It was Friday lunchtime and The Leaky Cauldron was buzzing with weekend high spirits. Tom the landlord had a buy-one-get-one-free offer on some Bavarian-style butterbeer he had picked up on the cheap, and his jolly punters recognised a bargain when they saw one.

"Harry," admonished Hermione in the tone she reserved for telling off close friends or family. "I know you're not working at the moment, but a liquid lunch is never a good idea! Have a Dragonherd's Pie to go with your drink, they look nice."

"They look burnt," he corrected, licking froth from his chops with the satisfaction of a man enjoying his pint.

"They're supposed to! Oh, honestly!" she checked her watch. Unfortunately there was still a good twenty minutes to go before her next lecture. She truly enjoyed Harry's company on the occasional day when they were both free at the same time, but the boisterous atmosphere of the pub would certainly give her a headache for the rest of the afternoon. "Oh, look. There's Tonks!"

Harry spluttered and tried to look inconspicuous. This would have been more successful if Hermione hadn't been standing up and waving. Tonks spotted them and made her way through the crowd as only a senior auror in a pub full of shady characters can. People actually flung themselves out of her way.

"Wotcher," she smiled at them both. Hermione leaned in for a hug while Harry wiped his hand on his robes and offered it for shaking. "Busy day - I can't stay. I just came to say good afternoon to Auror Potter." She turned and left, noting that the room was considerably emptier than when she had arrived.

"What was that all about?" asked Hermione, puzzled. "Why did she come all this way to say hello?"

"Auror Potter!" Harry had gone rigid all over. "Did she say Auror Potter?"

"Yes! Oh Harry! You passed!" They leaped around in delight for a second before Harry came to his senses and dashed out of the pub after his boss. He caught up with her outside Madam Malkin's, where the proprietress had engaged her in a rant about some extravagantly rude graffiti which had been treated with a dark charm to make it impossible to remove.

"…lowering the tone! No one can do anything to it!" She prodded the auror accusingly in the chest.

"I see your problem, Maggie, but it's really not my department…" Tonks looked up at Harry with pleading eyes. He grinned and strode forward purposefully.

"Ma'am, you are wanted immediately! A very important matter! Good day, Madam Malkin!" he flashed a charming smile at the fashion designer, who flushed and giggled coyly at him.

"Ooh, Mr Potter, I do declare you get more handsome every day!" she reached a hand towards his face as though about to pinch his cheek. He stepped back abruptly.

"Chief Auror Tonks, Ma'am," he persisted. "You must come with me!"

They fled, Tonks expressing eternal gratitude.

"I really passed the potions paper?" he asked breathlessly as they sped down the alley.

"Seventy-seven per cent. Well done!" she congratulated him warmly. "I accepted your concerns about the animosity between yourself and Professor Snape, particularly as it was impossible to conceal the identity of the only candidate to resit, so I duplicated your exam paper and gave one copy to Snape and one to Professor Hardtbrind."

"What happened?" Harry asked excitedly, hoping the greasy git had been caught trying to screw up Harry's life.

"Hardtbrind gave you seventy-six, Snape gave you seventy-eight. My sources tell me that since reading your answer to question three, they are now engaged in a vehement professional squabble about the variances in potency of Aberdyfi winceroot or the stuff grown in Ynyslas."

"Hold on, Aberdyfi and Ynyslas are only about a mile apart aren't they? On opposite sides of the same estuary?"

Tonks shrugged.

"Some magical vegetation is location-specific. It doesn't generally cause much trouble, but when you get to the Professors' level of knowledge, these little things are important. I always consult an expert before getting involved." She smiled at him and patted his shoulder. Hard. "I'm so pleased you made it. Any thoughts on what you will do on your year out?"

"Not yet," he confessed, having been more focussed on Remus than himself of late.

Many hours later, neither Harry, nor Neville, nor Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, Bob, Gilda or Bihranti knew how they ended up in the "Spark" – Puddlemere's tackiest nightclub. The leading theory blamed all the celebratory drinks. Hermione later swore that she would never, ever have danced so lewdly to the Weird Sisters' latest hit 'It's not my wand, baby, I'm really pleased to see you', and certainly never whilst standing on a table. Unfortunately, subsequent photographic evidence proved otherwise.

Harry knew he was totally wasted, but was so jubilant that he really didn't care.

"I love you guys," he beamed, launching himself across the twins' laps. "You're the bestest friends a bloke could have. Seriously, I love you forever and ever and ever."

Fred and George, in much the same condition as the MLE's newest auror, righted him a little too enthusiastically and accidentally propelled him onto the neighbouring table.

Several drinks went flying along with Harry's glasses, and Harry found himself lying on a sticky floor, staring up at a very burly, very blurry wizard. He swallowed. A bar-room brawl was not a great way to begin his career as a denzien of Light and respectability.

"Harry? Is that you?" a deep Scottish voice yelled over the music.

"Er, maybe?" he suggested, noncommittally. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't put a name to it until the twins leaped forward onto the newcomer, whooping with joy and yelling.

"Oliver!"

"Woodsy!"

"Great to see you!"

"Why didn't you write?"

"You've forgotten you old pals now you're a legend!"

"We've got a shop now!"

"It rocks!"

"It's called Weasleys'…"

"Wizard…"

"Wheezes! You have to come and see it!"

"Man, it's been so long!"

Harry felt himself being pulled to his feet. His glasses reappeared and he was shaking hands with the entire Puddlemere United Quidditch team, cheerfully engaged in a raucous send-off party for their outgoing seeker who was transferring to the Holyhead Harpies.

More drinks appeared.

…….

St Valentine's day morning was bright and clear, despite the winter nip in the air to remind any overzealous lover that it was not quite spring yet.

Harry had hinted to Remus that he was planning something special for the occasion, so it was difficult for the werewolf to stay calm as he ate his breakfast. Sighing contentedly and sipping his tea, he reflected on the amazing good fortune which had exploded into his life since this time last year, when he spent the festival of love in bed drinking Irish coffee and weeping over the past.

That painful despair was all gone now. In a matter of weeks, he would be a father. He pulled out his pocket-watch and flipped open the back cover. A beam of golden light shot out and the image of his baby appeared, making a lump appear in his throat. It was not quite like a three-dimensional photograph because she did not move, being trapped in the position she had been in during Benson's scan – her palms open in front of her face. No matter how hard he and Severus had tried to peep behind them, neither could tell what she looked like. Remus reckoned he had assured Severus about a hundred times that it would not matter whose nose she had, but the pregnant wizard remained unconvinced. He smiled at Snape's consternation and allowed himself some more fantasies about the great things which his daughter could achieve in the future. His beautiful, clever daughter.

Remus was still delighted with Harry, too, though for some reason he wanted to take it slowly, gently resisting the young man's charms whenever he felt things were getting out of hand. He could tell that Harry was dying to get him into bed. It was odd really, because the boy was so attractive and Remus had longed for him since a time when it was entirely inappropriate to do so, yet anything more than kisses and a few fumblings on the sofa made him uneasy.

Dumbledore had congratulated him on his restraint, inferring that Lily would have preferred them to get to know each other spiritually before developing the sexual side of their relationship.

Lupin was sure that Albus had intended it as a compliment, but in the sleepless hours when his thoughts overwhelmed him in the dark, he could not shake the feeling that it had been a reproach.

The floo flared in the kitchen and Snape's face appeared. He looked annoyed, not bothering with a greeting.

"Lupin, aren't you Welsh?" he asked curtly.

"No," Remus was used to erratic behaviour from the hormonal wizard, so answered sensibly, without asking questions which would probably get him hexed. "I was born in Wales while my parents were on holiday in Llangollen, but my family are all English."

"So you don't speak any Welsh?" Snape growled.

"I can order a butterbeer," he suggested helpfully.

Snape grunted in disappointment and vanished.

Whatever Severus was up to, he obviously did not want any interference. Remus shook his head and returned to his toast. He had stayed in bed later than usual in case Harry's surprise had involved breakfast, but at eleven o'clock his stomach had raised objections and forced him to get up. He was still at the kitchen table, still splitting his time between staring at the baby's image and daydreaming about Harry, when Dumbledore appeared for yet another visit.

"Has Severus asked if you speak Welsh?" Remus asked conversationally, once they were settled in the sitting room.

"Yes. I told him I know how to say 'Is that a Common Green Dragon or is your barn on fire?' Apparently this was not helpful," the old wizard deadpanned.

"Any idea what he's trying to do?" chuckled the werewolf.

"I believe he is involved in a potions dispute with Hans Hardtbrind," Albus sighed. "I find it best to leave our clever experts to sort things out on their own."

"Potion-brewers are a vicious lot," Remus remarked.

"Ah, but they can be supportive, too. I was at Severus' home yesterday and saw some lovely flowers and a card which Darius Westwood-Booth had sent him," he commented casually. Remus did not notice the glint in the blue eyes, as he was busy wondering why he suddenly had the urge to find this so-called Westwood-Booth fiend and cast a few Unforgivables on him.

"Valentine's flowers?" he asked sharply.

"No, I believe he had merely heard the rumour that Severus was unable to brew due to health problems. If I remember correctly, he was in Sixth Year when Severus began teaching at Hogwarts and developed a roaring crush. Went out of his way to get detentions until Severus noticed and assigned him to Mr Filch instead. Youngsters can be so emotionally intense when they think they are in love."

For reasons he was not certain of, this information made Remus' face twitch. Albus made a big show of not noticing that both his implications had achieved the desired effect.

"I hear Harry passed his exam!" Dumbledore exclaimed, changing the subject. Remus regained his control and nodded proudly.

"Yes, great news! He popped in yesterday to tell me. I think he went out to celebrate with his friends last night," smiled Lupin. Which is probably why he hasn't shown up here yet, he added privately.

…….

Harry awoke slowly. During the night, something had crept into his mouth and died there, but apart from that, he seemed to be none the worse for wear. He groaned as he remembered ending up in Spark, but beamed as he remembered why they were celebrating. He had done it! He was a qualified auror!

He reached out his arms to enjoy a good stretch and one hand hit a wall. This was odd, as his bed was in the middle of the room, a long way from the side walls. So he must be in someone else's bed.

Remus! Was his first thought, but almost immediately discounted it as Remus was very reserved about sexual activity and would not have allowed their first time to happen whilst Harry was drunk.

He gulped. That meant that he was in bed with someone other than Remus. This was a very, very bad thing.

He reached under the pillow for his wand and summoned his glasses, which seemed to take a long time in arriving. He put them on carefully just as the other person rolled over and looked at him.

"Morning," said Oliver.

…….

Snape was irritated. His body felt stretched like a balloon about to pop, and every part of him either ached and twinged when he moved, or cramped up when he stayed still. He had great difficulty sleeping for more than a few hours at a time, as his bladder, his pains or his familiar flying-the-nest anxiety dream nagged at him each time he closed his eyes.

The baby was less active than before, presumably because she now had hardly any space in which to perform her dance routines, but Severus found himself talking to her much more frequently. Despite all his complaints, he was tremendously excited about the upcoming birth. The interminable wait was almost over and soon he could meet his little girl properly! No amount of haemorrhoids could make him regret his decision to have this baby. Not for a second.

Today was the asinine festival of St Valentine, as Westwood-Booth's second card that week reminded him. Really, it had been years since the brat had last seen him. He ought to have got over the ridiculous infatuation by now. Still, he had found it oddly touching over the lonely years since Lucius' death that there was one person in the world who felt fondness towards him. Even if that man was a total freak.

"St bloody Valentine's day," he murmured to his bump. "I imagine that the revolting Potterling is going to get his claws into your Daddy by showering him with tacky gifts and romantic meals. We will have to take steps, won't we, my treasure? Papa cannot think of anything yet, but he will try. Papa is feeling strange today, but that's not your fault. We'll soon have you out of here and we'll both be nice and comfortable then."

In some ways, he was dreading the birth, terrified of having her living independently and no longer needing him. He realised how utterly pathetic that sounded, but could not help it, trying to cling onto Molly Weasley's assurances that no matter how grown-up your children were, they needed a parent every now and then.

He had woken at dawn, crying "don't leave me!" to the winged baby in his dream, before making the mistake of clearing the lump in his throat too abruptly without first clenching his pelvic muscles. The usual slight leakage had occurred. Snape grimaced in a resigned sort of way and pondered on yet another aspect of pregnancy which undermined one's dignity.

Nothing was right with the world that morning. He asked Pip to make kippers for breakfast, but when they arrived he realised he actually wanted gooseberry jam sandwiches. He waddled to the library, seeking proof of his genius and of Hardtbrind's boundless idiocy, but the only text on magical Welsh tubers had been in the Welsh language. Translation spells were far too complicated to achieve in his current irritable frame of mind, and his alleged friends were no help either so he flung down the book and waddled back to bed.

His usual methods of getting comfortable were not working today. His hip was throbbing each time he tried to lie flat, and some kind of flickering spasm would ripple along his back if he turned on his side. Suddenly deciding that the ugliness of the curtains in his bedroom was to blame, he waddled back to the sitting-room to arrange his ten softest cushions into a supportive position and lower his bulk onto the sofa.

That worked for a restful five minutes, until he realised that the room was all wrong. Eliciting Pip's help, he spent a good hour rearranging all the furniture to his satisfaction, wondering how on earth he had managed to survive so long with that ghastly armchair pointing towards the fireplace. He asked the little elf to clean the curtains, then the windows, while he went over every inch of the room with a dusting spell.

"Master, you is very good at the housework, for a human, but Pip is thinking you must rest now. Pip will clean everything," she took his hand and tried to lead him to the sofa. He ignored her tugging and scowled at the floor.

"This carpet is no good," he sulked. How had he never noticed before? "What can we do about it, Pip?"

Pip, being a clever elf, had an inkling about what was happening. Elves called it 'nesting' but she did not know the human word, so did not say anything to Master in case she made him cry again. She stared at the thin carpet thoughtfully.

"Pip thinks there is being a nice, thick Persian rug in the attic. Will I go and fetch it for Master?"

"Perfect. Yes please. You are a good elf," he came back to Earth and hoped she was not offended by his sudden burst of domestic intensity. Like all elves, she prided herself on keeping a neat and clean house at all times. "What colour is it?"
She looked shifty for a moment, knowing that her answer could be important.

"What colour is Master wanting it to be?" she asked.

"A nice dark red," he said decisively.

She thought of the sickly-looking, mustard-yellow object in the trunk in the attic and began selecting the appropriate spells.

"Then Pip is fetching down a nice dark red rug! Now, Master is resting!" She pushed him to the sofa and used a gentle calming spell on him. Knowing that it would wear off before long with Master in such an emotional condition, she summoned the huge baby-naming book from the shelf and thrust it into his hands to occupy his mind. "Be reading this. Baby cannot be called 'baby' all her life!"

For once, Severus did as he was told.

……..

Harry arrived home and collapsed wretchedly on the floor.

How had he allowed this to happen? He loved Remus! He knew it! He had loved Remus for a very long time, how on earth had he managed to make such a stupid mistake? He didn't understand it at all.

Hermione was already wide awake and polishing her stealthoscope when he managed to crawl back to the fireplace and beg for her help. She pursed her lips disapprovingly on hearing his shameful confession, but limited herself to a single 'Oh, Harry!' He had obviously realised what a dreadful thing he had just done, so she saw no reason to make it worse.

However, she allowed him to bang his head against the coffee table for a minute or two before making him stop.

"Why am I such a useless moron!" he yelled, indulging in another bang for good measure.

"Because you're male?" suggested Hermione.

"Not helpful," he rubbed miserably at the lump on his forehead. "What I want to know is, why did I sleep with Oliver, when I am in love with Remus?"

"Because you're male?" repeated his friend, looking cynical and little bit sneery.

"Yes, OK, we're all the same – promiscuous pigs, rah, rah. I'm trying to piece together the events of the evening," he knew that using legilimency on oneself could be a risky business, especially if one was still a bit drunk from the previous night, but took a deep breath and prepared himself anyhow. Sometimes it was the only way to clear the brain-fog.

Reliving the eventful evening brought embarrassment and amusement as well as clarity. He could feel Hermione's hands steadying his upper arms, maintaining his link with the outside world in case he got lost inside himself, but his mind's eye was seeing Oliver Wood's face moving towards him. The first kiss was explosive. Every bit as mind-blowingly amazing as kissing Remus. Oh dear.

With some effort, he yanked himself out of the spell and sank into a chair.

"Don't understand," he murmured, fighting against the arousal triggered by the memory. "I know I love Remus because I get that incredible feeling when we kiss, the feeling I never had with Cho, Ginny or the short-term auror-groupies. But I felt it with Oliver last night, too! I don't understand, Hermione! How can I be in love with Oliver as well? I hadn't even seen him for years!"

The young witch wondered how Harry could be such a brave, likeable and intelligent person, yet simultaneously be so unbelievably stupid. She pulled him into a hug and smiled, feeling sad for Remus and just as sad for Harry.

"What do Oliver and Remus have in common, Harry?" she asked gently, hoping he could figure it out on his own.

"I don't know. Er, both attractive ex-Gryffindors?" She tutted at him.

"Try again. How are they different from the others you mentioned?" She tightened the hug while he worked it out. There was almost an audible 'ting' as the knut dropped.

"Men," he said. She nodded. "Oh. You mean it's a sexual orientation thing?"

"I can't be sure, of course, but it could be the answer. You need to talk to Remus, Harry," she patted him on the hand.

Harry intestines turned into jelly snakes.

"I do love him," he protested in a small voice.

"I know, Harry. But how do you love him?" She smiled sadly and left him to his thoughts.

Harry wandered blindly around the room for a long time before he noticed the piles of red wrapping paper, boxes of Honeydukes' finest truffles and bags of rose petals sitting accusingly on the shelf. All his plans to make Valentine's day Special for Remus lay in tatters. Snape and his stolen baby had won by default.

"How do I love him?" he asked the empty room.

…….

Albus knew that the best way to revive blue spirits was to be busy. He had enjoyed a good meddle in the Harry-Remus-Severus affair. Then, he had stuck a 'Have you seen this phoenix?' poster on every lamp-post in Hogsmeade, and most of the other shopkeepers had swallowed their natural aversion to the uncouth familiar on seeing Albus so upset and allowed him to post the notice in their windows.

That done, he had devoted an hour of intense spellwork to creating the biggest, reddest, most nauseatingly mushy Valentine's card his warped imagination could devise. Cherubs danced. Lovebirds sang. A picture of a fountain gushed forth real strawberry sherbet sweets. When it was opened, pink, heart-shaped bubbles would fill the air and bob around the heads of anyone in the same room, in time to the cheesy little tune.

Yes, it was perfect. Albus was greatly cheered by his handiwork. All that remained was to deliver it to Madam Puddifoot, preferably when lots of people were watching.

"Fawkes!" he called, grinning mischievously. There was no answer. In his excitement, he had forgotten that his bird had deserted him, and he sobered instantly. His hope that Fawkes was just sulking and would be back when he got bored was fading with each passing day.

He walked the card over to the tea-shop himself, and slid it under the door before running like the wind in case she caught him. Arriving breathless back at Cosy Toes, he realised he was still not safe. Madam Puddifoot could have no trouble guessing who sent the card, and would be banging his door down with indignation and a stout rolling-pin at any second. He snatched up the bright yellow bootees he had finished knitting the previous afternoon and apparated to Severus' house.

"My, my, you have been working hard!" smiled Dumbledore, admiring the adjustments the younger wizard and his elf had made to the sitting-room. Snape was pacing awkwardly up and down with some agitation and only grunted in response, rubbing at his back and limping oddly. Albus was concerned. "Is anything the matter, dearest boy?"

"Spasms, pains, itches, flutters, indigestion, restlessness and cramp," he ticked the complaints off on his fingers savagely. "But it should lessen soon. It's been coming and going all day." Albus pocketed his present, knowing it was not quite the moment to engender the response he had been looking forward to. Pondering what Severus had just told him, something stirred at the back of his mind and his eyes widened.

"Er?" he began tentatively, not sure if he hoped he was right or wrong.

"What?" growled Snape, with a snarl which would have looked fierce on his old-style pinched face, but which his new chubby cheeks turned into an adorably petulant pout.

"How long to go now?" he asked, peering at the gargantuan swelling which dominated the tall and formerly thin frame of his friend.

"Just over two weeks," he answered, still waddling to and fro.

"And these pains. They come and go?" Albus stroked his beard and tried a disinterested expression to hide his rising unease.

"Yes. Since really early this morning. They are getting a bit more frequent now, though," he frowned, then looked up sharply. "Albus!" The exclamation was fearful, almost terrified, and brought Dumbledore to his side in a fraction of a second.

"It's all right, dear child," he soothed. "Just relax. I think your young lady has grown tired of waiting. Would you like me to floo that private healer for you? Bennett, was it?"

"Benson," he corrected, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Pip will go. I think she….ah!"

With a muted shriek, he crumpled to the floor, biting his lip in agony and hissing a few curses. Albus went down with him, rubbing his shoulders and calling for the house-elf, who appeared, took in the situation instantly and vanished with a determined 'pop'.

"What is it, Severus? Can I help?" he asked urgently, not liking the pallor which had crept onto the pregnant wizard's face.

"It broke," he spat grimly, through clenched teeth.

"Your water?" asked Albus.

"No," Snape gave an unpleasant smirk. "My hip."

…….

A/N: So, by popular demand, the Harry/Remus ship runs aground in tempestuous weather! Though don't forget the H.M.S. Lupin-Snape has not reached harbour yet either! Thank you to everyone who gave me their opinion – though I know it was hardly a fair poll with me being so evil to Harry, so nice to Severus, and also registering it on this site as an RL/SS! Cheating? Moi? Of course! My school house tie was actually green, I'll have you know.

Harry does not have a drink problem, he's just a young man enjoying himself irresponsibly, as young people are wont to do.

This fic now has over 100 reviews! Thank you SO much everyone for your continual support and attention! This is the first time one of my bits of nonsense has hit three figures. I am as delighted as a Dark Lord with seven souls!

Love always, SN x