Chapter Text
The corridors of Potter Manor echoed softly, each footstep muted by thick Persian rugs. Shadows danced on the ornate walls, cast by the flicker of enchanted sconces. Severus sat in the expansive drawing room, his hands resting on the swell of his abdomen, eyes fixed on the farthest corner where darkness gathered and refused to yield. The fire in the hearth burned low, its warmth failing to chase the cold that had settled in his bones.
It had been months since the Healer confirmed his pregnancy, months since the manor had begun to hum with the preparation of new life. And yet, Severus felt like an intruder in his own skin. His body was no longer his—it had been commandeered, reshaped by the rhythms of nature and magic. He was heavy now, ungainly, with every step a reminder of the life he carried and the self he seemed to lose a little more each day.
James was not far; he never was. Since Severus’s condition had become more delicate, James had taken to hovering like a hawk over prey, always ready to assist, to soothe. But even in his closeness, there was a distance. They no longer shared a bed—James had insisted it was for Severus’s comfort, his safety, but the emptiness beside him each night told a different story. It whispered of rejection, of abandonment masked by practicality.
Severus’s fingers curled tightly over the armrest of the chair. He didn’t cry—not visibly, not audibly—but his chest ached with the effort of holding back the tide.
---
James entered the room quietly, his movements instinctively gentle, as though afraid to disturb the precarious balance of Severus’s moods.
“Sev,” he began, his voice warm, a note of cheerfulness feigned for Severus’s benefit. “You’ve been sitting here for hours. How about some tea? Or perhaps a walk in the garden?”
Severus didn’t look up. The gesture was not deliberate, but James’s words felt distant, like they were spoken through layers of glass. After a moment, Severus shook his head. His throat worked to form a response, but the words dissolved before they could surface.
James crossed the room and knelt before him, his hazel eyes scanning Severus’s face.
“You’re pale,” James murmured, concern lacing his tone. “Have you been eating? You need to keep your strength up.”
The admonition, though soft, stung. Severus’s jaw tightened. Of course he had been eating—he had no choice. It was impossible to ignore the meals that the house-elves brought like clockwork, laden with rich, hearty foods meant to sustain not just him but the child growing inside him. But eating had become a ritual of self-loathing. Every bite seemed to pile onto his body, distorting the image he carried of himself in his mind. His face was fuller now, his cheekbones softened, his nose appearing more pronounced against the new roundness. He had seen the way his skin stretched over his stomach, marred by faint silver lines. The reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable.
“I’m fine,” Sevrus said finally, his voice low and brittle. He shifted in his seat, a laborious effort that made him wince.
James frowned, his hand coming to rest lightly on Severus’s knee. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. Whatever you’re feeling—talk to me, Sev.”
Severus’s breath hitched. He turned his face away sharply, unwilling to let James see the cracks in his mask. “I said I’m fine.”
---
As the evening deepened, Severus retreated to the privacy of his room. It was smaller than the master bedroom they had once shared, tucked away in a quieter wing of the manor. The bed was narrow, surrounded by shelves crammed with books and potions ingredients he hadn’t touched in weeks.
Severus sank onto the edge of the bed, cradling his stomach almost absentmindedly. The baby stirred beneath his hand, a faint flutter that should have brought him comfort. Instead, it amplified the gnawing sense of inadequacy. He thought of the mocking laughter from his schooldays, the way his peers had sneered at his appearance, his background. *Snivellus*. The word rang in his ears, a ghost from the past that refused to rest. Even James had joined in their taunts once, his voice carrying a cruel edge that Severus had never forgotten.
The memory tightened around him like a vice. He closed his eyes, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The weight of his history with James pressed heavily against the fragile foundation of their present. It was true—James had changed. He was no longer the brash boy who tormented Severus for sport. But did that change run deep enough to withstand the cracks in Severus’s self-esteem? Would James look at him—truly look at him—and see more than a burden, a shadow of the man he had married?
The tears came silently this time, tracing warm trails down his cheeks. His fingers gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles whitening. He hated this weakness, this vulnerability. And yet, he could not suppress it.
---
The nights were the worst. They stretched endlessly, filled with phantom echoes of his past and the oppressive silence of his solitude. Severus often found himself staring at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling into dark, uncharted territories. Sleep was elusive; his body ached, his mind refused to rest. The weight of his anxiety pressed down on him like a tangible force.
Tonight was no different. The moonlight spilled through the window, painting the room in cold silver tones. Severus lay on his side, a position that had become his default as his stomach grew. The baby moved within him, a sensation that was both alien and intimate. He pressed a hand to his belly, tracing the curve with trembling fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the stillness. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”
The apology wasn’t for the child—it was for James, for the marriage he felt he was failing, for the man he once was but couldn’t find anymore. He remembered the biting remarks, the cutting jests he had once wielded like a weapon to keep others at bay. Now, his words failed him, trapped behind a wall of fear and self-doubt.
A faint knock broke the quiet. Severus stiffened, hastily swiping at his damp cheeks. Before he could respond, the door creaked open, and James stepped inside. He was dressed in his usual sleepwear—flannel bottoms and a loose-fitting shirt—but his hair was ruffled as though he had been running his hands through it.
“Sev,” James said softly, closing the door behind him. “You’re awake.”
Severus turned his face away, feigning indifference. “What do you want, Potter?”
The use of his surname wasn’t lost on James. It was a defensive wall Severus often erected when he felt vulnerable. James sighed but didn’t retreat. Instead, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his distance.
“I couldn’t sleep,” James admitted. His voice was low, hesitant. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Severus replied curtly. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” James’s tone was gentle, but the question carried weight. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on Severus’s arm. “You’ve been so distant lately, Sev. I can see you’re struggling, but I don’t know how to help you if you won’t let me in.”
Severus closed his eyes, his throat tightening. He wanted to lash out, to push James away before he could get too close, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a sob escaped, raw and unbidden. It startled them both.
“Severus,” James murmured, his hand tightening on Severus’s arm. “Talk to me. Please.”
The dam broke. Words tumbled out in a torrent, disjointed and filled with pain. “I can’t do this, James. I can’t... I look at myself, and I don’t recognize the person I’ve become. I feel... hideous. Weak. Useless. And I’m terrified that one day you’ll look at me and see the same thing.”
James’s face softened, his hazel eyes shining with unspoken emotion. “Severus,” he said firmly, “you are none of those things. You’re carrying our child. That’s not weakness—it’s strength. And as for your appearance... I’ve always thought you were beautiful, Sev. Even when we were stupid kids at Hogwarts, I couldn’t help but admire you.”
Severus scoffed, though it was half-hearted. “You have a strange way of showing admiration, Potter.”
James winced. “I know. I was a prat back then—a blind, arrogant prat. But I’ve grown up, Sev. I’ve changed because of you. And I love you more than I ever thought possible. Nothing—nothing—could make me stop loving you.”
The sincerity in James’s voice struck Severus like a physical blow. His defenses crumbled further, and he let James pull him into an embrace. The warmth of James’s arms was both unfamiliar and achingly familiar, a reminder of the safety he had long sought but rarely felt.
“I’m scared, James,” Severus admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of being a failure. Scared of losing you.”
James held him tighter. “You’ll never lose me, Sev. Never. And as for failure... you’re the bravest person I know. You’re going to be an amazing parent.”
For the first time in weeks, Severus allowed himself to believe those words. They sat there together in the quiet of the night, the weight of their fears and insecurities lessened by the gentle contract.
---
The sixth month of pregnancy loomed heavy, not just in the size of Severus’s swollen belly but in the weight of the changes it brought. Severus had always been acutely aware of his body, but now every shift, every stretch of his skin, seemed magnified, each new change a further departure from what he had once known. His breasts, in particular, had been a source of quiet mortification. They ached constantly, a dull, insistent throb that refused to be ignored.
He had read about the changes before—the Healer had warned him about them—but nothing could prepare him for the reality. The areolas were darker now, larger, dotted with small bumps he had never noticed before. The sight of them in the mirror made him turn away quickly, unable to reconcile this version of himself with the image he clung to in his mind.
Severus sat in the corner of his room, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to ease the pressure on his chest. The cool air provided minimal relief. He refused to go further, even though he knew James would suggest it as soon as he noticed the discomfort. James noticed everything these days, from the way Severus avoided mirrors to the shadows under his eyes that even the softest candlelight couldn’t hide.
And here he came, as expected, knocking gently before entering, not waiting for permission. James’s gaze swept over Severus, pausing on the undone buttons.
“You’re hurting,” James said, not a question but a fact. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, his concern palpable. “Let me help.”
“I don’t need your help,” Severus snapped, though the sharpness in his tone lacked conviction.
James knelt in front of him, ignoring the words. “Sev, I know it hurts. The Healer said cold compresses would help. Please, just let me do this.”
Severus tensed, his hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as though it were a lifeline. The thought of James seeing him—seeing the full extent of what his body had become—was unbearable.
“No,” Severus said firmly, his voice trembling. “I... I can manage.”
James’s brow furrowed, his hazel eyes softening in a way that Severus hated because it made him feel exposed. “Severus,” he said gently, “this isn’t something you have to hide from me. You think I haven’t noticed? I know you’re worried about how you look, but none of that matters to me. You’re still you.”
The words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened Severus’s shame. He turned his face away, his jaw tight. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” James urged. “Help me understand.”
For a long moment, silence hung between them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its light flickering over their faces. Finally, Severus released the grip on his shirt, his hands falling limp in his lap.
“They’re ugly,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The... the bumps, the color... Everything about them is hideous.”
James blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Sev, they’re not—”
“Don’t,” Severus interrupted, his tone sharp. “Don’t lie to me. I know what I look like. I’ve always known.”
James exhaled slowly, his hands resting on his knees. “I’m not lying, Severus. You’re carrying our children—your body is doing something extraordinary. How could I see that as anything but beautiful?”
Severus scoffed, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You’ve always been good with words, Potter. But words won’t change how I feel.”
James didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached for the small basin of water he had brought with him, cooling the cloth with a flick of his wand. He wrung it out carefully, then looked at Severus again, waiting for permission. When none came, he leaned forward and pressed the cloth gently to Severus’s chest, his movements slow and deliberate.
Severus flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. The coolness was a relief, but the intimacy of the act was almost too much to bear.
“You don’t have to say anything,” James said quietly. “Just let me take care of you.”
---
But care was not what Severus wanted—not entirely. As the days passed, the tension in his body grew, a restless, gnawing need that he couldn’t bring himself to voice. He hated the way his emotions betrayed him, the way his eyes welled with tears over the smallest things. He hated the way his body felt foreign, out of his control. And most of all, he hated the distance he felt from James, a distance that seemed to widen with every passing day.
James had always been attentive, but now his attentiveness felt clinical, detached. He hovered like a Healer, ensuring Severus ate, rested, and took his potions. But the warmth they once shared, the intimacy of their early marriage, felt like a distant memory. Severus knew the Healer’s warnings were partly to blame—no strenuous activity, no unnecessary risks. The twins made his pregnancy high-risk, and his history of malnutrition only added to the concern.
But logic was a poor balm for the ache in his chest. He wanted James—not the careful, cautious version of him, but the man who had once kissed him with abandon, who had made him feel like the center of the universe.