AN: This chapter, as I promised ages ago, is dedicated to KittenBabyGirl, because her little girl is due around Easter too.

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. I knew many of you had already guessed that Severus was the father. I'm just glad that none of you figured out about the obliviate. Except… one person if I remember correctly. Kudos to you, whoever you were. ;)

One other thing. I'd like to reply to a review by s: thank you, actually, for responding to that [beep] who flamed me. I thought it was rather stupid too, that she would read something so clearly marked MPREG if she had something against it. *shrugs* I guess I'll just never understand people like that. But thanks for getting all fired up on my behalf. I just don't have the energy to reply to something like that.

But enough of that sort of boring stuff. Onto chapter fifteen: the BIRTH chapter!

Chapter Fifteen:

Hermione, Ron, Dean and Blaise heard Harry cry out as they entered his sitting room. The four froze, staring wide-eyed at each other for a moment before they broke and ran for his bedroom. Dean was the first one through the door and to Harry's side, helping him up from the floor.

"Harry, what happened?"

Still in the grips of the contraction, Harry bit his lip and shook his head. Ron was there by then, at Harry's other side and between them, he and Dean lifted Harry back to the bed.

"You're all wet, mate. Did you spill something when you fell?"

"Idiots!" Hermione and Blaise exclaimed in unison and Blaise continued as Hermione hurried to push Harry back on the bed. "He's in labour."

"He can't be!" Ron refuted.

"It's too early!" Dean clutched Harry's arm tightly, "You can't be giving birth yet. She's not due for another two weeks. It's not Easter yet!"

The contractions had subsided by then and Harry gave a wry snort, "I don't think she wants to wait 'til then, Dean. She's being pretty insistent."

Ron and Dean exchanged panicked looks across Harry, but Hermione already had the situation in hand. She'd checked over a prone Harry and now declared, "You're about four centimeters dilated Harry. That's pretty far if you only just went into labour." She paused and pinned Harry with a stern look, "You did only just go into labour, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I was just getting up to go see Madam Pomfery when another contraction hit, and… well…"

"Right, well we're here now. Ron and Dean will carry you to the infirmary," Hermione tried to haul Harry upright by his arm. When that didn't succeed, she handed his arm to Ron and directed him to help his friend up. Not waiting to see if he succeeded, she turned her back and hurried toward to door, taking Blaise with her, "I'm going ahead to warn Madam Pomfery, and help her if I can. Would you tell Professor McGonagall, Blaise? And Draco too! He'd kill us if we didn't. Quidditch practice would be over by now, wouldn't it? Maybe you should check his dorm first? And then maybe you should te-"

Blaise shut her up by simple expedient of covering her mouth, "Hermione. You just worry about telling Madam Pomfery and getting Harry comfortable in the infirmary. I'll tell everybody that should be there."

Hermione sucked in a deep breath between her friend's fingers and nodded. Blaise gave a decisive nod back and released her. With that, the two girls rushed from Harry's rooms off on their self-assigned tasks, leaving Dean and Ron behind them, struggling with transporting a rather shaky Harry.

* * * * * * *

Draco had had only time drop his broom and strip off one shin guard when Blaise came barreling into the seventh year boys dorm. Draco stared bewildered at her as the normally composed Slytherin girl hung from his bedpost, trying to catch enough breath to get out her words.

"Draco… gotta go…" she panted, "Harry's… baby…"

Draco's eyes narrowed, "What? Something's wrong with Harry's baby? What happened?" His hand had instinctively curled about his wand.

Blaise shook her head and took a deep breath, "Harryzinlabour."

Draco blinked. And blinked again as what she had said sunk in. Then, still in his quidditch robes and wearing only one shin guard, he took off out of the room, Blaise not one step behind him; Draco thought he might have tripped a first year on his way through the common room, but he didn't stop to confirm it.

The pair shoved the portrait open in to the faces of a stunned pair of third years and scrambled past them, racing through the dungeon corridors, impatient to reach the infirmary. They rounded a corner at a frantic pace, and Draco ran straight into a tall, black-robed figure. By main force of will, he kept his feet, and whirled on, shouting apologies over his shoulder. "Sorry Professor! Awful rush…" He heard Blaise mumble something similar behind him and they were nearly at the next corner before the cold voice froze them in their tracks.

"Malfoy. Zabini. Stop."

Reluctantly, Draco drew his lead foot back to join his other and took a deep breath. Slowly he turned around, a bland expression on his, "Professor Snape?"

Severus glared at his students. It was unlike Malfoy to be caught running in the halls.

He sneered, "Although I'm sure you have a very good reason for your 'awful rush', you -"

"Yes, sir," Draco interrupted, more interested in reaching the infirmary than placating his head of house, "We need to get to the infirmary. We promised Harry we'd all be there."

Severus narrowed his eyes, "Oh? And what trouble has Mr. Potter landed himself in this time that he needs you to hold his hand for him?"

Blaise, a normally reserved - towards him, at least - student, retorted, "He's in labour sir, so if we could be excused..?"

Not waiting for a reply, she started edging towards the corridor corner, Draco going with her. When the professor made no move to stop them, they started walking faster. And the moment they were out of sight around the bend, the pounding of running feet resumed and faded quickly in the distance.

* * * * * * *

Severus was staring blankly at the wall. Harry was in labour. With his daughter. He hadn't expected it for at least another two weeks. He certainly wasn't expecting it this afternoon, barely an hour after Harry had remembered that he, Severus, was the father.

Without noticing, Severus had started moving towards the stairs. By the time he realized, he was halfway up them already and he paused only a moment before continuing on. That was his child Harry was giving birth to, and - however mad Harry (rightfully) was at him, however much he hated him - Severus was going to be there, by Salazar! Appearances be damned. He was not going to sit in the dungeons with an ear to the Floo network, hoping to overhear any news.

The doors to the infirmary had already been warded against casual entry and Severus swept the wards aside like so many cobwebs. Just inside, a slightly harried looking Minerva was arguing with Harry's friends.

"We promised him we would be with him, Professor!" Weasley was pleading earnestly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but you'll just have to make an exception on this occasion-"

"Malfoys do not break their promises."

"Couldn't just one of us stay with him? He doesn't have anyone else!"

"I'm truly sorry Miss Granger, but we simply can't allow students in. If his godfather was here, it would be a different matter."

"But Black is too far away! He'll never get here in time."

Minerva raised her voice, "There's nothing I can do about that. Rest assured that Mr. Potter will be in the best of care. Now I must ask you to all wait outside. You can-"

She was drowned out by a chorus of protests.

Severus ignored the group as thoroughly as he himself was ignored and swept down the ward towards the makeshift delivery room at the end.

It smelt sterile. Severus curled his lip at the obvious overuse of antiseptic potions to sterilize the room. Poppy Pomfery stood at a sink on one side of the room, pouring more potions over her instruments, wand and hands. The ubiquitous curtain obscured the other side of the room. Severus headed for it, but not before the matron noticed him.

"Severus, what are you doing he- Severus, you can't go back there, Mr. Potter is- Severus!"

Severus ignored her, knowing she couldn't leave the sink just yet, or she'd undo all the work she just done sterilizing herself. As he rounded the curtain, Severus swiftly cast an adequate - if hasty - antibacterial charm on himself. Then he stopped.

Harry lay propped on a narrow table, a thin cotton hospital robe bunched beneath his arms. His legs were spread in stirrups and his boxers were pulled so low they barely covered his groin. The birth canal opening low on his belly was weeping copious amounts of a fluid Harry didn't know the name of, and dearly hoped was normal. His chest heaved as he sought to regain his breath after the last contraction, and sweat was beginning to sting his eyes. All in all, he felt it was the most ignominious position he'd ever been in.

It certainly wasn't one he wanted Severus Snape to see him in - not as his Potions Master, and certainly not as his ex-lover with whom he was incredibly angry at the moment. Which wasn't helped by the fact that he was in pain - physical pain that was at least on a par with the Cruciatus

curse, if not worse, in Harry's opinion. That particular Unforgivable had obviously been designed by a woman. With many children.

"I hate you." It was astonishing just how Harry managed to hiss that phrase when it had no sibilants.

Severus nodded his agreement, but said nothing. He was staring at Harry: his skin taut across his straining belly, his face flushed and his hair in disarray, even for his norm. His lips were bitten red, and, though his eyes were hazed with pain, they sparked with true anger. His hands were white-knuckled as they clung to the bed, though whether in pain or anger, Severus couldn't tell.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Harry spat, "I told you I hate you."

"I know," Severus replied sadly, softly and took a step towards the bed.

Harry glared hotly, covering a flinch, "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Severus couldn't meet his glare. He looked significantly at Harry's belly instead and took another step closer. "You're giving birth. I felt I should be here."

"You don't have any right to be here." 'Not after the way you treated me,' was left unsaid.

"I don't," Severus agreed and edged closer, " I was hoping you'd be magnanimous enough to allow me to remain."

"Trying to assuage your guilt?"

"Yes," Severus calmly replied, "I am." He plucked Harry's nearer hand from the bed and wrapped his cool fingers about the younger man's.

Harry tensed and began to pull away, but another contraction consumed him: Harry's hand spasmed about Severus's, and the Gryffindor yowled. Severus bit his tongue to stop his own gasp of pain as his fingers were crushed. Madam Pomfery appeared around the curtain and opened her mouth to banish Severus. The expression on Harry's face distracted her attention before she could say anything.

"Don't you dare push, Harry Potter!" She hurried to the other side of the bed and grasped Harry's chin her hand, forcing him to look at her, "You're not to push until I tell you to. You could break your daughter's neck."

The pressure on his hand intensified, but Severus couldn't decide if that was because Harry had tightened his grip at the matron's words, or because he had. Madam Pomfery released Harry's chin and bent over his stomach, checking, Severus presumed, his dilation. Harry turned his head to look at him.

"I hate you," he reiterated, "This is all your fault."

Severus smirked thinly in reply.

"Severus," Poppy snapped, and Severus glared at her, expecting her to try and see him off again. She surprised him with an annoyed look and abrupt gesture, "If you refuse to leave, you can at least make yourself useful. Between contractions, give him a drink of that potion -" Severus followed her gesture to a bench on his side of the bed and the flask it held. Next to it was a shallow bowl of water and a small towel. "- only sips mind you - it'll extend his energy."

"And during the contractions?" Severus asked as he fumbled one-handed for the flask. Harry now refused to let go of his other hand - rather perversely, Severus thought.

"You just hold on." Severus didn't much like the smile Poppy shot him.

He prized the cork free of the flask with his teeth and spat it onto the bench. Holding it to Harry's lips, he ignored the young man's glare. "Drink it Harry. It'll taste like piss, but at least you'll be awake to see your daughter born."

Harry swallowed dutifully, but the moment his mouth was free, he hissed, "That's right. My daughter."

Severus hid his sigh by turning away to set the flask down. He picked up the towel instead and returned to swipe the sweat from Harry's forehead, still not meeting his eyes. Harry yanked on Severus's hand and opened his mouth say something further, but what emerged was a hiss as another contraction started. It was shortly followed by a colourful description of Severus's supposed sex life, apparently much of it with Hagrid's menagerie.

Minerva entered the room in the middle of Harry's tirade, and it was an even bet which shocked her more: Harry's language or Severus's presence. She knew better than to take umbrage at the young man's language at a time like this however, so she turned her attention to Severus's presence. She peered over the top of her glasses at him in and opened her mouth, clearly about to tell him to remove himself. Poppy caught her arm.

"Leave him," Severus heard her say, "If Harry's abusing him, he's not abusing us."

Minerva looked askance at first Poppy and then Severus, but she just shook her head and looked to the medi-witch for instruction.

"You've sterilized your hands and wand? Good. Then I need you to-"

* * * * * * *

What followed was five hours of almost continuous verbal abuse, in which not only Severus's sexual acts were questioned, but his ancestry, his personal hygiene and his intelligence. He was cursed with everything from piles to hair loss. At one point, death threats had been made, but they paled in comparison to the promised torture sessions. The only thing Harry didn't curse was he descendents - for obvious reasons. Neither did he make any allusions to the fact that this was Severus's child being born.

Until, that is, the end.

Minerva had departed, carrying an armful of implements to be cleaned, and Severus was helping Harry to sit up further. Madam Pomfery had just finished wrapping the newborn infant securely in a blanket, and she placed the pink wrapped bundle on Harry's chest, his free arm coming up automatically to cradle it. He was staring in awe at the child, as though she was the most beautiful thing in existence; as Severus peered down at the squalling, red-faced, blotchy, hair-less little thing, he had to admit: he was hard pressed to thing of anything that exceeded her, either.

Harry let go of Severus's hand for the first time in almost six hours and tentatively stroked her cheek. "See? This is what you wanted me to get rid of."

Severus froze in the middle of shaking the feeling back into his hand, "Harry, I -"

But it was too late: Harry had sagged lifelessly back into the pillows, his breathing shallow. On his chest, the tiny girl still screamed to the best of her tiny lungs. Terrified she would fall, Severus snatched her up, bawling for Madam Pomfery.

She appeared at a run around the curtains, "What on earth is the matter, Severus?"

"What's wrong with Potter?" he snapped. "One moment he was awake and now -"

Poppy laughed and Severus turned his best glare on her. She was unfazed, "He 's exhausted. He just spent six hours bringing that little bundle of joy into the world. I think he'd entitled to a nap, don't you?"

She shooed him away from the bed, "Make yourself useful once more, and take little Miss Potter out to Minerva so she can get her cleaned up. I'll see to cleaning Harry up myself."

Severus retreated, clutching the gently squirming bundle to his chest. Stupid boy, giving him a fright like that. He carried the baby over to Minerva where she had the sink half filled with lukewarm water and the air just as warm and humid.

"Ah, Severus, you have young Miss Potter. Good." Minerva smiled tiredly at him. "First thing's first." She gestured for Severus to hand her over. He hesitated a moment before reluctantly relinquishing her. Minerva immediately turned and laid her down in a small concavity by the sink and folded the soft blanket away from her, "We need to weigh and measure her."

Minerva pushed a parchment and a quill in Severus's direction, "Write this down for me: Birth weight, seven pounds, five ounces - a little under weight, but healthy for two weeks premature. Length, 49 centimeters. Time of birth -" Minerva paused and consulted a scrap of parchment beside her, "eleven-seventeen on Friday the third of April." She hummed a little under her breath, "Friday's child is loving and giving…"

Severus tuned her out. He robotically scratched down the information he was given, darting his gaze constantly to the still crying infant. Minerva appeared to be ignoring her wails. Instead she'd picked her up, cradling her carefully, and dipped her in to the lukewarm water, washing away the residue of birth fluids.

"Surely she shouldn't be crying like that," Severus snapped irritably.

Still humming lightly, Minerva blithely replied, "She's just hungry and confused. Once she's fed, she'll quieten down and go to sleep."

"Then fed her!" Severus demanded.

Minerva shot him an annoyed glance, "Severus, both Poppy and I appreciated your assistance during the birth, but I don't really think there's anything more you can do. Why don't you go back to your rooms? Take a bath perhaps. You seem to have sweated almost as badly as Mr. Potter."

Severus glared and opened his move to retort. He closed it again when he realized he didn't have anything say. He glared harder at Minerva, but she was no longer paying any attention to him; she was cooing to the new born little girl.

He snarled silently and pivoted on his heel, storming out of the room. He gave in to the petty urge to slam closed the Infirmary door as he stepped into the hall. That had the unfortunate effect of startling awake Harry's cohorts. They all immediately leapt to their feet, blocking the corridor. Severus ratcheted up his glare, but it was ignored.

"Professor! Were you just in the infirmary? Do you know if Harry's okay? Has he given birth yet? Is the baby okay? Can we go in and see him?"

Severus hissed at the babble of questions and pushed through the clot, "You've all been docked ten points each for being out after curfew. Now get out of my way!"

* * * * * * *

It was well past midnight, closer to dawn. The only beings awake in the school were Minerva McGonagall, the Bloody Baron, Sir Nick, Peeves the poltergeist, Mrs Norris… And Severus Snape.

He was in the infirmary, watching the newborn baby sleep.

There wasn't much to see of her, wrapped tightly as she was in a horrid pink blanket right up to her chin. Severus wasn't sure why Poppy had wrapped her so closely: there was a charm on the crib to keep it at the perfect body temperature. He freely admitted his ignorance of infants, however, and wasn't about to loosen the blanket the matron had tucked so securely about her. At least he told himself that was the reason he wasn't reaching in to the crib, not that he was afraid to touch her.

She wasn't his.

Of course, she was his flesh-and-blood, but not his. Harry had made that clear, and Severus knew it was true; he'd given up any claim to her the moment he denied Harry his memories.

She was beautiful, what little he could see of her in the dim light of the infirmary. The broad, smooth forehead, the dusting of almost invisible black hair. The pert nose and red cheeks. The tiny pink lips that pouted and moved every now and then, as though searching. Her eyes were blue-grey, Severus remembered, huge, shimmering things that Severus thought would change as she grew older. Probably to green.

He remembered the rest of her too, from the brief glimpse he'd had when she was measured and bathed: legs that seemed almost disproportionately long, arms to match. A smooth belly with no navel, a telling sign of a male pregnancy. Her skin, so red and blotchy so soon after birth, but so soft and warm to touch. Her hands and feet, so perfect in miniature. Her fingernails, which fascinated Severus. She was, from the moment of her birth, a complete human being.

And Severus was afraid of her becoming his whole world, when he knew she wasn't his.

He knew he shouldn't be here, that he was simply tormenting himself with something that he was denied and that he denied himself.

He promised himself that this would be the only time he did this.

He consoled himself that he would have at least this time.

Her mouthed worked, searching for an absent teat, and she frowned. Severus frowned in sympathy. He gave in to his desire to touch her and reached out to smooth her tiny forehead.

"There is no Jason Phillips, is there Severus?"

Severus stiffened and drew back his hand without stroking the baby's forehead. He clenched his fists at his side and stared fixedly at the sleeping child, not acknowledging Minerva's presence, wishing she'd go away.

She didn't. She stepped up to the crib, and where Severus had dared not, she loosened the blanket a little. She stroked a finger down the baby's cheek and ran her thumb across her lips. Severus bit his tongue in bitter jealousy but didn't move.

Minerva turned the baby on her side, and she grizzled. Severus cursed the woman silently, wanting her gone, wanting her gone, wanting to be alone with his…

Severus refused to leave, refused to be chased away.

Minerva stroked the child's back until she settled. She withdrew her hands; resting them instead on the edge of the crib, content to simply watch her now. Long she stood, and Severus' jaw soon ached with clenching.

Eventually, Minerva transferred her gaze, and Severus could feel it as a physical force. He ignored her still.

With one last caress to the child's cheek, Minerva turned to Severus and laid a hand on his arm.

"You have a beautiful daughter Severus."

She squeezed his arm and left the infirmary. Severus clenched his jaw tighter, and was sure he heard his teeth creak under the pressure.