for the poor unfortunate souls he still had to teach.

Yes, when this class was over, he was going to have to have a talk with a certain mongrel.

"Professor, I don't think pensieves are meant to be used as hats..."

Make that a very long talk.

VI.

"We'll never clean up this mess on our own. Where are the you know, mops, brooms-Frederick. Where is he?"

"Who in merlin?s cauldron is Frederick? Don't step on the glass, you idiot!"

"You be careful! And how can you not know Frederick? He should be here! I met him in your pensieve, and we had the funnest talks about how twisted your psyche is. He's a psychologist, no... He's a teenager. No... He's the ... janitor/sweeper here. He's the one who persuaded me to apologize to you, about how horrible I was to you back then.

He sweeps up spells, and potions ingredients and nightmares the size of Honeydukes' Best Chocolate. And meetings forgotten, and meetings you wish you could forget, and wasted nights of studying (because your grades are as dirt on the heels of your enemies), and pureblood mansions and those arguments that Dumbledore always wins. He sweeps the cobwebs from long forgotten memories. He sorts each bad dream you hoard away, pack rat, lest a dream grow mold and rot from disuse, before you can discover in them a clue to understanding Voldemort's weakness, and-oh God, I actually said all that out loud didn't I."

"I hate you, so so much. I-How is it you leave me floundering for words like a simpleton? For the last time, keep your nose out of my private business!"

"Look, your business is my business. And you know, when one's been dead for a while, one gets used to speaking in dramatic monologues.

Oh yeah. He also cleans up after me. Don't look at me like that. Not like I track in muddy feet on purpose, not after the first few weeks anyway. Who knew my footprints were so dirty? Who knew your thoughts were so fastidious? My very dust gives him the sneezing fits, too. On the rare occasion our paths intersected, I could always hear him coming: sweep sweep, sneeze. Oh, shut up. It's not that funny."

"I always knew you made me sick, Black," there was a pause. "Your description of this 'Frederick' individual, however reminds me of my son..."

VII.

"Okay. I know that I have said this before, but this time, there is no conceivable way. I admit, the paper was easy enough to collect once the project got started and it wasn't... impossible to paste my memory files together, even after all the initial difficulties. But I repeat, there is no way to put all this shattered glass back together."

"Snape, don't tell me you're giving up on your Potions knowledge. We'll find a way. We fixed the filing cabinet, right? Well, I did. I fix everything..." Muttered Black.

"Don't be ridiculous! There's no way to fix damage this extensive! Bring on your miracles this time, Black. Bring me the magical super glue. The glass pieces are too small to see. There's no way!" persisted Snape, dedicated pessmist to the end.

"Um. Hello," said a new voice. "Sorry I'm late. It took a while to follow the connection thread from the pensieves, and I got lost... I brought brooms?"

"Frederick...?"

VIII.

"What I can't believe, Snape, is that your inner child-oh I shudder to say it-is so sweetly dispositioned."

"For the last time, Charon is NOT my inner child. He is the child I always wished I had."

"Well, technically I was born in his innermost thoughts-"

Sigh. "Please don't encourage him, Frederick."

IX.

"If. If we proceed with this half baked idea of yours, Black-and for the record I don't think for one second Harry Potter has a secret talent at Necromancy-we need to establish some ground rules first. Before you go through this...coming back from the dead scenario."

"What the hell, Snape? This is a relationship, not a game."

"There's hardly much of a difference."

"How ridiculous! We need to work together, and at this rate, we'll not succeed at the spell, because you'll be too busy calling me an idiot and I'll regress into temper tantrums-"

"Black-"

"--Again. And I don't want to. Don't you understand? I'm sick and tired of fighting like cats and dogs! Well, sometimes it's fun to fight with you, but that is beside the point. The point is-"

"Oh, but whatever shall I do, Black, without your hate? Think I'll pine away? Well, let it be assured in your numskull mind, that I still hate you."

"Would you stop interrupting me?! I'm trying to have a heartfelt conversation with you about this relationship!"

"If it can even be called that."

"Merlin, Severus-"

"Don't call me that, Black, you haven't earned the right to call me that."

"I've repaired your entire mind and found your child; and I don't even get to call you by your first name?! Bloody hell, you and your impossible expectations!"

"It was your fault in the first place, and Charon was fine where he was!"

"Charon?! What the hell, Severus, his name is Frederick! Where he was...? Severus, sweeping the floors in your mindscape, is-by no stretch of the word-'Fine!'"

"Don't. Call. Me. Severus. And Frederick is his middle name."

"Listen. You apparently want me dead-don't ask me how that works with the new body bit-and I am becoming less concerned for your well being. Think about Fred-I mean 'Charon.' We need to get through this, dammit. I won't have him suffer for all your damn issues-"

"My issues. MY ISSUES?! For fuck's sake, Black. I'm not the one who spent twelve years in Azkaban and two being dead behind some damn Department of Mysteries contraption-"

"Shut. Up."

"I'm not the one who almost wets himself when he sees or even thinks about a Dementor-"

"Shut. Up."

"And I'M NOT THE ONE WHO BETRAYED ONE OF HIS SO CALLED BEST FRIENDS IN THE NAME OF YOUTHFUL SPIRIT AND COMRADERIE!"

"SHUT UP! I already apologized to Remus and he forgave me-"

"Black, one does not simply 'forgive' something like that."

"..."

"My issues, indeed."

"Remus forgave me-"

"Black. If we are going to have a...relationship. I need to be sure you won't so something like that to Charon. Or myself, for that matter. Dammit, Black, I just need you to not be such a rash, impulsive, defensive- Just don't be such a Gryffindor!"

"..."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Black...I know I have issues, but you are, to put it delicately, more fucked up than I am and you know my issues very intimately already. After all you were living inside my mind for how long? But I'm not the only person in this ... arrangement."

"I'm sorry."

"I wasn't asking for an apology. I am asking for your word that you wouldn't do something like that again."

"By my magic and by my soul, Snape. I swear never to do something like that again...May Merlin strike me down if I do..."

"Black."

"What is it now, Snape? Going to bring up another requirement? Should swear by the moon, the 'incon-"

"Call me Severus."

Severus thought it extremely depressing that in the end, after an intense hour of brainstorming, after they-a magical psychologist, a transfigurations specialist and man proficient in potions and dark magic-pooled their considerable talents together, the only workable conclusion they could reach was. That was. Male pregnancy. Himself.

'Ecceliber' was an ancient spell, full of venerable wizardly tradition, passed down through generations of certain powerful and paranoid pureblood families. Such as the Malfoys, the Blacks and the Peabodys. Who, to their credit, only condoned inbreeding as a last, and very undesirable resort. As most pureblood families believed, they were terrified of polluting their pure lineage with muggle blood, and since there were so few wizards in the world after the burning times, when the spell was created, the wizarding population was at an all time low. So, they created a spell to insure that their wizarding men would be able to contribute to the families' wealth in children. In other words, a male pregnancy spell.

As for why Snape had to bear the joys of motherhood, well. The idea was to gather all the shattered glass into a container, held by Charon-Frederick. Then Sirius would cast 'Ecceliber' on Charon-Frederick, and then, then-

It was a bloody idiotic idea.

Sirius was nervous. He shouldn't be nervous. Bloody hell, he was getting his body back and basically creating a child with the snarkiest bastard in Britain - if not the world - he had a right to be nervous! It just reminded him of having fleas is all....Ok Sirius Black needed to stop being nervous because he was beginning to have to restrain himself from scratching himself and biting his arse. Ah hell...no one had a right to be this nervous.

"I for one, am extremely skeptical about this so-called solution," Snape said, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. "I repeat, this will never in a thousand years work. Who's idea was this again?" They were standing on the edge of precipice, what if... what if, so many things could go wrong.

Frederick, who was this close to finally getting a last name, gulped and tried not to look down. It was a long, long drop down from his father's high minded brain to his non-existent womb. Not to mention it might not work, and he could actually die... "I thought the idea was to blame me for everything," he joked weakly.

"That's only if you were a hellion or if we were one of those couples who had a few too many martini's at the friends wedding reception and wound up in the back of the pickup of Fat Joe. So, as I always say. When in doubt, blame Severus," Sirius said trying to sound reassuring to the kid--no their child. "Besides, it's funner this way."

"Shut up, Black," Snape said, mostly out of habit, Who knew what martinis were. Who cared? Putting careful arm around his son who looked about ready to topple over from nerves -amazing- and then another arm around Sirius Black, he calmly asked, "Are you ready? This is your last chance to back out, when the incantation is still fresh. Don't think we can't find some other way to safeguard my memories. Think of yourself. Be a Slytherin."

"I decided this," Frederick breathed, determined. "Not because I owe you any misplaced debt or obligation. Besides, I've lived almost as long you have - twenty years. It's time to find out what the real world is like."

XI.

Trelawney dreamed.

Not that her inner eye was clouded, no, but even World Renown Seers dream ordinary dreams on occasion.

Which is why she decided that last night's completely improbable vision was as an 'ordinary dream' even though her ordinary dreams usually consisted of the wizarding equivalent to Chippendale dancers. Also, there were the dreams where thousands of admirers heralded her as the Oracle of This Age... Wait, that last one was a Seer dream, dammit.

Why she was having trouble letting go of this dream, anyway? She had dismissed all her other Ordinary Dreams, including the one about the Potter and Malfoy boy sharing a flat in Greece while they made love on the coasts of the Mediterranean. Even the one where Professor McGonagall was buying yarn balls to put under her new desk with the cat basket. So why this dream? All this worrying was complete nonsense, because Sirius Black was dead, and Severus Snape would die soon after, of alligator poisoning. All this she had foreseen.

It was bad enough they kept her locked up with no one for company, save for the perfectly oiled fighting machine stored with herself 'in case we need it.' Locked in her own tower mind you. How could they in good conscience leave her alone like- like- a useless old grandmother, to be kept safe from the battle. How could they possibly win this war without her 'All Seeing Eyes'? Would they know that poor Flitwick was nursing wounded pride from Mrs. Norris' catty rejection? She THOUGHT NOT.

Sybil knew she was going mad. First the dream and now daydreams of : Look, Gilderoy, I'm flying! Don't let go!" At least she was not dwelling on the dream... Casually she glanced toward her crystal ball, expecting to see the usual swirls of white and alabaster that signified the emptiness of 'The Beyond.' What she saw, was the dream replaying once more...

XII.

"Where did you put the diapers, I've looked everywhere. Here, you hold him."

"With words, Black. Do cease talking with a mouth full of cereal. I can't read your mind --"

"I don't understand. They were on the bookshelf this morning! Unless... oh Severus, this must be THE sign we've been waiting for. Yes, little Char-cakes is going to be a magician, yes he is... A very stinky magician. But don't worry, the girls will still love you; they'll call it 'aroma.' Nevermind, found them in the loo. What the hell are you giving me that expecting look for, you change him."

"Since you seem to forget, paternity charms will back me up here - this child's shit belongs in part to you. Isn't that nice? I changed it's diaper yesterday, its your turn to play father.''

"Have I mentioned lately, how much I utterly hate you?''

"Several times, Black, and believe me the sentiment is returned. Go change our child before I use your brain in a potion."

"I'd sooner swallow a dungbomb before I let you cut open my skull-"

"That's not where your brain activity is centered, Black. Think lower."

"..."

"My thoughts exactly. Now be a good dog, and go clean the baby up. Frederick sorely needs a fresh nappy."

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