Conceivable Visions, by Damsel-Most-Horrid.
Summary: A drunken one-night-stand leaves Snape pregnant with Lupin's child. Matters are complicated by talk of prediction, prophecy and wizarding saviours, throwing the two old enemies into a mutually despised situation.
Warnings: Contains slash and Mpreg (male pregnancy). Rated R for language, sexual situations and violence.
Disclaimer: All 'Harry Potter' related characters and concepts are the creation and property of JK Rowling (etc). No copyright infringement is intended. I write for fun, not profit.
Professor Minerva McGonagall sat alone in the staffroom, a leather-bound copy of the recently published Advance Transfiguration Today resting open but unread in her lap. Sincerely grateful for the solitude and quiet, she sunk deeper into the inviting recesses of the armchair she had selected, and surrendered to her growing tiredness.
The meeting had been utterly chaotic, as all had anticipated. As an abysmal start, the Minister and his aides immediately and flatly refused that it be considered a council of war and the proceeding rapidly deteriorated from there. Still technically in convalescence from her assault at the end of the last academic year, Minerva found the whole fiasco extremely draining and was relieved when it had drawn to a close.
Now, back in the comfort of Hogwarts, she prayed perhaps she could find time to unwind, if only for a brief period. As the late evening sun shone in through the westward windows, warming her hands and face, she permitted her eyes to slip shut and her head to nod; the edges of sleep washed over.
She suspected she had just drifted off when the staffroom door clattered open, and Sybill Trelawney swept in with her strings of ill-matching beads jingling noisily around her neck. Her eyes snapping open, and her peace so rudely disturbed, Minerva groaned inwardly as Trelawney settled herself in the armchair opposite her own.
"Good evening, Sybill," she said sleepily. "A surprise to see you down here."
That was no exaggeration. Minerva could not recall any occasion she had met with the other woman in the staffroom in all the years they had worked together; she was too weary to let this change bother her now, however. The woman rarely strayed from her own private sanctuary in the North Tower for long periods at a time; she would most likely soon retreat again, allowing Minerva to resume her nap.
"You are well, I trust?"
Trelawney regarded her with her bug-like eyes momentarily, before smiling broadly, flashing her crazy, crooked teeth, complete with inappropriate spots of bright fuchsia lipstick. Other oddities in her make-up stared blatantly at Minerva; the mismatched eye-shadow was the most prominent of these, lurid green and pink smudged across each lid.
"I am in perfect health, thank you," Trelawney replied airily.
Minerva nodded, returning the smile weakly. A note of scepticism rose up in her. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that which she was unlikely to voice in any open discourse: she was more than a little concerned for the woman. No one would ever venture to call Sybill Trelawney "normal", yet recently her eccentricities seemed more pronounced -- more disturbing. She remained as withdrawn and aloof as ever, yet to Minerva her manner seemed to lack the theatrics it once held; that facade had dropped to reveal –
Minerva had no idea what.
Gently, she reached out and gave the woman's hand a reassuring pat. "How about some tea?" she said. With a quick wave of her wand she conjured a laden tea-tray and a mellow aroma filled the room. At the prospect of a hot beverage, Trelawney grinned wildly once more.
"I think there are some biscuits somewhere," Minerva added, hauling herself to her aching feet. "Probably in one of the cupboard." There was a tin of shortbreads around, she knew, but they were her own personal supply. No matter how amiable she might ever be feeling towards the Trelawney, she had no intention of sharing those. The custard creams would have to do, if she could recall where they were hidden.
Rummaging through the cupboards, checking various tins to little avail, she barely heard Trelawney begin to speak.
"It will happen tonight."
Minerva frowned into a tin of stale old crumbs she has just prised the lid from. "Sorry Sybill," she said. "What was that?"
"The one who can assist us in these dire times is coming."
Slowly, unsure of her own ears, Minerva twisted on her heels and nearly dropped the tin she was holding. Trelawney was on her feet, facing Minerva and barely a foot from her. Her whole body was rigid; her eye had fallen back in her head like big white marbles and held no focus within them. Minerva gasped.
"Oh dear Lord - she's finally cracked," she thought, gripping the edge of the sideboard behind her. "She's having some kind of fit!"
Trelawney's face twitched. "A child of great importance and magic will this night be conceived to be born of a wizard," she continued, her wispy tones echoing eerily around the staffroom, sending a shiver down Minerva's spine.
"Our saviour is coming."
As quickly as it had come on, Trelawney's madness lost its grip. Her body and face softened and her eyes swam back into focus. She started, shaking herself like one who had just caught themselves from a brief slumber.
Minerva exhaled sharply, releasing the breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. She spun what she had just heard around in her head, unable to weave it into any manner of sense.
"Sybill? What did you just say?"
Trelawney snapped her chin up, her eyes glistening as a sweet smile crept onto her face.
"Have you found those biscuits yet, Minerva?"
A/N: My take on a cliché. When I originally started to write this story, I simply planned it to be: "Snape pregnant with prophecy baby, Snape and Lupin fall in love, Snape has baby and they all live happily ever after." Which is all very nauseating. While I confess much of this story will read like that old cliché, an alternative ending occurred to me that I will use to give the whole story a new, slightly mean slant (eventually, I hope).