— It started with a dull ache low in your back—a sensation you’d grown familiar with in the last few weeks. You didn’t think much of it at first. You shifted in the armchair, exhaled, rubbed your belly. But then the second wave came, sharper this time, and your breath caught.

Severus was nearby, hunched over a book at his desk, quill in hand. You called his name once—calmly. When he looked up and saw your hand gripping the armrest, the color drained from his face.

Another contraction hit, and that’s when panic bloomed in his eyes.

He was on his feet in seconds, knocking his inkwell over in the process. Ink splattered across his parchment, but he didn’t even notice. “What do you need? Are you sure it’s time? How far apart? Should we call Poppy? Or—no, wait—St. Mungo’s? Should I Floo someone? Merlin, where’s your overnight bag?”

You watched him scramble—grabbing your cloak instead of your packed bag, nearly tripping on the edge of the rug, muttering half-spells under his breath that he didn’t finish casting. His usual control unraveled with every second, and yet, the moment he knelt beside you and saw the strain in your face, he steadied—if only a little.

You reached for his hand. He clutched it tightly, as though grounding himself in your calm. “Alright,” he said, voice rough, but trying. “We’re doing this. We’ll get you there. You’re going to be alright.”

Another contraction surged, and he flinched just watching you breathe through it. He wiped your brow with a shaky hand, kissed your temple, then rose—faster now, more focused. Still panicked, still not himself, but moving because you needed him to.

And beneath the fear, there was love—raw, unguarded, and completely overwhelmed by the reality that everything was about to change.