As parenthood loomed ahead, Harry decided to meet it head on. The first kick inspired him to sign up for classes on infant care and child-rearing. Snape attended them with him, and they turned one of the spare rooms into a nursery, complete with dragons that glowed when the lights were off, and which tossed bright red balls with their snouts when the lights were on. They began amassing diapers, tiny clothing, and child-proofing the rooms. They let McGonagall throw them a shower and attended in gracious acceptance, collecting all of their gifts.

They made plans to look for proper housing, but intended to keep their words, to stay on at the school for the remaining year and a half that they'd promised. Snape fully expected Harry to finish his education at the next level. Harry let him think this, until it became obvious that his baby interested him more than his academic struggle. If he had to use the child as an excuse to give up the fight, he would. University wasn't for everyone and he just wanted to feel valuable without having to put himself through yet another world of rigors, just to gain anyone's respect.

"I want to be a dad first. No more compromising. Not with my kid. He'll only be a baby once."

That was reason enough for Snape, who stopped encouraging applications to secondary institutions.

At twenty-five weeks, Harry had an accident. Being followed by cameras had become a regular thing. One he tolerated because he was truly happier than he had been in a long time. He learned that if he just stopped and offered a friendly response to persistent journalists, they often respected his boundaries and didn't pursue him after he'd given them a photo that required nothing more than a few seconds of his time. This relationship with the press worked well enough, until the day one of them got bold enough to take Harry by his arm.

Grail, who was still his bodyguard, took action at the same time that Harry did. Harry's wand was only intended to make a show, but Grail's fired a defensive spell that not only got the reporter off of Harry, but triggered Harry's wand to release the spell he'd been holding at the ready. The resulting energy threw Harry and the reporter ten feet from where they stood. When he could not be roused, a flurry of panic sent reporters doing everything they could to assist Grail in getting him help.

He woke up in the private hospital he'd been in before, and told that the baby's placenta had ruptured. The blood supply to the baby was so intricate, they couldn't go in and perform a simple reattachment. They were using magic to do what mending they could, but blood loss had already affected the baby's vital signs.

"He can't survive outside of your body. It's too early. It would be certain death to remove him now. But this way, he might get enough oxygen to stay alive. We don't know. If he lives, we may be looking at brain damage. But we can't guarantee that he'll make it through the next few hours, let alone the night."

He and Snape were given a private room, and monitor, with which to listen and watch the fading heartbeat of their son.

Shock became grief, and Harry tried to keep perfectly still as Snape sat next to him. He willed the little body inside him to keep breathing, to keep signaling with those blunt jabs that poked, and had only recently made a full night's sleep impossible.

"This can't be right," he told Snape. "He's got too much life in him. They're wrong. He'll be fine. You'll see."

Beside him, Snape looked as dark and sour as any rumor had ever embellished him to be. Hair hung in globular strings around his eyes. Red-rimmed, and heatedly perspiring, he glared at anyone who came through the door, and spoke to Harry through clinched teeth.

"We're going to nee help. I won't sit here listening to his heart grow weaker and weaker, and do nothing about it. What the bloody use is magic, if it doesn't do anything at a time like this?"

"He's strong. He's fighting it. I can feel him."

"He's dying. Those are suffocation spasms."

This was enough to collapse Harry's resolve, bringing him to tears. "Damn you! Don't make me give up on him. Leave."

"Harry, we need greater magic. We need our family's help. We've put this off for as long as we can."

He knew what Snape was asking. It didn't make sense to him to move his body right now. "How can your family help us? They don't even acknowledge your existence."

"The rings do. I'm dead to my living relatives, but the rings hold my blood accountable. Our child is almost here, and we've done nothing to honor that mixture of blood and magic. That reporter wasn't just an accident. The accident was a message. Our time is running out. We will not be allowed to bring life from our union unless we complete the contract. We must put on the rings."

Harry shook his head on his pillow. "He'll die if I move. That much faster. Don't talk to me about contracts."

"I'm trying to tell you, the rings orchestrated this event. They want us married. My family is in on it. Yours is too now. We must perform the ritual. They won't give him back to us unless we do."

For the first time, Harry caught a glimpse of what it meant to wear those heirloom rings. "Will those rings make slaves of us?"

"Marry me, and we can cut our fingers off later. I don't know. But I do know that time is running out. I did everything in my power to push you away from my magic and my family, and our contracts. I tried to protect you from this, and now it's here."

Feeling as though steam were rising from his face, Harry swallowed his pain. "Give me the vial."

Snape produced it from the ether. Harry had stored it in his trunk and waited to see if a moment would ever come that would make him drink it. That moment was here. One sip, and he would have to give up complete control. His body would no longer be his, not for the duration of the ritual, and he feared what Snape's disapproving ancestors would do with it. If they could influence the life of his baby, they were not nice people.

His hand shook as he lifted the vial to his lips. It was their only hope. Tears spilled out as the liquid went in. His will fell away, crashing to the floor with the vial. Everything became a dream. All worry, all weight, all motion, dissolved into a melted, lighter version of itself. All accountability was taken from his hands, as Snape lifted him and soared into movement that bent time and space around them. Sky, traffic, the Thames River, all rushed by. He closed his eyes and tried to curl in on himself to protect the baby. Nothing in his mind would let him try that hard, so he felt like dead weight in Snape's arms.

Things happened quickly. There was no sense of landing, only standing against a solid surface, with Snape poised in front of him. There was no sense of time and he was only vaguely aware of wearing his hospital gown in a place filled with muggles. From a stupor, he watched them walking all around him. He couldn't place the setting. It might've been an airport. It might've been a city block with wide open spaces and modern sculpture. In any case, it was very busy and a brilliant, azure sky blasted the pavement around him with light and color. It was almost too bright.

In front of him, Snape's arm waved his wand in a circular motion that contained them both. A sweeping fog surrounded them. It blurred their surroundings and placed a haze between them and the people looking in. Some of them stepped through the mist. At a glance, they looked completely ordinary. Tourists, businesswomen, University students, elderly, young, foreign, local. But they came into the fog with vacant eyes. The muscles in their faces twitched to find meaning in what was happening, but something else peered from pupils that were temporarily shut down. With those lights off, Harry thought he could see clear into the other side of the veil through the open windows staring back at him. In that connection, apprehension dropped a little, and he just wanted to give them what they wanted.

In another place and time, he would've been fascinated. He would've tried to talk to them. But this was too urgent, and the distance in their stares warned him that there was no way he could cross that span. Even right next to one of them, words would have no effect. They existed on energy, emotions, and all that drove them to unite on earth. It unsettled him that his parents might be among them, fully invested in seeing their contribution survive the genetic strain. What were they? The term 'Ghost' didn't feel like it applied. These people were alive, active, and committed to who they were when they walked the earth. He had to believe that life after death was better than that. Then it hit him. These were the ones who couldn't let go.

These were the ones responsible for the rings, who'd used the rings, and valued the purpose behind them. Not every member of Snape's family believed in material control, but these attendees were devoted to it. They believed so much in their bodies, in their worlds, that they could not believe in any freely given paradise awaiting them somewhere else. And above all, they believed in magic. Didn't it give them a foothold in the world of the living? Didn't it get Harry and Snape to submit to a contract neither had ever signed?

They kept their distance, some twenty feet away. Snape leaned in, using his shoulders to block out as many of them as he could. He kissed the top of Harry's head. "I promise. I will make this up to you."

Harry wanted to tell him to just do it, but he couldn't get words to come and Snape was already pushing him up against a hard surface, opening his coat, and positioning himself. Harry took no thought of the spells that were used in an attempt to make him comfortable. He was too concerned about his baby to worry about being watched. Besides, something in all those blank stares assured him that this was the only course of action. It might not be romantic, but it was necessary. It was family.

He focused on Snape, to keep from thinking about anything else. He was thankful for getting to face him. Thankful, that Snape was strong enough to lift him. Thankful, that, at the moment of penetration, Snape's eyes held his and would not let him look away. What could've been dismissed in the privacy of their bedroom, had to be faced like the threshold that it was. Harry thought about how much he loved their child and that took care of the pain. He told Snape, with his eyes, not to worry about the frowns and grimaces his face was making. It was just a reaction, not the reality. He wanted this, he really did. It's just that this was so strange and, wow, it wasn't going in. It wasn't going in. No matter what charms were used, no matter what preparation, that was not going to fit.

Snape's touch told him that he was doing his best not to hurt Harry, but he wanted this behind them. Harry tried to grip him, to clasp him as close as he could as a form of encouragement, but is arms felt like rope. He put all of his will into his hands and squeezed Snape's coat, insisting that they had to make it work. He broke a sweat and grunted against the elastic expansion taking place inside him. He was ready to pass out when the kisses started. They were small, soothing, and intended to anchor him to some kind of pleasure. But Snape needed all of his concentration just to avoid hurting him, and the kisses were short lived. He bit down on his lip so hard, willing his body to allow Snape in, that one pressure blocked out the other, and Snape finally cleared the first set of muscles pushing against him. Both their breaths hitched. He bore into Harry, carefully, but steadily, engulfing himself inside the confines of bowels so tight, that those muscles contracted around him and compressed his erection. He caught on the surface folds of those inner walls, and they conveyed him deeper, even as alternating muscles tried to churn him back out.

Survival kicked in. Harry's vagus nerve answered the alarm, sending a flood of dopamine to put out the fire. He told himself this was no time to enjoy anything, but he had to admit that it helped. That nerve ran through his colon, his stomach, and attached to his brain stem. It was responsible for the euphoria filling him like a bowl and helping to forget about the pain. He rode it, as Snape drove into him. His strokes were measured, cautious, and dutiful. Harry's body jarred at the increasing momentum. Any attempt to figure out how Snape could perform like this in front of his ancestors, was pounded out of his head over and over again. He stopped trying to think and simply held on. His brain must've thought he was dying, for it kicked the dopamine into a faster drip, and Harry's throat grated on the sound of pleasure tearing out of him. He'd tell himself how wrong it was later, but right then, he was too shocked that his body could feel such a powerful emptying of energy. Rolling crests pumped his abdomen and cries were partly from a pleasure that he could not control, and the fear that it was costing him the thing he wanted most.

When it was over, he couldn't feel his body. He hardly felt attached to it. He'd used it up. Only later would he understand that he'd been helped in his completion of the act. Only later, when his premature son squirmed on the bed beside him, would he see that Snape's family was only trying to make sure he survived that contract. When it was over, his hands had to be wrestled free from their hold on Snape. His voice was gone completely and his awareness followed suit. As Snape kissed his hand in gratefulness, he saw the heirloom rings, black obsidian with white, pearl runes. There was one on both their hands. They were married. His head fell back, bringing the sky into view. Scaffolding, girders, and the unsettling shape of the Eiffel Tower loomed stories above him.

By the time Harry awoke in the hospital, the event was very dream-like. There was no trauma and no regret. The monitor beside his bed showed the steady rhythm of his heart, as well as that of the baby's. Their child survived the night. And the next. Rest and magic allowed the placenta to repair and reattach. Oxygen levels became normal, but they were never in the clear again. Not until the doctors decided, at thirty weeks, the baby stood a better chance of surviving outside of Harry's body, than inside.

Jory Prince was born from a surgical procedure, and lifted out into the light of the operating room, into the arms of his father, Severus Snape. He squealed for five seconds before undergoing examination and being encased in an incubator with backup life-support. Harry and Snape stared open-mouth, through those glass walls at the perfection of their son. He was scrawny, somewhat blue, but alive and trembling with selfish fury. It was love at first sight.

It took only the buoyant softness of Snape's voice to soothe his baby to a calmer state. "Now, Jory. There's no need for that. You couldn't stay in there forever." He tapped the glass. "Don't worry. Daddy won't let you out of his sight."

Secretly, he relished the sound of those weak cries, and willed them to get stronger. Louder. His son shivered under the lights until he warmed up to his new environment. Harry refused to leave him until he did. He and Snape spent every moment they could in the hospital nursery. Polyp-like toes and skin that needed filling out, kept them in a trance. Every so often, opaque dark eyes opened to wonder at them. In the following weeks, they stayed open longer and longer, and Jory's pink tongue darted out in response to Harry's lively, 'I love-you's and 'I can't wait to take you home.'

Five pounds and two months later, they did take him home. After all the time spent turning Snape's extra room into a nursery, the baby slept between them, with wards in place to keep from crushing it. Harry's recovery was slow and steady, but spurred on by the sight of Jory's bright hazel eyes every time they saw him enter the room.

His friends waited as long as they could stand it, before insisting on a party to celebrate.

"Just something quiet, with presents and toasts," Hermione pleaded. "It'll give everyone a chance to stop by and see him. You know they're dying to."

She was right and they knew it. As much as they wanted to keep their son out of publicity, they wanted to show him off. He looked like a healthy baby now, and he was absolutely stunning. They set aside one Saturday and invited their closest friends. Guests filled Severus' sitting room in perhaps the first time ever, while cake and champagne were served by elves. Teachers passed around the baby, and Harry's grin left his face hurting.

From across the room, he and Snape shared telepathic satisfaction. There was no doubt that this was the only life for them, as parents. While they didn't know if they would ever sleep a full night's sleep again, at least this miracle was worth the deprivation. Harry could've lain in the floor and gone to sleep right then, but he didn't want to miss one ounce of delight that his son brought to the room. As soon as their guests were gone, he'd either pass out where he stood, or curl up across the bed with Jory. Hopefully, the guests would wear him out. On a scale of fussiness however, the baby was curiously quiet, studying each strange face that sang down to him. When Lucius Malfoy asked to hold him, Harry pretended not to hear the intake of breaths, and encouraged Slughorn to hand him over.

When no harm seemed to come from it, conversation resumed and Snape took a seat beside Harry to keep him sitting upright. Exhaustion was catching up with them and they hoped to end the little get-together on as friendly and expedient terms as possible. Snape did his best to remain polite, but his eyes followed Lucius, who stood and walked meters away from the conversation. His head bent over the infant in his arms and he spoke in a way that would prepare any two-month old, for the real world.

"Now see here, Mr. Jory. Every time someone sits down with you, you start to cry. Something tells me your fathers are just a bit too doting. You've got us all taking turns to please you. I must say, well done manipulating the big folk into giving you what you want. That skill is going to come in handy."

Harry was the only one who smiled at the joke. When they all saw that Lucius wasn't going to eat the baby, he was allowed to venture into the next room with him. Everyone had a clear view of him cradling Jory gently by a table stacked with gifts. His square shoulders and long hair looked out of place among them, but he stood his ground and clamored for his right to wish the new parents well. After all, he insisted, he was responsible for keeping them together.

When he was out of earshot, he cupped Jory's delicate head and stroked his tender black hair, which was a source of fascination to him. It made him understand why people had been so taken with Draco's hair, as an infant, and throughout his whole life. When such qualities were very different from your own, they were mesmerizing. Even bewitching. Considering the baby's fathers, and its beginning, the child was a beacon of magic and power.

He looked back over his shoulder, to see Snape looking at him. Nothing got past that wizard and he smirked to realize what they both might've been thinking. He stared down and whispered to Jory, "You could've been mine."

The baby's dimpled pout had him rushing to stroke his chin and stop him from crying. He smiled, happy to see that, eighteen years after the birth of his own son, he still had the touch.

End

If you've made it this far, you've ridden for free on my imagination, for over 100 pages. You're welcome, and I hope you'll let me know what you enjoyed. Thank you for all the kudos and comments! No matter how old my stories are, I will always want to know that I touched your heart or excited you. Often, appreciation comes when I need it most. Thank you.