When Harry looked back on it, it almost seemed like a dream. The time leading up to that night, months of running, hiding, searching for Horcruxes, trying to dodge Death Eaters and Ministry informants, and fighting off giant snakes masquerading as old women, seemed real enough. His stomach could still remember the days without food, although they were not all that unique to his existence. But all of that culminated in a night that he still could not believe was real.

He had followed the silver doe deeply into the snowy woods, where she had led him to the Sword of Gryffindor, at the bottom of a frozen pool. He'd had no choice except to enter the nearly frozen water in an attempt to retrieve it.

As he'd tried to recover the sword, the locket Horcrux, hanging from his neck, had attempted to strangle him. Just when he thought that there was no chance for his survival, strong arms had wrapped around his chest and pulled him from the pool.

Choking and retching, soaking and colder than he had ever been in his life, he came to, face down in the snow. Somewhere close by, another person was panting and coughing and staggering around. Hermione had come again, as she had come when the snake attacked… . Yet it did not sound like her, not with those deep coughs, not judging by the weight of the footsteps… .

Harry had no strength to lift his head and see his savior's identity. All he could do was raise a shaking hand to his throat and feel the place where the locket had cut tightly into his flesh. It was gone: Someone had cut him free. Then a panting voice spoke from over his head.

"You are—a bigger—fool—than I—thought! Do you have a death wish, Potter?"

Nothing but the shock of hearing that voice could have given Harry the strength to get up. Shivering violently, he staggered to his feet. There before him stood Severus Snape, fully dressed but drenched to the skin, his hair plastered to his face, the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and the Horcrux dangling from its broken chain in the other.

"Well I see your manners have still not improved," he said darkly. "Not even a 'thank you' for saving your worthless life yet again."

Harry stood there, icy water dripping off his nearly naked body, and gaped at his rescuer, trying to process what had happened. Suddenly, his brain seemed to make the connections necessary, pure fear flashing through him as he finally understood just who was standing before him. Glancing around desperately, he searched the surrounding area for Hermione's still lit wand and finding it, threw himself toward the place where it lay on the ground at the edge of the pool.

Scrambling to his feet once more, Harry had snow caked to his body where his bare chest and legs had hit the ground. He pointed the wand at Snape, his limbs beginning to shake violently with the cold.

"Lower your wand, you idiot child," Snape hissed. "If I wanted you dead I would have left you to your idiocy, instead of dragging you—at my own peril I might add—from the pond."

The cold made everything slow down, including his thoughts, and it took Harry some time to process the situation appropriately. It was true that Snape had saved his life, and that weighed a lot in the current equation. But why would a Death Eater save him? There were only two options: he wanted to take him to Voldemort, or he was still working for the Order. He had never trusted Snape, but Dumbledore had had utter faith in him, right to the bitter end. And Snape was not currently making any attempts to harm him. On the contrary, he had saved his life more times than anyone else. Many more times.

Slowly, he lowered the wand until it was pointed at the ground, realizing finally that he was not faced with an enemy, at least for the moment. Without the need for action, Harry's energy vanished and he sank to the ground, shaking violently.

Snape retrieved his cloak and moved to wrap him in it, but Harry shrank away. "Don't touch me," he hissed, his bluing lips barely moving.

"Potter," Snape drawled harshly, "you are literally freezing to death; if you wish to live, let me help you."

Harry had expended a great deal of energy and suddenly his arms and legs seemed too weak to do his bidding. Collapsing in a heap, he looked up through a fog to see his hated Potion's professor crouching over him. He didn't understand what happened, but the world around him faded to black, his sight as numb as the rest of his body.

Looking back, he knew he would surely have died if Snape hadn't taken him somewhere he could warm up. As it turned out, Snape had a portion of his home at Spinners End under a Fidelius Charm, and was able to transport Harry there, because with the death of Professor Dumbledore, Snape himself became the only secret keeper.

A fire and blankets with warming charms soon began to defrost his exterior, but Snape also offered him a shot of Firewhiskey to "warm his insides." And warm him it did, so much so that he appropriated another rather large glass while Snape was in the other room changing out of his sodden clothing.

Neither of them, he thought, had anticipated the magnitude of the impact that the alcohol would have on him. Although he was generally a private person, soon he was tipsily confessing things that heretofore he had been mortified to think of even in his most private moments. The shameful innermost desires of his heart all sprung to the surface and soon he was confessing to his former professor not only that he thought he might be gay, but also how he'd spent the previous year falling in love with the intelligent, clever, and sarcastic boy who had previously owned his borrowed potions book.

Harry had been surprised and horrified that he found the idea of a boy to be sexually attractive, but he could not deny his resultant fantasies. It had been drummed into his head since an early age that homosexuals were freaks, abnormal. Vernon had told him on more than one occasion, that the only thing that would make Harry more freakish than he was already was if he were also a "faggot." He had never considered the possibility that he might be freakish in this way as well, until his obsession with the Prince had begun. That obsession, and the feelings it stirred in his body were his most closely held secrets. He'd never considered confiding in another living soul, not even Ron or Hermione. But that night alcohol and adrenaline mixed freely and he found himself spilling his very soul to a man who had despised him since the moment he had first laid eyes on him.

As Harry's confessions continued, Snape became more and more withdrawn, his responses becoming less and less, his posture more stiff and unforgiving. When Harry further confessed that his discovery of the identity of "his Prince" had strengthened his fantasies, his former fantasy lover replaced by his dark and mysterious Potions Professor, Snape reached his limit.

"This is certainly not entertaining, Mr. Potter," he had snapped, his eyes flashing, before he turned his back on the young man to pour himself another drink. "I hardly appreciate your feeble attempts at humor, especially after risking my own life to save you, once again, from your idiocy."

Harry didn't understand why Snape didn't believe him. If he had been sober, he might have assumed that his former professor was heterosexual and did not relish being lusted after by his former students. But the alcohol sung in his veins, and he felt it necessary to convince the object of his affections of his sincerity. "Not joking," he mumbled, the alcohol thickening his tongue. "You're sexy. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark voice." He shuffled towards Snape, his eyes focused on the other man's face as he tried to convey his sincerity.

"Mr. Potter, I believe you are inebriated. Please desist in these activities at once."

Harry laughed at the way Snape could be so formal no matter the situation.

"Mmmm," he hummed as he moved in for the kill. "Not drunk, just want you." As he looked into the other man's eyes he tried to convey all the longing that he had felt over the past year.

Snape tried to leave the room, but the alcohol had made Harry bold and even slightly drunk, his seeker reflexes were faster. Grabbing the older man's arm, he'd turned them to face one another. And ignoring the irate look on his former professor's face, he covered the thin lips he'd so often fantasized about with his own.

Snape resisted momentarily, "Mr. Potter, this is incredibly inappropriate behavior, desist immediately," he blustered, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. Harry knew, even in his semi-inebriated state, that if Snape really wanted to stop him, he wouldn't have a problem doing so. But instead, the older man stood stonily as Harry leaned up to kiss him. As the moment progressed Snape went from unresisting to enthusiastic, thrusting his tongue into Harry's mouth to battle with his own. Harry relished the feel of the hot, moist, smooth mouth, contrasted with the scratchy stubble rubbing against his cheek and chin. When they finally broke apart, Snape looked him up and down for a moment before leading Harry out of the sitting room by the hand.

His memory of the events past that point was vague at best. Despite his obsession, Harry had never considered the logistics of having sex with a man. His fantasies had been restricted to the teenage variety, the kind that feel utterly debauched to the inexperienced mind, but in reality are as tame as a house cat compared to the reality of sexual activity. The sensations assaulting him were confusing and disorienting. Snape was as aggressive as one would expect a nearly 40-year old man to be, taking control of the encounter from the outset. Harry, confused as to what to do, simply reverted to what he had done for most of his life, he did as he was told and didn't question. Soon he found himself lying naked in the bed with Snape looming over him, kissing, licking and sucking down his body. The feeling of being touched in this way was overwhelming, and Harry surrendered himself to the experience.

The specifics of that night remained vague for him but the feeling of another body, warm against his, the scratch of stubble and body hair against his skin and the scent of arousal, musk, and sweat all joined forces to overpower his senses. There were some details, however, that he didn't need to remember, as his body reminded him of them admirably. When he'd awoken the next day, the late morning sun casting warm streaks across him as he lay alone in a cold bed, the sharp ache in his arse had certainly given him some idea of how he'd spent the previous night.

Finding the house empty and no evidence of a note or message from the man he'd slept with the previous night had placed a slight damper on the experience, one which was magnified with each passing day and week with no contact from Snape. He knew that creating or maintaining a relationship between the two of them would be difficult under any circumstances, and probably impossible with the current war. But he couldn't help but be somewhat disappointed that his first time had been nothing but a drunken, throwaway, one night stand for the other man.

But the hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes could not be placed on hold, not even for his bruised—if not broken—heart. Harry arrived back in the Forest of Dean the next day to find that the prodigal friend had returned, and that he had to play peacemaker for his two best mates. With the sword now in hand, the locket had to be destroyed, and the mysterious clues that Dumbledore left them had to be followed. By the next day, they were at Luna's house, trying to gain more information about the symbol that turned out to represent the Deathly Hallows. Harry was still slightly disoriented from his encounter only two nights before, and they ended up dodging the Death Eaters again, this time by the skin of their teeth.

After these few days of frantic adventure, they settled once again into a life on the run. Dreary days of icy rain and even more frigid nights were punctuated by arguments with his two companions over where they should be going and what they should be doing. The monotony of his days and nights led him to dwell, more than he would have liked, on his single night with Snape. He spent hours trying to work out feelings that ebbed and flowed like the tide. Some days he was simply irate, feeling as if he had been taken advantage of by his former professor. Others found him melancholy, simply wishing he could hear anything from the other man.

Despite the absence of contact in the weeks since, and his general sense of disorientation about that night, Harry could not bring himself to regret what had happened completely. He'd been in love with—or maybe just obsessed by—his Prince for over a year. And the fact that that man was Severus Snape in no way diminished his obsession or his fantasies. Snape actually saving his life had simply been the icing on the cake.

He didn't think he would've ever had the courage, in the absence of a near death experience and entirely too much alcohol for his inexperienced and malnourished body, to make love with any man, let alone his Prince. He wasn't exactly comfortable with being touched, which he figured came from the ten years of his life when the only touches he had received were shoves, slaps, and punches. He had also been told that he was stupid and ugly and worthless enough times that he didn't think he would have been able to expose himself to another man like that, let alone a man like Snape, who everyone knew could be mean and vindictive if he wanted to be. Furthermore, he was still uncomfortable with the idea that he was gay. He understood that the Dursleys were prejudiced and unfair, but a lifetime of learning could not be overcome in a moment's time. He just knew, with the type of certainty that exists only in youth, that he would have remained a virgin forever.

Harry was not generally an emotional person, but lately he had developed a melancholy streak that was coming back more and more often. He wouldn't have questioned it if he was still carrying the locket Horcrux, which seemed to have been detrimental for his mood, but that was destroyed weeks ago. He figured it must be related to the stomach flu that he seemed unable to get rid of for the past week or so. After all, how happy could you be purging your stomach a couple times a day. He could not decide if this illness was more or less aggravating than the standard flu, because, while it seemed that he was unable to shake this particular virus, at least he felt relatively fine between his bouts of nausea.

But now, here he was again, sitting on the floor by the toilet wondering if his stomach was finished purging itself. As he'd done several times before, he thanked Merlin that Wizards had the foresight to equip their tents with fairly modern amenities. Retching once more, he cursed Hermione, unfairly he knew, for cooking breakfast so early in the morning. He couldn't seem to get out of bed these days before the smell of frying eggs would send him running for the loo. But at least they had some food at the moment, something none of them could take for granted after weeks of semi-starvation.

Harry was just beginning to gather himself when there was a tentative knock on the door.

"Harry," Hermione's voice came softly through the wood, "are you alright in there?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute. I think I might still have the flu or something." He attempted to sound casual, he didn't want anyone worrying over him.

"Okay, well let me know if you need anything," she replied, before he heard her footsteps retreating.

Why did these things always happen to him? he wondered. Here he was camping out, practically starving and hunting Horcruxes, and to top it off, he had to come down with the flu. Wasn't his life perfect?

As he came out of the bathroom, Hermione eyed him warily. "Feeling better?" she asked as she began moving eggs from the pan to plates laid out on the counter.

"A little," Harry replied, eyeing the food with trepidation. "I don't think I'll be able to eat this morning, though."

"That's fine, Harry. Why don't you go lie down while Ron and I eat and try to figure out what we need to do today?"

Harry normally would have resisted such a suggestion, but his nausea seemed to be paired with a distinct lack of energy and a good lie down sounded like just the thing.

"Okay, thanks." He slipped back in bed, rolling onto his side to face the canvas of the tent, trying to ignore the way his stomach kept twisting, rebelling against even the smell of food. He closed his eyes, figuring that might help even though he probably wouldn't sleep.

When Harry next opened his eyes, he realized instantly that he'd slept for quite a while. The afternoon sun slanted across the tent, casting a warm glow about the room. Just as he began to stir, Hermione appeared in his field of vision.

"Morning," he muttered, raising himself up on his forearms.

"I think you mean afternoon," she replied as she plopped gently down on the edge of his bed, keeping him from getting out.

"How are you feeling," she asked as she touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "You don't seem to have a fever."

"How long have I been asleep," he muttered, rubbing his sleep-encrusted eyes.

Hermione looked at her watch theatrically. "Oh… I'd say about five hours." As she paused a moment, Harry knew he was in some sort of trouble when her countenance hardened and her posture stiffened. "I think it's time you told me what's going on."

"I don't know what you mean, Hermione," he protested. "I just have the flu or something."

He looked down at the blanket over his lap, but even with his eyes downcast, he could feel Hermione's critical gaze. He knew that look; she was trying to assess the honesty of his answer. She seemed to conclude that he was being truthful because her next statement, instead of being challenging was almost wistful. "I don't think so, Harry. You've been sick for too long, and most of the symptoms are wrong. I'd take you to St. Mungo's if I could. But since that's out of the question, given the circumstances, I think we need to try to figure this out for ourselves."

There was something about Hermione's demeanor that said she was withholding information. But Harry knew better than to pry. She would tell him when she was ready to, and no amount of prodding would speed up the process.

"Do you know what's wrong with me?"

"Possibly," she said, looking down at his hands, which were currently picking at lint balls on the blanket. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I don't want to speculate until—."

Harry did not want to admit it, but this discussion was scaring him a little. He had never been good at talking about himself, and his health was an even more uncomfortable topic because it seemed so out of his control. "Okay, but what can we do?"

She pulled out her wand, a gesture that, from anyone other than her or Ron, would have earned at least a minor hex. "I spent the morning reading up on health scans in The Healer's Helpmate, and I think I found a couple that might help us figure out what's going on."

Harry rolled his eyes. Only Hermione would have thought to keep The Healer's Helpmate in her bag, on the off chance they would have to go on the run. Well at least this time he would benefit from one of her compulsions.

"Yeah, fine. Go for it."

He lay back on the pillow as Hermione brought her wand up over his head, holding it horizontally above his body, like Madam Pomfrey had always done. "Now hold still."

He rolled his eyes at the obviousness of the instructions, but otherwise remained motionless. He always felt like an idiot during these things, even with a professional healer. And having one of his best friends on the casting end did not make it any more comfortable.

She muttered to herself as she swept the wand downward slowly, covering the length of his body. When there was no visible response to the spell she frowned to herself. "Okay, well it's definitely not the flu. Lay still, I just want to try one more," she said soothingly before beginning the process again, this time with a different incantation.

As she reached his abdomen, a blue light flared, and her face shuttered.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered as she lowered her wand. "How could you? God knows, we all have urges, but this is not a good time for you to get careless. Didn't you even think of the consequences?"

Hermione was taking that lecturing tone that he absolutely despised. And to top that off, he had no idea what she was talking about.

"The consequences of what?" Harry asked, sitting up quickly.

Hermione simply stared at him for several long moments. "Well… umm…" Her blush crept quickly up her cheeks, and suddenly there seemed to be something extremely interesting about her wand. "Sex," she finally blurted.

"Oh God no!" Harry gasped. He'd gotten some kind of sexually transmitted disease. His mind ran through all the horrible possibilities, trying to remember if each was curable. Oh Merlin, what if it was HIV? Even wizards hadn't found a cure for that yet.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, burying his face in his hands, ashamed of his situation.

"Maybe. I'm honestly not sure, this type of thing is very rare in wizards and I don't have the correct books to research it properly. We'd really have to go to St. Mungo's to find out, and there's no way we can do that."

"Well, what about a Muggle doctor, surely they could do something."

Hermione frowned, "I don't think that's a good idea," she said haltingly. "It's not like Muggle doctors ever deal with this kind of thing—at least in men."

Harry frowned. He didn't understand why a Muggle doctor could treat something in girls but not boys. "Why would that matter at all?"

"I don't think Muggles would react well to a pregnant man."

"What!?!" Harry thought he must have misheard.

"I mean, how could we even explain it without breaking the Statute of Secrecy?"

Harry was genuinely confused at the turn this conversation had taken. "What are you talking about? In case you missed it, Hermione, I'm a boy. I don't have the right parts to be pregnant."

Now Hermione simply stared, and Harry was quickly becoming unnerved. "What did you think we were talking about?" she asked, pre-empting Harry's reiteration of his question.

He wasn't about to tell her that he'd thought she'd been telling him that he had a STD. "I have no idea?" Harry shrugged, shaking his head. It was true, none of this made any sense to him.

"Harry, you're pregnant."

Okay, now he got it, this had to be some sort of joke. "Could you please pinch me?" he laughed, "I must be dreaming, 'cause I think you just told me I'm pregnant."

Hermione reached out for him, but instead of pinching, she simply laid her hand over his, squeezing reassuringly. "It's not a dream, Harry. You are pregnant."

Okay, maybe she wasn't joking. But now he was worried about his friend. "Hermione," Harry began warily, "I think you might need to lie down. Did you bump your head or something?"

Shaking her head, she smiled sadly. "You really don't know?" She bent to retrieve a book from the floor by the bed. Opening it to a marked page, she handed it to him. "Didn't anyone tell you that wizards can get pregnant?"

Looking at the book in his hand, a wave of dread washed over him as he read the chapter title.

"Supplementary Prenatal Care for the Pregnant Male"

Harry was absolutely stunned. How was that even possible? No, Hermione must have made a mistake with the scan. Yes that was it, it was a mistake. After all, he'd only had sex once in his life. He couldn't possibly be pregnant. "It only takes once dear," a small voice that sounded suspiciously like Madam Pomfrey reminded him. But he was a boy. Boys didn't get pregnant. He couldn't believe it. This was some sort of nightmare. This was not happening, could not be happening.

He didn't know how long he'd sat and stared at the page in front of him, but it must have been some time because Hermione had retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen and was now rubbing his back soothingly, whispering assurances, like he was a small child with a scraped knee. "Shhh. It'll be all right. We'll figure it out. Don't worry. Ron and I will be here for you." He got the feeling that she had been repeating those words for a while. He took a deep breath, and when he exhaled he could not stop a sob escaping.

"Harry," she asked kindly, taking his hand once more. "Who's the father?"

He simply shook his head, not raising his eyes from his lap. This was bad enough already, how could he tell his friends that he'd slept with Snape? What kind of person slept with their Professor, let alone one they'd hated for years? They wouldn't understand.

Hermione obviously didn't like this answer as her grip on his hand tightened until he looked up again. His friend looked him straight in the eye. "Harry," she said gravely, "I need you to tell me the truth. Is it Ron?"

"What!?! Oh God, no! How could you even think such a thing? Yuck!"

Harry, surprised as he was by Hermione's question, made no attempt to hide his revulsion. It only took him a moment, however, to realize that his words were likely to be offensive to his friends. He had unintentionally implied that sex with Ron would be disgusting, something not to even to be thought of. "No! That's not what I meant. I mean, I'm sorry if—. He's not a bad looking bloke or anything—. And, I mean, I'm sure he is perfectly good at—well—you know. But it would be like—that with my brother."

Hermione laughed gently, letting out a sigh of relief. She smiled maternally at him, reminding him of why he loved her so much. Despite the fact that she was barely older than him, Hermione was possibly the closest thing he'd ever had to a mother. "No, don't apologize, I understand." She froze, looking at him intently. Harry could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. That look was never good. "But if it wasn't Ron, then when—. That night Ron came back? You disappeared. That's the only time we've been separated for any length of time in months. We thought you'd just gone off to give us time alone. But you didn't, did you? You were with someone."

Harry just nodded, feeling completely numb.

"Who?"

Harry crumpled in on himself. "I can't—I just can't tell you that right now. Please don't ask me to." It felt like the world was crashing down around him. "Please, I think I need to lie down."

Hermione smiled reassuringly, but Harry felt absolutely hollow, like someone had ripped his insides out, and could not bear to return it. She seemed to understand though, and patted him gently on the shoulder as she stood to leave. "Sure. Just call if you need anything."

For quite some time, Harry lay there and stared blankly at the rough, dull olive fabric that made up the wall of the tent. He didn't really understand what was happening, how he had gotten himself into this mess. Oh God, what was he going to say to Snape? "So Severus, ever thought of having kids? No? Well you might want to start thinking about it really soon, because I'm preggers." Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon. He figured that Snape was likely to hex him just for using his given name, so he wasn't sure what kind of reaction his—situation would produce.

Why did these things always happen to him? It seemed like the universe was stacked against him. His eyes were watering now and he blinked, holding back the tears. He would not cry about this. He hadn't cried when Sirius had died, and this didn't hold a candle to that. He could get through this.

Over the next few weeks, Harry began to get used to his situation. Telling Ron had been his most harrowing moment, as he hadn't been sure how his friend would react to finding out that he was gay and pregnant at the same time. Ron, however, had taken it in stride, well at least the gay part, the pregnancy actually seemed to freak him out a bit. It seemed that the Wizarding world was a lot more tolerant of "alternative lifestyles" than Muggles were, something he probably should have figured out before. With all the part giants, part veelas, and other mixed species he'd seen, being with another human male hardly seemed shocking.

His acceptance of his condition was aided significantly by the fact that Ron and Hermione were clearly concerned about his wellbeing. A little too concerned, truth be told, as he'd actually had to yell at his friends to get them to stop being ridiculously solicitous. It had also helped that his morning sickness had receded to a low-level nausea that he found he could remedy by eating something light as soon as he got up.

What Harry could not get used to, however, was his friends' constant harping at him about the identity of the father of his baby. He thought it a major accomplishment that he could even think those words—his baby. He was having a baby. He was having Snape's baby. It still seemed a little unreal, like some strange dream he would wake up from any minute. He couldn't imagine himself as a mother—or father—or whatever he would be.

Ron and Hermione kept encouraging him to let the other father know what was happening, always trying to find out who he was in the process. "You can't expect whoever it is to be happy that you kept this from him, Harry. And frankly, what's the worst case scenario?" Hermione asked. "He doesn't want the baby and you raise it by yourself." Ron was nodding his agreement. "But that's where you are now. You ought to at least give him the choice. He might surprise you. If you don't want to tell him yourself, I could owl him for you, if I knew who—"

That was certainly not the worst scenario Harry could envision, but he didn't want to argue that point again. This was at least the tenth time they'd had this conversation over the past two weeks and he couldn't take it anymore. "Can't you just let it rest?" Harry practically yelled. "He won't care. Why would he?"

"Of course he cares, Harry. Why else…" The look on Harry's face stopped Hermione in her tracks.

"I'm nothing to him." He sighed, looking at his hands twining together. "It was just one stupid night. I was drunk, or it never would have happened at all." He looked up at his friends, his eyes pleading. "Please just leave it. I know what's best. It's better that he never know."

Ron and Hermione nodded mutely, not able to hide their sadness at their friend's predicament.

Harry woke up feeling rather disoriented, unsure of how he came to be in this place. He was warm and dry, and lying in a soft bed, all of which were incongruous with his life over the past months. Glancing around, he was surprised to find a chair, which would have reminded him of one of Dumbledore's had it been done in a lurid purple, rather than the sedate brown leather it sported. More astonishing, however, was the identity of the man currently lounging in the chair, his head falling backward as he slept. The last person he would have ever expected to find—wherever he was—was Severus Snape.

Harry couldn't help but spend several long moments staring at the older man. He looked unusually peaceful in his state of slumber, and Harry had never seen the man in a more unguarded state. Once he had overcome his shock at finding his—he wasn't actually sure what Snape was to him—lover seemed overly personal and romantic for what they had, but professor seemed far too formal. And while there were any number of crude terms to describe their relationship, Harry did not feel comfortable with those either, especially considering that he was carrying the man's child.

Harry gasped—the baby—oh god, he remembered some of it now. The Taboo…the snatchers…Malfoy Manor. The events of the previous evening came rushing back, crashing dramatically into his psyche. Harry remembered being captured and taken to the manor. Hermione's screams echoed through his mind, as he remembered her being interrogated about the Sword of Gryffindor, while he was in the cellar, frantically searching for some way to free them. Seeing Dumbledore's eye in Sirius' mirror, Dobby's miraculous appearance to rescue them, the battle with Bellatrix and the Malfoys to rescue Hermione and Griphook. The crash of the crystal chandelier as it fell onto Hermione and Griphook.

He remembered, with a strange clarity that comes only in the heat of battle, the insane fire in Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes as she threw her silver dagger at them, the knife itself seeming to hover in the air as he desperately tried to Disapparate with Dobby and Griphook to Shell Cottage. As if it had just happened he felt the searing pain as he shoved Dobby out of the path of the knife and felt it sink into his abdomen. His abdomen—oh God, the baby. He scrambled with the covers, trying to figure out what had happened after that, his mind retrieving nothing but darkness from that point until his recent awakening. He had just managed to move the mass of blankets away when a deep voice echoed through the room.

"It's fine." Snape was now standing, moving toward his bed much too gracefully for someone who had spent the night sleeping in a chair. "Madam Pomfrey came and pronounced you both well."

Harry simply gaped up at the older man as he came to rest at the side of his bed. He didn't know what to say or do. He hadn't planned for any situation remotely resembling this. Instead of responding, he turned back to his own body, uncovering his belly to find a two-inch pink scar across the left side of his still very small baby bump. Rubbing his hand over the spot several times, he found that he needed greater reassurance. "Are you sure," he whispered lowly, not taking his eyes or hands away from the small scar. Despite everything, he found the thought of any harm coming to his baby to be absolutely mortifying. He hadn't planned this, but he would be damned before anyone would hurt his child.

"Yes." Snape's dark voice seemed unusually soothing, and Harry looked up into his eyes, trying to assess the honesty of his answer. "Poppy declared the wound to be 'relatively minor' and deemed you fit to resume normal activities today."

Harry looked back down at his stomach, rubbing it once more in a manner that had become almost unconscious in the past few weeks.

"She has also determined that the baby is healthy, despite your lack of prenatal care to date."

Harry suddenly felt alarmingly exposed and struggled with the blankets, pulling them up to his shoulders, covering up as much of himself as possible. In tried and true fashion, Harry decided that the best course of action was to change the subject. "How'd you get here?"

"I was fortunate enough to be in the infirmary checking on the Potions stock, when the elf appeared gasping something about Harry Potter being hurt."

"Why did you come though? Madam Pomfrey could've taken care of me."

Snape looked as embarrassed and unsure as Harry had ever seen him. He looked pointedly away before the younger man could gain a hold on his eyes. "I could not say," he said stiffly before pausing dramatically. "It simply seemed the proper thing to do at the time." Having unloaded that semi-confession, he turned once more toward Harry, still lying abed. "And it was most fortunate that I did, seeing as there may have been something rather important that you neglected to inform me of."

Harry shuffled his blankets around some more, doing all he could to avoid looking at the older man hovering above him. He could feel his cheeks heat as Snape's eyes bored into the back of his head. "Well—" he didn't get a chance to finish whatever he was going to say—and damned if he knew what that was—as Hermione took that moment to burst into the room.

"Oh Harry, you're awake." She ran to his bedside and clasped his hand in both of hers. "I was so worried. Madam Pomfrey said you would be fine, but you had passed out and with the baby and all." Hermione paused as she noticed Harry's wary glance in Snape's direction at the mention of the baby. "Don't worry. He already knew about the baby, Madam Pomfrey told us all last night that you would both be fine. Although I doubt she would have mentioned it if she had thought some of us didn't already know."

As Hermione continued to prattle on, Harry glanced once more at Snape. He was fixing Hermione with a stare that—well let's just say if looks could kill. But in her relief, she seemed oblivious to the uncomfortable and even antagonistic atmosphere between the other two in the room. "She said the baby is healthy so far, but that you need to make sure you get prenatal care. She gave me this portkey to take you to a safe place for scheduled appointments with her. I have the schedule somewhere. I'll get it to you later."

"I don't know," Harry objected. "It may not be safe to meet with anyone right now."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Potter," Snape interjected harshly. "Madam Pomfrey is completely trustworthy. And you WILL be seeing her." He gave Harry his most intimidating professorial look. One reserved for students who had truly fouled up.

Harry played with his blankets, twisting and untwisting them while Snape stared remorselessly at him. When he looked up, he could see that their behavior had triggered Hermione's curiosity. She looked back and forth between them, the wheels of her prodigious mind clearly turning. She looked at Snape inquisitively. "Why do you—?" then back to her friend, "Why does he care so much?"

Harry didn't answer. He hadn't been ready for this. "Harry," she began again, taking his hand once more. "Why does Professor Snape care about your prenatal care?"

"Hermione," he said slowly, breathing deeply, trying to keep himself clam. "Professor Snape is the father of my baby."

"Oh God!" she gasped.

Harry could tell that Hermione was truly shocked as it took her several long moments before she spoke again. Only something of this magnitude could silence her for any length of time. Harry was waiting for her to chew him out for doing such a stupid thing. Instead he was utterly surprised when she turned her attention on Snape. Jumping from her chair, she rounded the bed, moving quickly until the two of them were toe to toe. The sight was absurd to say the least. Snape towered over Hermione, but the expressions on their faces clearly showed who was confrontational and who acquiescent.

"How could you?" she ranted, in a way that would have normally mortified her, shaking her finger at him. "How could you? He's—well, he was your student. You're old enough to be his father. What kind of man are you, anyway?"

Hermione had clearly gone too far. As if someone had flipped a switch, Professor Snape was back, looming over her once more. "Miss Granger. You have no idea what type of man I am." Once she seemed suitably cowed, he turned toward Harry. "As for Mr. Potter's accusation. As you well know, I had no idea before last night that Mr. Potter was pregnant. And until just this moment, he had not deigned to inform me that I was the father." Snape's face twisted into his most evil sneer. "Although I expect there are several other contenders for that particular position."

The venom in that final statement made Harry's head snap upward. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but to be called a slut, someone who wouldn't even know who fathered his baby, wasn't it. "No!" he nearly shouted, holding Snape's deep black eyes. "It's you. There's no one else."

Snape's visage hardened as he stared at Harry for a moment before turning once more towards Hermione. "Miss Granger, if you would give us a minute, I think Mr. Potter and I have some things we should discuss privately."

She nodded her assent, stopping by Harry's bed once more on her way out. "Call if you need me," she whispered before swiftly departing.

Snape watched her leave, keeping his eyes fixed on the door for several moments after she was gone. Seeing they were alone, he whispered Accio and his chair slid up neatly behind him just in time for him to lower himself gracefully into it.

He sat there stiffly, much like a king on his throne, his hands resting on the arms of the chair.

"I take it from your protests that you are fairly certain I am the father," Snape said, more statement than question. When Harry replied with a reluctant nod, his expression hardened. "Well isn't that just perfect, Potter. Clearly my life is not complicated enough."

"Oh and I guess my life is much simpler, is it?" Harry snapped back, giving Snape his best glare. He was riled by the unfairness of it all. Here he was pregnant, and all Snape could think of was how it complicated his life. "Git," he whispered, under his breath, turning his attention once more to his lap.

Harry would have sworn that his Potions Master didn't have an emotional bone in his body, but as he watched Snape's hands out of the corner of his eye, clenching and unclenching repeatedly, he knew that he had been wrong. Clearly there was emotion there, it was just kept under tight control.

When Snape finally spoke again, his tone was brittle, as if he might snap at any moment. "Why didn't you take precautions?"

Harry snorted. "I could ask you the same thing."

The flippant response clearly angered the older man further, his posture becoming stiffer. "I assumed you had done so. That is generally the submissive partner's responsibility. And I hadn't supposed that even a Gryffindor would be so reckless as to have sex without using a birth control charm."

"Well, clearly I wasn't the only reckless one," Harry snapped in reply before realizing that was not the direction he wanted this conversation to head in. Softening his tone once more, he did is best to be conciliatory. "Look, I'd never done that before, and I didn't even know I needed to do something. I had no idea this could happen."

"Do you mean to say that the hero of Gryffindor had never had sex before?" Snape scoffed incredulously.

Harry didn't respond, choosing instead to stare defiantly into the dark depths of his professor's eyes.

"You hadn't, had you? I never thought—." Snape paused, looking him straight in the eye. For a moment there was something in his professor's expression that made him vaguely uncomfortable, rather like the cat that had gotten the cream. But before Harry could fully identify the emotion, it was gone, replaced with the cold countenance he expected from this man. "Inexperience is not an excuse for ignorance, Mr. Potter. If you had paid any attention in your classes, you would have known this could happen, and the charms necessary to prevent it. I know for a fact that Professor Flitwick teaches birth control charms."

Harry gaped at him, his outrage was rising. He had paid attention in class, but he'd thought those charms were for girls, so it hadn't occurred to him that he might need them. And really, how could that git blame this all on him, he hadn't done this by himself after all. "I—I," he began; ready to protest the unfairness of all this when a raised hand cut him off once more.

"Having said that, Mr. Potter, if I'd known you were a virgin I would have been more careful with you. I just—well, given the way you came on to me, I supposed that you were— experienced." That was probably the closest thing to an apology that Snape had ever given, but somehow it didn't seem enough given the situation.

"Well you were wrong," Harry said sullenly.

The first few days after he awoke at Shell Cottage felt like a trial by fire. He'd had to try to navigate very rough waters, dealing with his housemates' various reactions to finding out that he had slept with Snape. Luna, at one extreme, had taken the whole thing in stride, simply commenting that Professor Snape was "quite sexy," while Ron had been irate and refused to speak to him for days. Much of the rest of the house had reacted like Hermione, who had been shocked but refused to be judgmental. This combination had created a very tense atmosphere, which had only relaxed when Ron had decided that while Harry was "mental," he was still his best mate.

Since then things had evened out substantially, but Harry felt a bit like he was doing prison time. Some days seemed to drag on unendingly, but if you blinked a week or more would speed by. Harry knew he should be thankful to be someplace safe and warm, but having nearly half a dozen people scrutinizing every bite of food he took and every move he made, created a less than restful environment. Fortunately, Snape, who was clearly the most aggressive about monitoring his well-being, was only there sporadically. Despite everything, Harry found it odd that his former professor took such notice of all his minute activities. In some ways he was happy that Snape cared, Harry knew that he could have walked away and left him to fend for himself. With the war raging and his status as a spy, he certainly had all the excuses necessary to do so. But return he did, over and over, making sure that Harry and the baby were healthy and that he was eating right and seeing Madam Pomfrey as scheduled.

Despite Snape's obvious concern, the inquiries felt more like those of a teacher or father than a lover. And perhaps that was appropriate, as they had never repeated their night together. Harry began to wonder why Snape never pursued him in that manner. After all, it's not like he could become pregnant again. The damage was done, and it would be nice to be a bit closer with the father of his child. They didn't even call one another by their first names, instead sticking with Professor (although Harry still thought of him as Snape) and Mr. Potter.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a green flare in the fireplace. Moments later, a black-clad Snape was regally stepping from the fireplace. "Hullo," he greeted him, standing up from the chair where he had settled himself. Harry was never sure of the etiquette of these visits. This was not his home and he was not comfortable playing the host. To top that off, he wasn't sure how he was even supposed to act around Snape. They weren't really lovers, and they definitely weren't friends. He wasn't sure what they were.

"I take it you're feeling well," Snape asked, looking him up and down. His eyes stilled for a moment on Harry's abdomen, where his baby bump was just visible through his clothes.

Harry was shocked when Snape raised his hand, seemingly ready to touch his bump. He wasn't sure if his surprise showed on his face, or if Snape simply thought better of it, but he hesitated a moment, clenched his fist, and lowered his hand once more.

They stood awkwardly, not quite looking at each other for some time. Finally Harry cleared his throat quietly. "Would you like some tea, Professor," he asked, the words coming out more stilted than he would have liked.

"No," Snape replied, waving him off. "I've acquired some pertinent information. If you could gather the others, I believe it is time to make plans."

Harry obediently went to round up everyone. He felt a bit like an outsider before the meeting even began. He was hopeful that tonight he would finally find out what was going on. When they had gotten away from Malfoy Manor, he had been determined to remain silent on their mission, but Snape had put paid to that agenda. When he had tried to remain non-committal about his upcoming activities, he had been taken to task.

"Oh yes," Snape said, his face twisting with sarcasm, "the top secret Horcrux hunt. Well you can just leave that to the other foolish Gryffindors."

Harry's jaw dropped and he knew he was gaping at the man. He had never told a soul, other than Ron and Hermione, and he was sure that they were not keeping Snape up to date. "How did you know?"

"I'm not an idiot, Potter. The headmaster kept me up to date with his search. And you had the locket the night I pulled you from the pond. Of course, I see Nagini on a regular basis," Harry could have sworn that Snape shuddered at the mention of Voldemort's familiar, "and she certainly is still alive. I hardly think you've had the time to find the other two. I am sure, given the situation, that Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley will be able to continue without you."

Harry had not acceded to that demand, but regardless of that fact, many of the others had. He knew that people had been keeping things from him, since the day they had found out he was pregnant. All he had to do was enter a room for the whispered conversations to fall into awkward silence. It felt very much like his second year at Hogwarts, when everyone thought he was the heir to Slytherin.

When he returned to the kitchen, he found Snape seated at the table with Bill. They spoke in hushed tones that, while not allowing him to catch the substance of their words, communicated great urgency. As he entered the room his shadow fell across the table, causing both men to fall silent. Harry awkwardly seated himself at the opposite end of the table, waiting in silence for the remainder of their party to arrive.

The tense atmosphere cleared as others trickled in, filling the room with their chatter. After everyone was seated, with tea and biscuits in front of them, Snape stood, obviously taking charge of the meeting.

"The issue at hand is the location of the Dark Lord's remaining Horcruxes," he began, looking at the others around the table. "As we all know, Hufflepuff's cup is secured in the Lestrange vault, and we must plan its recovery carefully."

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron as Snape continued in his lecturing tone. All he had to do was fuzz out the words a bit in his mind to relive the speech they had received from their Potion's Professor on their first day of class. He had just gotten to 'I can teach you how to bottle fame,' when something in the present lecture caught his attention.

"Excuse me?" he spat incredulously.

"If you would care to pay attention, Mr. Potter I would be most appreciative," Snape sneered. "As I was saying, I have found the location of Ravenclaw's Diadem and it should be quite easy for us to acquire and destroy."

"How'd you find it," Ron blurted out, his surprise overwhelming his usual reticence around his most hated professor.

"It was just a matter of asking the right person, or ghost as the case may be. The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, was most helpful when I explained the situation to her. The problem, however, lies not in acquiring it, but in its destruction. As the number of Horcruxes has dwindled, The Dark Lord has begun to feel their destruction. He was most agitated when the locket was destroyed, and I imagine that losing another one will send him into a rage. Therefore it is important for us to acquire the Hufflepuff cup quickly. Once we have the cup in our possession, we can destroy them both just before we make our final attack.

"Mr. Potter," he continued, turning his attention once more toward him. "Have you had any recent visions of the Dark Lord?"

Harry was somewhat surprised by the sudden change of direction. He grimaced as he tried to recall the last vision he'd had. He'd been blessedly free of visions for quite some time, and now that he thought about that, it seemed odd to him. "No, not at all," he replied bemusedly. "Not in at least a few months."

Snape nodded, as if this response had been totally expected. "I have recently come to understand the source of your visions and I believe that you will not suffer from them any longer."

Despite the dramatic nature of this news, or maybe because of it, all Harry could muster was a surprised "really?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Snape said, looking down his nose as he towered above him. When Harry continued to look at him blankly, Snape continued. "Parents and children often have a connection which allows each to feel the other's emotions, especially when they are strong. The basic purpose is for parents to know when their child might be hurt or in danger, to enable them to come to their aid. I believe that when The Dark Lord severed your connection to your parents so violently, he accidentally replaced that connection with one to himself." Snape allowed everyone a moment to digest that information before continuing with his exposition. "Because that connection was artificial, it had different properties from a normal parent-child bond, causing you pain. I believe, however, that your connection with The Dark Lord has been terminated, replaced by a new connection to our child. In that sense, your pregnancy has released you, sealing your mind away from His."

As he finished his explanation, a small smile crept across Snape's face. Harry could not decide if it was smugness, for having figured out something where many others had failed, or if he was genuinely happy that Harry was free from his affliction.

As the meeting continued, Harry couldn't help but be a little amazed by Snape's planning ability. He supposed he shouldn't be, now that he thought about it. Snape had survived as a spy within the Death Eaters for many years. He would have to have great observational skills and the ability to plan well. As the plan was laid out, who would go where and with whom and for what purpose, Harry found that he was conspicuously absent from the duty roster. He started to ask what he would be doing, but as a pointed look from Snape cut him off, he decided to wait until after the meeting for that conversation.

As it turned out, Snape would be going to Gringotts by himself to acquire the cup. He had decided early on that it was best to leave Griphook, who had left to join a small underground goblin colony, out of the whole plan. The little goblin did not trust them, and Snape in turn did not believe he would not cross them if it served his purposes. Instead, he had spent weeks convincing Voldemort that it would be best for him to "independently" assess the security of the Lestrange vault. Now he had the key in his possession and everything was ready. If all went according to plan, Voldemort would have no clue what was happening until two of his last three Horcruxes were destroyed.

Ron and Hermione were to rendezvous with Neville, who, Snape informed them, had been heading an insurgency within the walls of Hogwarts. Their job was mainly to make sure that the older students were prepared for battle, and the younger ones moved to safety. The job was difficult, to say the least, as it would be necessary to do so under the noses of the Carrows, who were ensconced at Hogwarts.

Bill and Fleur were to rally the Order Members together and Portkey with them to The Hog's Head, where they would use the tunnel that ran to the Room of Requirement to gain entrance to Hogwarts. Once the order members were safely inside, Ron and Hermione would proceed, with the Sword of Gryffindor, to the Headmaster's office. Snape would floo there to meet them with the cup.

Snape was fairly certain that Voldemort would retreat to the Shrieking Shack with Nagini once the battle began, and the timing of the destruction of the cup and diadem were critical as he needed to get close to his former master without him realizing he had been betrayed. Snape believed that Voldemort would not be able to discern the loss of the Horcruxes once the battle began as there would likely be Death Eater deaths which would create magical interference. Snape was hopeful that he would be called to his "master's" side where he could kill both Nagini and Voldemort.

It was his belief that, once their master was dead, the remaining Death Eaters would scatter and the battle would be over.

After the meeting, as the other participants were trickling out and ensconced in their own conversations, Harry approached Snape.

"I'm coming with you," he said boldly.

"No!" Snape spat. "Absolutely not. I will not allow you to endanger my child."

"I can't let you to fight him alone. And I would never do anything to risk OUR child, Severus. I'm not stupid, you know."

"You are an archetypal Gryffindor. Rushing into danger without a moment's thought for yourself is your modus operandi. You. Can't. Come."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"Can't I.?" Snape arched his eyebrow in an obvious challenge.

"You aren't my father!"

He grimaced as Snape muttered "Thank Merlin for that." Somehow, this whole exchange made him feel like a small child.

"I can do what I want," he continued defiantly, determined to reassert his adult status.

"If you won't think about yourself or our child, at least think of your mother. She gave her life for you. And she would be mortified at the thought of you putting yourself and her grandchild at risk."

"What the hell do you know about my mother?" Harry scoffed.

Snape stiffened visibly. "Far more than you, I'm sure. I knew and loved Lily Evans for many years and I know what—"

"You loved MY MOTHER!" Harry shrieked, not caring who heard, oblivious to the heads turning in their direction. This was horrible. Had he simply been a substitute for his dead mother? "That's really sick, you know," he spat before turning on his heel and storming out of the house.

He walked for some time in a blind rage, not caring where his feet were taking him. When he had calmed a little, he found himself by the ocean, near a rather large rock. Settling himself there, he sat and watched the waves crashing against the beach, the gulls swooping down to the water in search of food only to return skyward once more. He thought with longing of his Firebolt, locked securely in his trunk, and wondered if he'd ever get a chance to fly on it again. His life was immeasurably complicated and he longed for simplicity, to be one of those birds, the sea breeze, the wind in his hair, to have nothing more to worry about than spotting his next meal in the water below.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice Snape's arrival until he was next to him. "So this is where you went off to." He sank down next to Harry, close enough to touch him, but allowing him his personal space. "You shouldn't hare off like that, Harry."

He glanced up at Snape, surprised by his soothing tone and the use of his given name, as if Snape were trying to placate him.

"I needed time to think." A gust of wind made him shiver, and Harry curled his cloak more tightly about himself. He felt safer within his small cocoon, as if the black fabric would act like some sort of armor for his heart.

"I understand," Snape replied, brushing at the sand by his hip. "Mr. Potter—Harry," he began tentatively, after allowing them both several moments to listen to the waves. "I know that your life is incredibly complicated, but please allow me to explain."

Harry looked challengingly at him, but when he didn't object, Snape took that as acquiescence. "I did love your mother. Not as a lover, but rather as a friend. She was fun and vivacious, smart and trustworthy; as far as I was concerned she was perfect. If she had been male, I'm sure I would have truly fallen in love. But regardless of her gender, she was my first true friend and she meant the world to me."

Harry looked up at him, trying to deal with the revelations he'd just been dealt. So Snape was gay. It wasn't just a onetime experiment for him. And perhaps more importantly, to Harry at least, he hadn't slept with his mother. He wasn't really sure what this meant for him though, so he simply nodded, returning his attention to the seagulls.

"When you first came to Hogwarts, you seemed an arrogant little boy, practically a clone of your—" He paused, a vile word hung heavily in the air between them. But Snape was clearly in a conciliatory mood, as it never formed on his lips. He cleared his throat, "—father. I couldn't see how you could possibly be an appropriate successor to Lily Evans. But since that time, you have matured somewhat. You are more like her than I supposed."

Snape looked as if he had more to say, but something was stopping him. Suddenly he leaned over and claimed Harry's lips with his own. Harry felt his heart rise into his throat as those soft lips moved across his. He hadn't known how much he wanted this. He buried his hands in Snape's robes, desperately pulling himself closer against the older man's body.

Harry opened his mouth, allowing Snape's tongue to slip between his lips and stroke his own. He moaned softly before reciprocating enthusiastically. He vaguely remembered this feeling from their one night together, but the reality of if far surpassed his broken memories. He felt like his body was on fire, burning from the inside. As he sank more deeply into the sea of pleasure that was forming around him, Harry began to sink down onto his back, pulling Snape on top of him.

"No," Snape said, breaking their kiss and sitting up once more. "Not like this."

Harry wasn't sure how to reply to that sort of rejection. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks and he turned his face away, trying to hide the hurt he knew would show in his eyes. He was bitterly disappointed, he'd thought that Snape's kiss meant something, but clearly he was wrong. He tried not to dwell on the reasons why Snape would not want him, but he knew there were many. "Okay," he whispered, waiting to be left alone once more.

He was surprised when long fingers tucked themselves under his chin, turning his head in Snape's direction. "No, Potter. You daft child. Are you being deliberately obtuse or simply incapable of seeing what's before you?"

"What?"

"I said, not like this. I didn't say not at all. Come back to the house?"

Harry nodded and was immediately pulled up by his hand, and quickly led back to Shell Cottage. They hurried up to Harry's room, counting themselves lucky to not encounter any of his housemates along the way. By the time Harry closed the door he was panting, the excitement of the moment coursing through him. Snape, by contrast, seemed calm and collected, his face showing little emotion as he quickly pinned Harry against the wall by the door and began ravishing his mouth.

It was immediately clear to Harry that, as the previous time, Snape was in charge of this encounter, something he could not bring himself to object to. Harry's vocabulary at the moment consisted of moans into Snape's mouth as he felt deft fingers stripping him of his robes. Those hands, still cool from their time on the beach, immediately found their way under his jumper, pushing it upward to spread themselves against his warm skin. Finding his baby bump, they paused, seemingly unable to move on.

Harry groaned, feeling a tingle of magic surround his abdomen. Snape pulled away, a surprised look on his face indicating that he had felt the magic as well.

"It is my child," he whispered hoarsely. Harry was riled by the surprise there. He wouldn't lie about something like that. He was just about to say so when Snape continued. "I knew it intellectually, but to feel the magic, to know—it's amazing!" The look on Snape's face confirmed that he was truly astonished to be confronted with the undeniable reality of his impending fatherhood. Harry was dumfounded as his hated and feared Potions Professor sank to his knees and kissed his swollen abdomen. Snape whispered something that Harry thought was "I'm your father," although he thought he was probably imagining things.

Even though he couldn't really remember his first time, Harry truly believed this was a hundred times better. Snape was firm but gentle as he caressed him head to toe, lingering in some of his more sensitive areas, while completely ignoring others. Harry, feeling he was about to go mad, thrashed under his ministrations. When his moans finally escalated to a "Please," Snape relented and focused his attention once more.

Harry was so on edge by the time Snape finally touched his cock that he nearly came on contact. Everything felt so wonderful, but when those long elegant fingers ventured backward to stroke across the entrance of his body he could no longer help himself. He came, shrieking, "Professor!"

Snape laughed softly, a sound Harry would have never expected to come out of his mouth. All his professor's previous laughter had been tainted with hatred and derision. But this was a sound of pure joy that served to feed Harry's contented smile. "I would prefer Severus," he said, "especially when we are in bed."

"No one else has ever touched you there," Snape purred. It didn't sound like a question, so Harry didn't answer until he received a sharper follow up, "Have they?"

Harry shook his head, his general feeling of lassitude overwhelming his ability to speak.

"Have they?" Snape repeated. Clearly he demanded a verbal answer.

His fingers continued to caress Harry's opening, making him moan. "No—no one but you."

The smirk that broke Snape's face then could only be described as self-satisfied. He stroked more firmly, a single finger dipping barely inside his body. "Mine," he said possessively.

Harry lay back, opening himself to Snape's ministrations. He was shocked from his silence when a moment later his opening was touched by soft lips, making him moan loudly at the sensation.

"Mine," the word was repeated, breath ghosting across his sensitive flesh, and Harry's heart soared, he was sure that he was being officially claimed.

Harry yowled as the mouth returned once more, this time those crooked yellow teeth that he and his friends had so derided gave a gentle nip directly on his hole.

"Mine!" Snape growled ferally.

All Harry could do was confirm with a whispered, "Yours!"

Afterward, as they lay together in a sated tangle of limbs, Harry returned to the argument that had precipitated all this. "I want to come with you," he said quietly. "I can help."

"No, Harry. I will kill him. I need you to stay here. If you're there, it would only serve to distract me. Keep our child safe."

Harry nodded in reply and watched as Snape drifted off to sleep. He lay there for some time wondering what the following day would bring. He couldn't help but wonder if this whole encounter had been a manipulation to keep him out of the impending battle. It was something Snape—no Severus—was certainly capable of. Severus. He had to start thinking of him as Severus, if they were to be lovers after all this was over. His heart leapt at that thought. He truly hoped that this was the beginning of something much bigger, not part of some Slytherin manipulation.

Harry was in agony. It had been hours since the others had left, and he had not received any word about their progress. For all he knew, they could all be lying dead somewhere. How could they leave him here like this? He paced the floor in front of the fireplace, waiting for some word, willing the flames to flare green. What if they were all dead? What if Severus were dead? If everyone were gone, it wouldn't matter that he'd stayed behind. He would be completely on his own and Voldemort would find him and kill him eventually.

He thought of his Invisibility Cloak, tucked safely away in his room upstairs. He didn't know how they had all overlooked it in their planning. He should have sent it with Snape, just in case. But since it was here, it would be easy enough for him to slip it on and go check on the others. Severus would never even need to know he was there. He looked at his cloak hanging on a hook by the door where he had hastily placed it as he was returning last night with Severus. If he were to die, if that was their last night together—. He would never forgive himself if he didn't do something.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Harry hurried upstairs to grab the Invisibility Cloak and rushed to the fireplace. Tossing the Floo powder into the flames, he waited for them to turn green before saying, "The Hog's Head," and stepping in.

He stumbled out the other end into the usually dark and dingy bar, only to find it overrun with Hogwarts students. Clearly Ron and Hermione had decided to evacuate the younger children from the school grounds. He crossed the room to where Aberforth Dumbledore stood wiping the bar with his dirty cloth, at a loss as to what to do with over 300 agitated students. The whispers followed him across the room. "Is that Harry Potter?" "He must be here to fight you-know-who." "Do you think he stands a chance?" "Wow, Potter's gotten fat." He almost died when that last one reached his ears. Here they were in a battle for the future of the world and all some of them could worry about was whether or not he'd gained weight.

"You shouldn't be here. It's not safe for you." Aberforth growled as Harry reached him.

"I had to come," he insisted. "How do I get through?"

Aberforth gestured across the room to where a portrait of a lady, who was clearly Ariana Dumbledore, was opening to reveal a tunnel. "It's your funeral," he said as Harry took a step toward the opening. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he shouted as Harry climbed inside and the portrait began to close behind him.

The walk through the tunnel seemed to take longer than it should have, but eventually Harry emerged into a strange room hung with multicolored hammocks and the banners of the four Hogwarts houses.

"HARRY!" a voice shrieked, and he was soon nearly bowled over by Ginny Weasley. "You came," she gasped, squeezing him uncomfortably around his middle.

The Weasleys must have done a better job keeping secrets from one another than he had expected, because the youngest Weasley pulled away in shock at the feel of his abdomen. "Oh Merlin," she gasped. "Harry, tell me you're not—you're not pregnant are you?"

He just nodded; this was an uncomfortable subject to discuss with anyone, but especially with a girl who he knew had had a crush on him for the past five years. She quickly turned her face away, but not before he saw the sparkle in her eyes that indicated the onset of tears. Oh god, he didn't know if he could deal with her crying right now. Fortunately, however, he didn't have to find out as a loud bang in the hallway focused them on the issues at hand.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked, looking around the room to confirm that they were not there.

"I don't know," she replied, glancing warily toward the door. "I have to stay here to make sure that the room stays closed to the Death Eaters, and open for our side." She lowered her voice before continuing. "I don't know what's going on, but they said it was important for me to stay. In case they need to retreat."

Harry didn't need any more information. He strode across the room, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak as he went. Whipping it around his shoulders he turned to her once more. "I'll be back," he said, trying to infuse the statement with as much confidence as he could, just before he pulled the cloak over his head and disappeared completely.

As he opened the door he was assaulted by the noises of combat. He hoped the empty hallway indicated that the Order was on attack somewhere in the castle. He ran through the halls in the direction of the battle sounds, his wand at the ready in case he should encounter any resistance. Rounding the corner near the Headmaster's office he found a group of Order members, including Ron and Hermione engaged in a heated battle with several Death Eaters.

Coming up behind them, he slipped the cloak down to his shoulders, allowing only his head to be visible. He had hoped this wouldn't be necessary, but he had to find Severus, and this was the only way he could locate him. "Ron," he stage whispered, repeating the name a little louder when it was clear that his friend hadn't heard him.

Ron whipped his head around, his mouth dropping open as he saw the apparitional head hovering before him. "Harry," he hissed angrily, "what are you doing here? You're supposed to stay at Shell Cottage."

Harry wasn't going to take the time to argue the point. "Where's Snape?" he asked, turning his head once again to search the area.

"Don't know," Ron returned, turning back to the battle. "You should go back."

Harry slipped the cloak over his head once more, turning down a currently empty hallway in search of his lover. He would be damned if he would wait at home like the good little wife while everyone else was fighting for their world. He was going to find Severus if it was the last thing he did.

Slipping out into what should have been the dark of night, Harry found the Hogwarts grounds lit by the strange glow of multicolored spell lights. Bursts of red, yellow and blue mixed with the sickly green he knew indicated the killing curse.

Searching the area, he recognized Severus' distinctive figure and stance from across the courtyard. The current headmaster was battling three Death Eaters alone, and although he seemed to have the battle well in hand, Harry could not risk anything happening to him. Dropping his Invisibility Cloak, he rushed across the open space, casting hexes and curses at any Death Eater in his way, until he arrived at his lover's side.

"What are you doing here?" Snape asked, never taking his eyes from the battle around him. "I told you to stay at the house, you reckless brat."

"I couldn't leave you to fight this on your own," Harry shouted over the battle noises permeating the air around them. "If you'd died…" He couldn't finish that thought, it was too painful.

"And what if you do?" Snape growled at him. "What then?"

Harry had no response for that, and it seemed he didn't need one because at that moment the wave of battle surged around them, separating them from one another. Harry fought with all his strength, taking on one Death Eater after another, never finding a moment to search the battle for his lover. All he could do was hope that Severus was having as much luck as he had. He was leading a charmed existence, none of the Death Eaters seemed able to lay a wand on him.

Harry wasn't sure how long he'd been fighting, but suddenly the sea of bodies parted and there before him was the skeletal figure of Voldemort himself. His red eyes glowed in the spell light, as did those of Nagini who coiled herself around his legs, somehow moving with him as he came toward Harry.

He raised his wand and shouted, "Crucio."

Harry instinctively covered his belly attempting to protect his child, while awaiting the horrible pain he knew was coming. But before he felt it, a scream rent the air and he looked up to find Severus writhing on the ground in agony, having thrown himself between the curse and his pregnant partner.

After what seemed an eternity, the curse was ended and Severus collapsed, his breathing uneven as his body tried to recover from the torture it had just been put through.

Seeing that Severus was not a threat to him, Voldemort turned his attention to Harry once more. Harry's and Severus' instinctive reaction to protect their child had not been lost on their opponent. "Oh how quaint," Voldemort sneered, his red eyes sparkling evilly. "The Boy Who Lived is with child. I wonder who the father could be." He turned his malicious gaze on Severus once more. "It wouldn't be you, would it, Severus. Because I would find that most upsetting. To think," he paused as he raised his wand pointing it once more at the injured Potions master, "that my most favored follower would betray me in such a way. Crucio!" Light shot from his wand, hitting Severus in the side, causing him to scream again in agony.

"No!" Harry shouted, moving toward his injured lover. "Leave him alone!"

Voldemort chuckled. "Alone? I hardly think so. But if you hand over your wand and surrender yourself to me, I will allow him to die quickly. Otherwise—"

Harry couldn't think. This couldn't be happening. He saw Voldemort release his spell, and Severus' body slumping bonelessly on the ground. As he knelt beside his injured lover, he kept his wand leveled at Voldemort.

"I grow tired of waiting." The high, cold voice sent shivers down his spine and Harry knew he could delay no longer.

"I'm sorry, Severus," he whispered in his lover's ear. Standing, he squared his shoulders, raised his wand and tossed it to the ground at his feet. "It's over," he said stoically as his heart was torn in two. This was not the way it was supposed to end.

Voldemort cackled. "Finally, the end of The Boy Who Lived." Harry closed his eyes, unwilling to watch the spell that would end his life. He grieved silently for their child who would never know its father, for his lover who would have to watch them both die before his own life would be taken.

A scream of outrage drew him from his contemplation of his own death and he opened his eyes to find Neville, the Sword of Gryffindor in his hands. With a single stroke, Neville cleaved Nagini's head from her body, and Voldemort's scream of agony rent the air. In that moment, Severus raised his torso off the ground, his wand in hand, and, pointing it at his former master, incanted, "Avada Kedavra." The sickly green light that Harry associated with the deaths of his parents, Cedric, and Dumbledore, flared in the dark night, and Tom Riddle fell in a heap at the feet of Neville Longbottom.

Harry ran to Severus once more, kneeling on the ground by his side. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently.

"My pocket," he hissed. Harry felt in his cloak, his hand closing on a small potions bottle. Bringing it out he took the cap off of what he recognized as a very strong all-purpose healing potion. He gently cradled Severus' head as he raised the vial to his lips, making sure he drank the whole dose. Severus closed his eyes again, a grimace creasing his face as he swallowed the potion and allowed it to do its work.

When he opened his eyes once more, they were free of the pain that had been so obvious in them. "Are you going to be all right?" Harry asked again, receiving a decisive nod for his efforts.

Harry stood, helping Severus up with him, crushing their bodies together in adrenaline-filled relief. It was over, as the dearth of battle sounds around them clearly indicated, and they were both alive and whole.

After his moment of relief, Harry surveyed the surrounding terrain. The grounds of Hogwarts were dotted gruesomely with the dead and injured, but already there were those who were beginning to gather bodies and tend to the wounded.

Suddenly he realized what had happened. "Oh no," he gasped, "your soul…"

An ironic smile crept across the headmaster's face. "Is completely whole," he finished for him.

"How is that possible? I thought that…"

"The killing curse tears your soul apart because of the hate with which it's used. I have never killed in hate, only mercy, and now love." Snape drew Harry to himself so they stood together, an island of content in the sea of chaos that surrounded them.

"Love?" Harry questioned. "Do you love me?"

"Idiot Gryffindor," Severus said, shaking his head, but the phrase didn't hold any of the animosity it had in the past.

Harry snuggled close to his lover's chest. "Yes," he whispered. "Your idiot Gryffindor."

Snape looked down at him with one of his patented smirks. "Yes, mine," he confirmed, pulling the young man into a passionate kiss. His hands roamed over Harry's body before coming to rest on his pregnant belly. "Mine, forever," he breathed, their lips still barely touching.

"Yes," hissed Harry, feeling his heart rise once more into his throat as he realized that, at long last, he had found his family in the most unlikely of places.