Chapter Four

Done with their unholy deeds for the time being, the two lovers lay contentedly in each other's arms. The whirrs, ticks and hisses of the myriad magical trinkets filling the shelves and tables in the room were the only audible sounds aside Albus and Severus' deep breaths.

Suffice to say they were completely and utterly alone—

"That was some fucked up shit," said a disgusted voice from directly behind them.

—Or not.

Albus (still looking like a busty, twenty year old Lily Evans) and Severus jumped to their feet in shock. When Albus jumped however, his enormous breasts did as well. Everyone in the room watched, mesmerized as two perfectly formed breasts bounced freely, the very way god intended. All eyes, even the gay man's, were transfixed as the supple, yet perky bosoms did their dance. Sadly, as the seconds passed they slowly lost their momentum and came to an eventual and regretful stop. Disappointed at the show's end, Severus ran a hand up his/her firmly toned chest before tapping the breast and provoking an encore.

"Boobs," Severus muttered reverently.

"Boobs," the other two chorused in a worshipful monotone (you know, the type of sound cultists, like those in the catholic church, make during one of their unholy gatherings)

The fun stopped once more, but this time not because of the cessation of the jiggling, but because the polyjuice potion wore out and everyone was left staring at Dumbledore's sagging man boobs and his rock hard… Ehhh…

With the spell broken and the moment lost, the mysterious interloper decided to make himself known once again. "Men," the sorting hat said. "If I can still call you that…" If a hat could shake it's head, that would be the best way describe what the hat was doing. "I have seen some messed up, repugnant shit in my time here in this office…" He trailed off for a moment to gather his thoughts. "But nothing, and I mean nothing, I've seen can even remotely compare to this… this… abomination."

Albus opened him mouth to speak but the hat cut him off. "Did I sound like I was finished? Not even fucking close man. Not even fucking close. Gryffindor? That sick fuck liked to shave his pubes and transfigure them into a wig. A wig, I might add, he regularly wore around the school. That fucker was straight up mentally ill, but even he didn't do something this fucking sick."

Albus looked to the floor.

The hat's eyes accidentally drifted downward for a moment with Albus' gaze and he instantly regretted it. "Oh for Merlin's sake! Would you cover up?"

That got his attention. Albus quickly used his hands to cover his wrinkled manhood.

The hat sighed. "That ugly fucker over there I can understand. You presented him with the chance to play out a fantasy he's probably run though his head a million times. Shit, I bet the poor bloke has wanked to that fantasy every night for the past twenty years, and with the show you two just put on, I bet he wanks to this for the rest of his life!" He pointed with the tip of his hat at the potions master who was slowly nodding. "That poor bastard was like a starving dog, and you offered him a bloody pot roast. I can see why he went through with this, but you? You're like the fucking devil, man!"

"I have needs—"

"Don't you even try to talk your way out of this, Albus; you took advantage of that poor man's sickness to get your ass railed like it was 1952 all over again! I mean, shit, man. Let's just get this straight: A closeted gay male professor, who is almost as old as Merlin himself, polyjuices himself to look like a twenty-year-old dead girl and pops the cherry of another professor (a straight one I might add) who has had unrealistic fantasies towards the aforementioned dead girl since before he even learned how to play with his dick. Did I miss anything? You can't even make this kind of shit up!"

…Or can you?

The room was quiet for a moment before the hat said at a near whisper, "And you didn't even let me join in…" A single tear flowed down the aged leather hat's face.

Time passed, as it always did, and after a two week long passionate, polyjuice-sex-filled love affair, Albus and Severus mutually agreed after a brief period to end their squalid relationship. Okay, not exactly mutually. Severus ended it because Albus ran out of Lily's hair.

Details, who needs them?

Strangely enough though, over time Albus began to feel sick to his stomach given his role in the whole thing. In his mind, he entered into the relationship with the best of intentions, but in the end, he just felt ill. So ill, in fact, that he regularly became nauseous and vomited often. For a time he couldn't even hold down a meal.

When Pomphrey learned of this, she ordered the headmaster off to bed, but in the infirmary his condition only worsened. Every morning he vomited and he lost weight quickly and grew dehydrated. Eventually, Albus concluded that it was not guilt or depression that was causing his illness (a logical conclusion), but something far more dire. Running out of options, Albus asked the nurse to bring the school's Potions / Dark Arts master, and his former lover, to his side.

"Could it be the curse from the ring, Severus?" he asked in a quiet voice. Not a moment later, he rushed to shift his weight to the side of the bed and loudly heaved into a large bowl. Nothing happened after a full minute of torture, and thankfully, the dry-heaves died down.

Severus graciously made no mention the previous display, and with concern asked, "Albus, do you really think this is because of the ring?" He shook his head. "Do you feel I was wrong in my initial assessment?"

"I do not know, Severus," he rasped after wiping his mouth with a damp cloth. "All I do know is that I am not getting any healthier."

"Could it have been something you ate?" he asked with little hope of a positive response.

"No, this has gone on far too long for it to be simple food poisoning. Also, I only eat food prepared in the Hogwarts kitchens," He replied, "Why wouldn't anyone else be sick?" He righted his position on the bed before finishing his thought. "No, it simply cannot be food poisoning."

The potions master shook his head once again. "But I was so sure that you would have had at least until the end of the school year…" he said in a lost and confused tone.

He laid a hand on the dark haired man's arm. "I'm old Severus, perhaps it's just my time?"

"Perhaps…" the pathetic greasy bat trailed off.

"You're both wrong," said a soft voice from the foot of the bed. "Our dear headmaster is nowhere near death's door."

"What?" Albus asked as he looked away from his ex-lover to the source of the voice, one Madame Pomphrey. "Surely you jest Madame. Never have I felt worse In my entire life."

"Pregnancy will do that do you." She said, patting him on the leg before picking up his chart. "You're about ten weeks in or so, from what I can tell." She flipped through his chart. "I'll need to run a few tests to be sure of the date, but from the looks of it, you're going to be a father Albus. Why, I never thought I'd ever see the day." She flashed him a warm smile. "Congratulations." She walked away briskly, leaving the two expectant fathers alone.

There was a… pregnant… pause.

Mortified, Albus and Severus looked at each other. At exactly the same time, they both said just one word:

"Fuck."

A/N: You want MPREG? I'LL GIVE YOU MPREG! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET! THIS!

BWAHAHAHAHA! *cough*

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