She was dreaming of pain. A gaping, splitting wounding. Pain so sharp that it was flaying the skin from off her bones. She had her eyes shut tightly against the stripping bereavement of it.

"Hermione," whispered Severus into her ear. "Hermione."

There was a refreshing firmness against her back; he had slipped onto their bed, behind her. He was crouched on his haunches, his knees tight at her hips, his arms under her breasts, over the heaving belly. He mouthed her ear, she could feel his beard against her neck and she leaned back into him. "Yes," he whispered, "You can do this."

"Hermione," Poppy's voice was low and melodious, but commanding, "It's time to birth this baby."

She was molting sweat. She squinted her eyes open, reached down both her hands and felt the baby's head pushing its way out of her body. This was the source of the pain. This child's birthing.

She felt fingers join her own, pressing her flesh back, around the baby's head, she pushed and a scream tore itself out of her throat. The child emerged into her hands

"That's alright. You go right ahead and scream, dear," Poppy was helping lift the infant onto her belly. Then Severus's hands were there and together they held the little body firmly folded to her breasts.

She looked down and saw their child curled tightly inside their cupped hands and she wept.

~***~

A candle flickered on the bedside table. The bedroom door left cracked open, light and the low voices of Poppy and Minerva filtered into the darkness. Hermione lay against the pillows, Severus asleep beside her, the babe nested into the crook of her arm, between them. Asleep. She knew soon she would be asleep as well. She looked down at the small face of the child, her nipple spilling out of the open mouth. With a tentative finger she traced the tiny ear, smoothed at the fine locks of hair. Just hours old.

"I am so pleased you're here," she whispered. The baby stirred.

"So very pleased that you're here," she bent and kissed the pate, "again."