An elderly wizard with a long white beard and electric blue spangly robes was being forcibly ejected from Madame Puddifoot's tearoom. The residents of Hogsmeade barely batted an eyelid at the commotion, for the sight had become a common one over the last few years. The proprietress smacked the venerable old man around the head with her handbag one last time, before hitching up her ample bosom and huffily retreating back inside.

Albus Dumbledore grinned to himself. She was just playing hard to get. She would give in one day.

Since his retirement from his duties as headmaster, Supreme Mugwump, great figurehead for the Forces of Good and all of that balderdash, Albus had decided to make a full-time career of his favourite pastime – being a barmy old codger. 'Cosy Toes' the wizarding world's only specialist sock emporium was, unsurprisingly, located right next door to Honeyduke's sweet shop, and the small sign in the window proclaimed the opening times as "whenever I feel like it, ladies and jellyspoons". His day now consisted of leisurely breakfasts, mid-morning treats, hearty lunches in the Three Broomsticks, perhaps a few hours working in his beloved shop in the afternoon, composing letters of complaint to the Daily Prophet about irrelevant nonsense, followed by tea, cake and an ignoble exit from the divine Madame Puddifoot's, then dinner with one of his many friends all over the world. Yes, Dumbledore was thoroughly enjoying life.

"And take that feathery fleabag with you!" Madame Puddifoot emerged from the tea-shop once more, poking Fawkes out of the door with a silver cakeslice. The phoenix's squawks of protest were somewhat muffled by a beakful of chocolate ice cream. "If I catch him in my chilled cupboard again I'm barbecuing the pair of you!"

"He gets a little overheated sometimes, dear lady!" Albus defended his familiar.

"Well, buy him a paddling pool then!" she screeched, "And while you're at it, one for yourself as well!" Brandishing the cakeslice at his long nose as a final threat, she flounced away.

Back at Cosy Toes, Albus settled himself into his armchair, preparing for a nice little nap following the exertion of the afternoon. Fawkes was swinging upside-down on his perch, whistling a popular tune he had heard on the WWN and taken a particular shine to, a trifle over-excited as a result of too much sugar.

"Must you continue making that dreadful din?" Dumbledore asked lamely, already knowing the answer. Fawkes glared at him with considerable impudence and began whistling even louder.

Sighing, Albus gave up the idea of a catnap and opened the newspaper instead, hoping to find something he could complain about. He had acquired something of a reputation for his correspondence with the Prophet recently. Last winter, for example, he had written an innocent little missive, proposing the migration of Great Britain and Ireland to the Caribbean from November to March every year, and had asked if any bright young witch or wizard could suggest a way of moving both islands there and back without doing any damage. The furious debate had burned for three months, the Readers' Letters section of the paper growing from half a side to five whole pages as the ethics and practicalities of such a move were argued. In fact, such chaos was generated by the sun-seeking 'for' lobby and the traditional, snowball-loving 'against' faction, several arrests had to be made. The Minister of Magic had made a personal visit to Cosy Toes to beg Albus to stop inciting civil disobedience. She had been not entirely surprised to find her request falling on deaf ears, being wolf-whistled at by Fawkes and offered lemon drops by Albus.

Scanning the pages, he found what he was looking for. A sharp letter from an irritated warlock.

"Sir," it read. "When will the Ministry do something about the evil pixies which enter a house by stealth in order to hide one's doorkeys, only to replace them in the first place one looked? Yours etc, M.T. Cranium." Perfect, thought Albus. Reaching for his quill, he began to formulate an answer to this important question, which had plagued his own life for more than a century before he had given up on keys altogether, and taken to locking his rooms with karaoke hexes instead. It made would-be thieves much more entertaining.

He pondered his reply. The evil key-pixies would most likely be deterred by some kind of potion, which could be sprayed onto keys every night before bed. But what potion? A wide grin crept across his face. It was about time he visited his favourite potions expert, and how better to activate that glorious scowl than by asking irrelevant questions about nonsense written in the Daily Prophet? Oddly, the thing he missed most about Hogwarts was the sneering, sulking and amateur dramatics he could so easily provoke in Severus, bless his dirty cotton socks. Ooh, good idea, Albus told himself, walking out to the front of the shop to choose one of his finest pairs. Well, he couldn't just turn up empty-handed now, could he?

…….

Severus was in his library, marking the potions theory paper for the final year trainee auror examination. The scripts were anonymous for impartiality reasons, but he had no trouble recognising candidate number 3.04's handwriting. How Longbottom had made it this far was completely beyond him. He had opted out of involvement in the practical tests this year 'for health reasons', not wanting the noxious substances anywhere near his baby, and now he knew who was sitting them, he was certain he had made the right decision. Longbottom…sorry, candidate 3.04, had certainly acquired firm grip on his theory, though. Severus was surprised to find himself scribbling a red 81 per cent on the top of the paper. A while ago the action would have made him scowl, but now he knew there were better uses for his time than being bitter at someone else's success. He reached for another answer sheet and this time did permit himself a small grimace.

"Well, scrawly number 3.05, let's see what the Destroyer of the Dark Lord knows about the applications of Ackerschlepper's Anti-Venin."

He had only just begun reading Harry's paper when Pip announced that Dumbledore was at the front door. Snape dropped his quill. Damn. He had not wanted anyone to know about the pregnancy yet, least of all that interfering old git. But he really did not want to lie to Albus, and he was rather adept at seeing straight through concealment charms. At six months, Severus was pretty large. There was no way his shape could go unnoticed, especially as he was usually so skinny. He sighed. There was no escaping it, he may as well get it over with.

He stood as Albus entered the drawing room, looking happy and healthy and younger than he had in years. 'Civilian Life' as he called it was clearly suiting him. He was brandishing the most hideously garish pair of socks Severus had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on when he ambled in and stopped as though stricken on seeing his former colleague's swollen belly. He stared for a moment, then looked up, the old shrewdness returning swiftly to his gaze.

"Severus?" he asked sharply, scrutinising him with flinty blue eyes.

"Albus. Nice to see you," he greeted the old man with a polite nod.

"You appear to have, ah, changed shape somewhat."

"Indeed," Severus knew there was no point beating around the bush. "That would be because of the baby." Albus' curious expression morphed into one of glee.

"You're pregnant?" Severus nodded again, with a small smile this time. "My goodness! But that's wonderful! Congratulations, my boy! Wonderful!"

Once Severus had been released from an ecstatic bone-crushing hug and had had his bump inspected, they sat side by side on the sofa with a pot of tea, Severus answered question after question from a thoroughly excited Albus. Eventually, he ran out of exclamations and things to ask, pausing for a moment before commenting gently;

"You know, my boy, you have changed a lot since the war."

"I know," Snape lowered his eyes, fiddling with his cup. "I am enjoying life. For the first time it seems as though my future will contain happiness."

"And Remus?" Albus asked, slyly.

"Yes, Remus seems to be happy with the situation, too."

"No, does your future contain Remus?" He was looking at Severus through narrowed eyes. Severus rolled his eyes. He should have expected this.

"He is the father of my child. Of course there will be regular interaction between us. I would not deny the baby access to their more pleasant parent." Albus rolled his eyes in turn.

"That's not what I meant."

Severus smiled serenely, one hand resting gently on his abdomen.

"We know what you meant, you meddling old sod. And that definitely isn't going to happen," he addressed the bump, "Is it?" Kick.

…….

Harry had three days leave after last exam. He had never been so exhausted in his whole life, and those morons who had claimed that NEWTs were the hardest tests he would ever do were clearly lying toe-rags. After three weeks of stress attacks and all-night study marathons, his finals were finally over, and for the first 24 hours he slept like a particularly lazy log. When he surfaced, refreshed and feeling oddly hollow without the familiar pressure hanging over him, it dawned on him that he really should do something about Remus.

He had been agonising over whether he loved Remus as a parent, or as a lover - for there was no question that he loved him dearly – and found it very confusing, having little practical experience with either category. Either way, he had to talk to him, having practically ignored him for months was not fair, and possibly not the best way to begin the kind of conversation they needed to have. It was Charlie Weasley's wedding on Saturday, not the ideal situation for awkward declarations of feeling, but certainly the best time to apologise for being a moron. Preferably after they had both had a few drinks. If Remus forgave him for being so childish, he would organise a private meeting and…what? Just talk, Harry supposed. His face was flushing at the very thought. Don't worry about that now, he told himself, just get through Saturday first.

The wedding was a fun filled occasion. Charlie had fallen in love with a suitably dragon-mad Australian witch while working in Romania, and the reception hall was full of jubilant Weasleys and delighted Australians, all singing, dancing, drinking and partying with their innumerable friends. And one inebriated phoenix, who was refusing to let anyone else near the firewhiskey.

Harry spotted Remus heading out into the garden, and left Ron and Hermione to their habitual bickering to follow him. He was hiding behind a convenient bush, taking a deep breath to calm himself before stepping out to apologise, when Dumbledore bounded up.

"Remus!" Even from his hidden position, Harry could see that Albus' grin was threatening to sever the top of his head. "I understand that congratulations are in order!" Harry held his breath. What had happened? He cursed himself for deliberately staying out of the loop.

"Oh?" Remus asked, sounding rather guarded.

"I visited Severus yesterday! He told me all about the baby! I'm so very very delighted for you both!"

Harry felt his knees begin to tremble. What the hell was going on? Baby? Snape? The way Dumbledore was talking it sounded as though…but that was impossible!

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Lupin's face was radiating delight. "I didn't know what to think when Severus told me he was pregnant, but I can honestly say it's the best thing to ever happen to me. Imagine! Severus and I, parents!"

Behind the bush, Harry's legs gave way completely. This wasn't happening! It couldn't be happening!

"I've never seen Severus so happy, either," Albus continued in an indulgent tone. "Some wizards would have gone to pieces on realising they were the one in a million men capable of carrying a child, but he seemed to be thrilled."
"Oh he is," Remus reassured him. "He talks to the baby all the time. We've been making lots of plans…"

Harry managed to scramble to his feet and scurry away, flinging himself down onto a bench in a secluded pagoda, trying to process what he had just heard. He had blown it completely!

His dear Remus was no longer his – he was already a lover AND a parent. He wouldn't want a hopeless Harry hanging around.

Harry had hesitated too long and lost him, lost him to Snape! It was unbelievable.

Remus had got Snape up the duff by some freak accident of nature and they had been playing happy families all the time, while the stupid kid had been agonising over his own angsty feelings.

How could he have been so dense? He should have known that Remus was too nice, that someone else would claim him if Harry did not.

And of course, it just HAD to be Snape. What on earth did Remus see in that nasty piece of work? How had he let this happen?

Unable to believe his own incompetence, Harry banged his head against the wooden back of the bench, once, twice, three times, until the pain made him swear. This was all Snape's fault. It had to be. He had somehow trapped Remus, using that famous Slytherin cunning to lie and deceive. Perhaps he had used a potion to make himself conceive, or a dark arts spell. He must have tricked him into bed then used the bloody sprog to guilt-trip him into staying.

Well, Remus might be sweet enough to be taken in by such trickery, but Harry wasn't going to take it lying down. His face became grimly determined as he made his choice. Snape would be in big trouble.

……

A/N: Thanks again, darling reviewers! I love hearing from you! As with my other fics, I haven't decided what is going to happen, so reviews may influence the outcome. Is Harry Slytherin enough to pit himself against the master snake? Will it be RL-SS? RL-HP? Or no relationships at all? Or will they all die in a freak chizpurfle incident? Who knows. Not I.

Hope you like my Hooligan!Fawkes, he and Barmy!Albus just wrote themselves. I suppose my version of Madam Puddifoot is slightly 'Norah Batty', if that means anything to anyone… (ooh, actually, that's a very HP name isn't it?)