AN: Well, here it is. The chapter that you've all been waiting for. The one that should answer most of your questions about Jason. *snerk*

Chapter Fourteen:

It was the Friday afternoon before the first Hogsmeade weekend since Voldemort had been vanquished, and, although it had been over a month since that night, celebrations were still ongoing. Point of fact, Madam Rosemerta was hosting a party the very next day, especially for the Hogwarts students. The first and second years had even been given special dispensation to attend it.

As a result, the air at Hogwarts was filled with anticipation, and the students were restless and excited. Even the seventh years Potions students, who should have known better, weren't paying close attention to their work. It had Professor Snape in a foul mood, and out to get someone.

Harry and Dean were shaping up as prime candidates for his ire. As had become their wont, the duo had paired up and were working on the set potion. Ostensibly. Snape felt that there were far too many covert looks and shy smiles at that table for any work to be going on. He sneered and bided his time: sooner or later, one of them would make a mistake…

He smirked as he watched Dean's hand pass over the bubotubber pus and pick up the dragon's mucus: perhaps it would be sooner rather than later. Snape rose from his desk as the cauldron began to smoke and Harry and Dean backed hastily away.

The potion boiled over before Snape had made it halfway done the aisle. The classroom filled with the stench of rotten tomatoes and burnt hair as the thick black substance bubbled down the sides of the cauldron, crept across the bench-top and splattered onto the floor. There, it quickly hardened like tar. Snape smirked wickedly.

"Potter," he spat, "and Thomas. How you compliment each other's ineptitude. Twenty points from Gryffindor for sheer incompetence." He made a show of inspecting the mess the mishap had caused, "And a further ten for messing up my classroom. Each."

Dean's eyes bugged and Harry looked like he wanted to protest. Snape narrowed his eyes and dared him. Harry glared back, but didn't say anything.

Snape gave a satisfied little smirk, "The pair of you shall report here at nine o'clock tonight to clean up this mess. You shall not leave again until the room is spotless."

Dean groaned. This time Harry did protest, "Nine o'clock! But it'll take forever to clean this up. Why can't we start now?"

"Because, Mr. Potter, I have prior engagements and I do not plan on leaving a pair of Gryffindors in here unsupervised." He paused, and an expression that would have delight on anybody else crossed his face, "But I am not without compassion for someone in your… condition. Instead of reporting here tonight, you shall do so at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"But tomorrow's Madam Rosemerta's party!" Ron squeaked, then slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Indeed?" An eyebrow rose, "Well then, Mr. Potter and Mr. Thomas will just have to consider themselves banned."

Dean's face fell and he groaned. Harry, conversely, smirked.

"Dumbledore has given everyone special permission to go," Harry retorted, a little smugly, "You can't take it away."

Snape narrowed his eyes, "I can, Mr. Potter, and you know it."

The moment he said, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Harry paused for a moment, getting a confused sense of déjà vu. Then his eyes widened as memory rushed in.

"I'll raise my child on my own."

"Harry -"

"Oh don't worry. I'll be sure to tell my child who the bastard is that fathered him. That way he'll be able to spit on you if he ever has the misfortune of meeting you."

"I don't think you should do this."

"You can't stop me."

"I can Harry, and you know it."

Harry had to acknowledge the truth of the other man's words, "But you wouldn't! You couldn't bear to see another innocent child die. You've seen too many killed and tortured. You don't have the heart to kill even an unborn baby. Especially not your own."

The other man avoided his eyes, "It's too dangerous for you to keep this child, Harry. When – not if, when – Voldemort finds out that you're pregnant, don't you think he'll do everything he can to get hold of you? And when he finds out that I'm the father? He'll use me against you, Harry. He'll use sympathetic magic to get to the baby, and through it, to you. It doesn't matter what I want, or you want. It's just too dangerous to have that child."

Harry approached his lover, staring up at him beseechingly, "We don't have to tell anybody that you're the father. You don't have to have anything to do with us, if that's what you're worried about. Not even Dumbledore knows about us; we could keep it that way. Just, please don't ask me to kill my baby." The other man didn't move, and Harry gripped his arm. "Please. No has to know."

The older man's expression softened, saddened. He covered Harry's hand with his own, briefly, before letting go and stepping away from him. His eyes filled with determination, "You're right Harry. No one has to know."

He pulled his wand from his sleeve and Harry backed away a step, hands instinctively going to cover his abdomen, "Severus?"

Severus regarded his young lover sadly, "I'm sorry Harry. Obliviate!"

It was all there. A summer's worth of memories full of his lover. But Harry could only think one thing: There was no Jason Phillips. There was only Severus Snape.

A man who had saved Harry countless times since Harry had entered the wizarding world. A man who had revealed himself to save Harry again at the beginning of the summer. A man who Harry had come to love. Who had come to love him, or so he had thought. A man Harry had still loved, even after his memories were altered.

A man who had betrayed Harry in the worst way possible.

"You bastard," Harry's mouth moved silently. There was a wealth of hurt and betrayal in his eyes, but no tears.

They didn't come until he was running out the door.

The tears blinded him as he ran, only seven years of familiarity guiding his feet. He fled up the dungeon stairs and tore through a clot of students the Entrance Hall without even slowing. The tears clouded his judgment as he leapt the missing step in the stairs closest to the infirmary. He stumbled as he landed, scraping his knee, but he simply got up again and sprinted the last few paces to his rooms. He slammed the door behind him, raced through the sitting room and threw himself onto his bed.

There, he curled on his side, both arms wrapped tightly about his belly, and gulped great lungfuls of air that had nothing to do with his mad flight and everything to do with the fact that he felt like he was drowning. His eyes were still burning, but they were dry now. He couldn't seem to summon the energy for more tears.

Though he tried to stop them, his entire being was consumed with reviewing all the memories that had come flooding back to him in that moment. He couldn't fathom why the memory charm had failed like that, but it had failed so completely that the false memories of Jason had been subsumed by the memories of Severus, so that they were nothing but memories of memories.

…the moment Harry had realized who had stopped his fall from the cliff that first week; his anger at being 'babysat'; Snape ignoring him and walking off; Harry trying to provoke him out of hiding over the next days; succeeding in doing so when he swam almost half way to the mainland; spying on Snape on the cliffs and following him back to the cottage on the headland; encountering him in the bookstore, on the beach, in the fields; going back to the cottage to spy on him and getting caught; being ordered inside, expecting to be punished; being given lunch instead and told that Snape preferred that people not lurk around outside and that if he came back again, he would be expected to announce his presence, or be hexed; staying away for two days before curiosity and boredom got the better of him…

…going back the next day with a book to read while Snape worked on… something; learning how the man took his tea (strong, black, with lemon - dark and bitter and tart, like the man); going to the cottage earlier and earlier every day until Snape curtly told him he should just turn up for breakfast; turning up a little after dawn the next day with a basket of Mrs. Smythe's blueberry muffins; 'Snape' becoming 'Severus'; holding a conversation with no snipes or insults exchanged; winning an argument; being told to turn up at moonrise to help harvest moonflower pollen because if he was going to hang about, he might as well be useful; going on more expeditions to collect ingredients; the excursions ceasing to be about potions components and becoming about enjoying one another's company…

…the first time he'd kissed Severus; the first time Severus had kissed him back; falling asleep in his arms and waking up still in them; oblique endearments; signs of affection shared; hearing about Severus's uncle and his inheritance; convincing him to take Harry with him; Tintagel castle; the housekeeper winking broadly at him as she showed him to the mistress' rooms; their first time together, there, at the castle; that damned portrait sitting! Returning to the Isle of Wight in time for the midsummer celebrations; the beach, that night, probably the night his daughter was conceived; telling Severus that he loved him; understanding when he couldn't say the same; the lengths Severus went to to make his birthday the best day of his life; not needing to hear Severus say the words after that, simply knowing that he was loved; noticing that there was something wrong with himself; realizing that he was pregnant; his great fear almost eclipsing his joy; Severus telling him that he loved him; finally getting up the courage to tell Severus that he was pregnant…

And then… then it all went blank, because Severus had wiped his memory of all that had transpired that summer, replacing himself with a fictional muggle character. But he hadn't completely succeeded, because Harry had remembered that he was angry at Severus, and he had remembered what he smelled like, and - the one thing Harry sincerely wished he did not remember - he had remembered the love he felt.

And in the end, the spell hadn't worked at all, because Harry remembered it all now.

And Harry couldn't decide how he should feel. It had been bad enough when he had only remembered, loved and hated Jason. The actions of Jason, safe muggle Jason, fictional Jason were so much easier to forgive. He was just a boy; not someone that had had to grow up years before his time, like Harry had. He was just a muggle; of course he couldn't be comfortable in the spotlight in a world he didn't understand.

But Severus…

Severus was a wizard, one who was not only almost two decades older than Harry but had also lead a harsher life. He didn't have the excuse of immaturity or ignorance. Harry thought that maybe he could have understood if Severus had taken the time to explain his reasoning to him. He knew that he would have willing kept back the father's name to protect him. He probably would have forgiven him for rejecting both himself and their child. But Severus had denied him the chance to prove it to him. He had stolen Harry's memories from him.

He hadn't had faith in Harry. In Harry's love for him.

And that, alone, was possibly what hurt Harry the most. The fact that Harry was pregnant should have been proof positive that Harry loved him. Was proof positive. But Severus was too… too untrusting, too paranoid, too selfish to trust Harry.

* * * * * * *

The first contraction caught him by surprise, and he screamed at the sudden pain rippling through his abdomen. He had been so caught up in the vicious cycle of his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed his belly swelling under his hands, not even his robes pulled tight over it. The pain faded away, and Harry flopped onto his back, sucking air in through his teeth.

He bit his lip as pain twisted through his torso again. He fumbled at the clasps on his robe, desperate to ease some of the constriction. Something tore, and the halves of Harry's robes fell to the sides. When he brushed a hand over his stomach, trying to ease the fiercely cramping pain, his hand came away wet.

Harry gasped in panic, and tore at his school shirt, frantic to see what was wrong. The shirt ended up half open, tangled beneath his arms and Harry craned his head see the source of the wetness, but the bulge of his belly obstructed his view. Gingerly, he ran his fingers down over the lower curve of his stomach and felt it out. There was a… gash there, but it didn't hurt, and the edges were slick, not like a wound, more like the inside of a mouth. It was half the size of the palm of his hand, and Harry despaired. He was meant to give birth through that?

He had to get to the infirmary. He rolled to the edge of the bed and started to rise. A particularly vicious contraction struck and Harry cried out again…

* * * * * * *

AN: Sorry the chapter's so short. I have written most of the next, but the ending needs polishing, and I just wanted to get this one published. That, and I liked the idea of leaving you with a cliff hanger.