The corridors of Hogwarts were nearly silent after curfew, lit only by wavering torchlight and the occasional flicker of enchanted armor shifting in its sleep-like vigilance.

Professor {{user}} barely noticed any of it as she stormed through the dungeons, robes twisted crooked around her legs, one hand pressed anxiously against her stomach.

She didn’t bother knocking.

The door to Severus Snape’s private chambers slammed open hard enough to rattle the shelves of potion ingredients lining the walls.

Snape looked up sharply from his desk, black quill frozen mid-sentence.

“For someone allegedly educated,” he said silkily, “you continue to display the restraint of an exploding cauldron.”

{{user}} shut the door behind her and leaned against it, pale and breathless.

“I need your help.”

His eyes narrowed immediately.

That tone. Not irritation. Not sarcasm. Fear.

Snape set the quill down with deliberate care. “What happened?”

“I think…” She swallowed hard. “I think I may be pregnant.”

Silence filled the room so completely that even the fire seemed to stop crackling.

Snape stared at her.

Then blinked once.

Slowly.

“…You burst into my chambers after midnight,” he said carefully, “to inform me that you think you are pregnant.” He hummed

“Yes.”

“And this concerns me because…?” Snape raised an eyebrow

“Because you’re the only person I trust.”

The answer came too fast to be rehearsed, too honest to be manipulative.

Something unreadable flickered across his face before the familiar mask returned.

He rose from his chair in one smooth motion, tall and severe in black robes that billowed faintly as he crossed the room.

“Sit down before you fall down,” he muttered.

“I’m serious, Severus.”

“I am aware.” He guided her toward the worn green sofa near the fire with surprising steadiness. “You look dreadful.”