WARNING THIS IS DEFINITELY R AND SLASH (AND MPREG) GO NO FURTHER IF THIS SQUICKS YOU! PLEASE!

A/N –Well, it's nice that people are still reading and reviewing this (as it is the third time I've had to repost it) So, to those of you that are sticking by me as I do it all again, I am sending you BIG HUGS and the second chapter!

The next few days passed without any major trauma for the Golden Trio. Classes continued in their usual patterns, Harry and Ron practiced their Quidditch diligently, and there were no scuffles with Malfoy in the halls.

Although, Harry contemplated, that in itself was noteworthy.

Though the Slytherin Prince had proven himself an ally to the Light in the time of need, he'd continued to taunt The Boy Who Lived and his sidekicks at every given chance. Especially after Harry's impromptu 'coming out'.

So, when the blonde git refused to even acknowledge Harry's presence in the Potions classroom that afternoon, the Gryffindor began to worry.

"Oi," Ron's voice cut into Harry's ponderings, "Earth to Harry."

"Hmm?" The Boy Who Lived said, turning to look at his friend. "Sorry, what?"

The other boy shook his head. "Class was over five minutes ago, mate. Thought you might want to head up for tea." A sly grin spread over his face, and the raven-haired boy knew he was in for a teasing. "I mean, I know you've got a thing for the greasy git, but sitting in his classroom all night is a bit much."

Harry rolled his eyes and gave his friend a small smile. "Say it a bit louder. In case Snape didn't hear you from his rooms the first time."

Ron shook his head with a sigh. "Too late. I think the rumours would have reached the staff by now."

Harry knew his friend was right. After all, he had shouted it out in front of the entire Gryffindor house the other night…and news like that tended to spread like wildfire throughout the rest of the school. Especially when one was the Boy Who Lived. He sighed, "You think he believes them, then?"

"What?"

"The rumours. What everyone's saying. You know," he took a breath, "That I want to shag him."

The youngest Weasley male made a face. "Don't know. Don't think I want to know. Who knows what sort of perverse fantasies your little crush might have stirred in him." He pointedly shuddered at the thought.

Harry, meanwhile, broke into a wide smile. "That'd be nice." He said, more so to himself than to Ron.

The redhead looked horrified.

Harry chuckled. "Think of it this way…how would you feel if Hermione started thinking about you and her-"

Ron's cheeks burned and he was quick to cut his best friend off. "Alright, fine. The thought of you and Snape is still disgusting, though."

The Boy Who Lived laughed and finished gathering his parchment and quills, placing them into his book-bag with the rest of his classroom supplies. "To dinner, then." He said, following Ron out the door.

Moments later, Ron stopped abruptly, and Harry ran into him from behind. "Ron!" He exclaimed, struggling to regain his balance. "What are you playing at?"

His best friend ignored him, though, and glared straight ahead. "What do you want, Ferret features?" He asked.

Harry sighed, and peered around his friend, to come face to face with Draco Malfoy. "Ron," he tried gently, hoping he'd be able to get the other boy to see reason. "We're still in the Dungeons. Slytherin territory. And Malfoy is a Slytherin."

The blonde smirked and nodded, his eyes never leaving Harry's, even though he addressed Ron. "See, Weasley? Even Potter can't fault me for heading towards my dormitory."

The redhead fumed, and reached for his wand, only to find it missing. A second later, Harry was dangling it in front of him, a look of apology passing over his face.

"Sorry, mate. I had to do it. Don't want to see us lose more points because you can't hold your temper." He held up his hand as Ron moved to protest, realising that the Slytherin was gesturing for the need to talk with him. He sighed, "Look, why don't you head on up to the Great Hall. I've left something in the classroom anyway." His friend looked sceptical. "Ron, I swear, I'll be ten steps behind you."

"Fine," was the redhead's parting response. He grabbed his wand from his best friend and shot a glare in Malfoy's direction as he left.

Once certain that Ron was gone, Harry turned to the blonde. "Right," he began, arms folded over his chest. "What do you want?"

"Let's just say that I heard you had a thing for my Head of House…" Draco replied in a drawl, picking an imaginary piece of lint from his robe.

The Boy Who Lived laughed. "And this is NEW information? Honestly, THAT rumour has been going around for DAYS now, Malfoy. And you believed that rubbish?"

Draco shook his head, and took a step forward. "No. But I believe what I heard in the Room of Requirement the other night."

Harry paled, before quickly attempting to cover his tracks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Harry," The other boy smirked dangerously, testing the name on his tongue. "Don't give me that rot. I was there. I heard everything." At the look on his rival's face, he added, "Your father was not the only wizard to ever own an invisibility cloak."

"You were spying on me…on us."

"I hadn't originally intended on it."

"But you were!"

The Slytherin shrugged. "I had nothing better to do and, as it appeared we were headed towards the same place, I took advantage of the situation."

"So what now? Come to gloat?" Harry asked, a grin slowly making its way onto his lips. "You do realise I'm not ashamed of it now, right? Even if he were to know-"

"He does."

"What?" The Gryffindor froze, "I…bugger."

Draco chuckled softly, his tone remarkably free of malice. "Exactly." He lost his smirk, and for a minute reminded Harry of an actual human being. "Unfortunately for you, Severus was less than impressed."

Despite himself, Harry's face fell and he felt his chest constrict. "Oh." He said, sounding somewhere between dejected and incredibly hurt. He didn't know why he felt that way; he knew Snape wouldn't ever welcome the idea with open arms, but it hurt to be told. Especially by his rival.

Suddenly remembering who his partner in conversation was, the raven-haired boy shook himself from his stupor. "Well," He started, as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Was bound to be like that, wasn't it? Just a schoolboy crush anyway. Nothing serious." He paused a moment, then sneered, "The greasy git should have been flattered."

This time, the blonde laughed outright. Again, his tone was eerily friendly. "He's not so greasy anymore, Potter."

The words also lacked spite.

Harry was taken aback. "Mal…er….Draco…" He started, cautiously. "Are you feeling alright? I mean, it's just that… you're being rather…nice…to me. And it's really alarming."

The Slytherin paused a moment, "Am I?" At Harry's affirmative nod, he scowled. "Ah…sod it."

The Gryffindor observed the blonde for another moment. "Alright." He finally began, extending his hand. "Whatever it is you've gotten your ferret-paws onto this time, I want some."

With a sigh, the blonde reached into his robes and extracted a half-empty vial, labelled in Snape's concise handwriting. Numbing Draught. Harry furrowed his brow, clearly perplexed. What on earth would Malfoy want a numbing draught for? It was intended to dim the senses, and one's emotions, and worked on a time release, so that the taker would slowly drift into a bland, almost emotionless state.

"Why'd you take this?" The raven-haired boy asked after a moment, eyeing his rival wearily.

Draco shrugged, becoming even more complacent. "Felt like it."

"Well you wont be feeling much else for at least another hour…" Harry muttered, then sighed, "Come on, we'd best get you somewhere less…public. Wouldn't want you blaming me if someone saw us being civil."

At that, Harry led the way up and out of the dungeons and towards the Room of Requirement. He paced outside the wall for a moment, thinking that they would need dinner, and a relatively comfortable room to eat it in. The door soon appeared, and the two boys entered to find a miniature version of the Great Hall set up for them.

"Come on then," the Gryffindor urged, "Sit down and eat up, it should help dilute, or at least soak up, the potion in your bloodstream."

Nodding, the Slytherin complied, and slowly worked his way back into small insults to Harry's intelligence and so forth. "Okay, Malfoy." The Boy Who Lived finally said, setting his plate aside, feeling rather overfed. "You sought me out after class, so spill it. What do you want? If this is about Snape-"

"Potter, shut up." Draco snapped, pushing his own plate away. "I didn't want to gloat about Snape."

"Oh?" Harry's interest was piqued. "Alright then, what else could you have wanted-"

A warm set of lips on his own stopped him from speaking and, for the briefest moment, Harry succumbed into the kiss, before widening his eyes in shock and pulling away.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" He hissed, leaping from his seat. "One second you hate me, the next you're shoving your tongue down my throat-"

"That," Draco responded, his trademark smirk back in action, "doesn't mean that I don't still hate you Potter." He eyed Harry in the most predatory fashion he could muster, "One can hate someone, and still want to shove them over a desk and have their way with them."

The Gryffindor glowered. "And yet, I've never looked at you like that before!"

"But you want to fuck Snape. Or, from what I heard the other night, you want him to fuck you."

"I-" Harry stopped himself. Malfoy had a point. One second he'd hated Snape with a passion, and the next he'd found himself unexplainably attracted to the man, which had lead to forming a loose thread of respect from that…and his crush had continued to develop from there. He scowled. "That still has nothing to do with you."

"No, I suppose it doesn't. However," the blonde grinned, "I believe I have a solution to both our problems…"

Despite the protests of his inner voice, Harry cocked his head to the side. "I'm listening."

Little over a month later found Harry pacing nervously outside the Room of Requirement once more. It had been hard lying to his best friends in order to escape the Common Room alone, but he had done it, and it was relatively too late to turn back. He'd made a deal with Malfoy, and had followed through to this point; there was no way he could stop now.

Three determined strides forward.

Why am I doing this?

Pivot on the heel.

Is it really going to get rid of this stupid crush?

Another three steps in the other direction.

Where the fuck is Malfoy?

Pivot.

Oh, Merlin, do I really want to do this?

Another three steps.

THUD.

"Malfoy!" He hissed, now sprawled across the ground. "You couldn't have taken off the bloody cloak?"

A blonde head emerged in mid air. "Tsk Tsk. Constant vigilance, Potter." He sneered in a bad impersonation of the late Mad-Eye Moody. "Don't know how you managed to survive the Dark Lord all those years."

Harry sighed, and extended his arm. "Give us a hand up?" An invisible hand gripped at his wrist, and he pulled himself to his feet. "Thanks," he muttered, then narrowed his eyes, "You've got everything, then?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "Of course, now let's get inside, unless you want to be caught?"

"Fine." The Gryffindor snapped, moving over to the previously invisible door. He turned the nob, and took a step into the room, which now resembled the potions classroom, just as the two boys had agreed. Harry turned back around to face his rival. "Alright, you said something about modifications?"

The Slytherin slipped out of his invisibility cloak, and withdrew a couple of vials from his robes. "This," he began, gesturing to the murky green liquid, "Is the completed Polyjuice as we all know it."

Harry fought the urge to compare the blonde to Hermione in lecture mode.

Draco, unaware of Harry's thought process, continued his explanation. "This-" he placed a pale blue liquid down on the desk in front of him, "Is an advancing serum. It should, if taken exactly 20 seconds after the Polyjuice, advance the effects, and extend the duration of the first potion."

"Okay…" Harry nodded, looking down at the two vials, "And that means?"

The Prince of Slytherin moaned. "Don't you listen to Snape at all, Potter?"

The raven-haired boy blushed. "I get a bit…distracted, actually."

With another groan, Draco shook his head. "Fine. Whatever. Anyway, in answer to your incredibly stupid question, it basically means that not only will the taker –in this situation; me- look like Snape for an hour, they will also attain his voice and perhaps –depending on the strength of the serum- some more technical details too, such as elements of personality." He paused, "The usual length of the potion is about 1 hour as well, is it not?" Harry nodded, and the blonde continued. "Right, well, with the advancing serum, it will also last longer. Again, how long really depends on the strength of the serum. Considering the fact that I stole this one from Snape's personal stores, I think it's safe to assume the potion is relatively potent."

"Alright…" Harry fidgeted, "We're really going to go through with this, aren't we?" Draco nodded, and he sighed. "You're sure there aren't going to be any side-effects from using the potion? I don't want to have to take you to Pomfrey looking like Snape if you pass out or something."

"Of course I'm sure." The other boy growled in response. "Do you really think I'd be doing something if I thought I might suffer from it?"

"Well, no…."

"Good."

The Boy Who Lived watched in silence as Draco uncorked the green vial, and swallowed the contents, then waited 20 seconds to drink the blue. Within moments, the Prince of Slytherin was no longer standing in front of him, but rather the Head of the House himself.

"Well?" Draco drawled in a voice so unlike his own, extending his long, pale arms and inspecting them, "What do you think?"

Harry's mouth had gone dry. There stood Severus Snape –or someone that looked and sounded exactly like him- in clothing that was much too tight for him. Draco's trousers and shirt, it appeared, worked perfectly in highlighting the Professor's lithe form. "Ppfwoar…" He finally managed.

Draco laughed; a strange, rich sound coming from Snape's lips.

Harry found that his body really liked it when Snape laughed.

Draco, of course, noticed. He grinned wickedly; creating another fantastic twist to add to Harry's list of 'Things Severus Snape Should Do More Often'. "Worked that well, did it?" Malfoy-Snape purred, gesturing to the apparent bulge in Harry's slacks. He sidled closer to the raven-haired boy. "Go on, then, give me the once over."

Hesitantly at first, The Boy Who Lived raised a hand and placed it on the impostor Snape's chest. Draco twitched in anticipation at the contact. Harry smiled to himself, and unbuttoned the tight shirt, anxious to see the pale skin underneath. He was not disappointed.

"My My, Professor…" He said quietly, more so to himself than to Malfoy, "What do you get up to in your spare time?" Surely standing over a cauldron day in and day out would not maintain that type of physique. The Gryffindor was pleased and mildly surprised.

"Hurry it up, Potter." The other man murmured, leaning into the contact. "Despite the extended duration of the potion's effects, I might not be able to hold out for as long."

Harry chuckled at Draco's insistence. Over the course of the past month, the two had mucked around a little. They'd never taken things the entire way, but had gotten to know each other's bodies quite well. Harry was not in the least attached to the blonde, and still found he rather disliked the boy, but the release he attained when he was with him was worth setting their animosity aside every so often. Besides, Malfoy gave a damn good blowjob.

"Oh, shut it Malfoy," he replied, slowly inspecting Severus Snape's lower torso, and the dip of his tight trousers. "You can wait a few minutes…"

"I bloody well can not!" One of Snape's hands came down on Harry's wrist, and pushed his hand onto the evidence that Draco was having a hard time controlling his –or were they Severus'?- instincts. "See?" He hissed.

Harry swallowed. But Merlin, Severus was a blessed man. "Not yet, but I can't wait to." He shot back, attempting to undo the belt buckle and then zipper of Draco's pants.

Another laugh escaped the other man's lips, and it went straight to Harry's groin. "Merlin, Draco…." He gasped, "Do you have any idea what that does to me? Snape has to laugh more often."

Another chuckle. Harry moaned, slowly losing control of himself. He struggled to remove Draco's trousers, which were clinging to nicely muscled, long, pale legs. Not a moment too soon, the task was complete, and the Slytherin kicked free of the offending clothing, now standing in front of the Gryffindor in nothing but a pair of black, satin boxers.

"Right then," he said, deciding to take charge of the situation. "Your turn."

The next few moments allowed Harry to live out one of his fantasies; Professor Snape was undressing him in the middle of the potions classroom, with the intention to bend him over his desk and give him the shagging of a lifetime. Again, Harry's erection jumped in anticipation.

Another wry grin from the Potions Master's clone. "Eager are we, Harry?"

The Boy Who Lived almost melted. Add saying 'Harry' seductively to the list, he thought. "Mmm…" he responded, sounding somewhere between pleading and complete ecstasy.

Draco put his –or, rather, Severus'- hands on Harry's now-bare shoulders, fuelling the flames of the boy's lust even more. Somewhere along the lines, their lips met, and they kissed with ferocity, both realising that this would be the last time they connected in any form of physical manner -bar the odd fistfight on the Quidditch Pitch. This would be the first time Draco would be allowed to take Harry over a desk, and it would also be the last. That was the deal that they had made a month earlier, and neither of them intended on changing the rules.

This night was for them to both achieve what they'd desired, and to let go of it at the same time.

One night to rid themselves of the tension and unwanted feelings that they'd each built.

One night to say goodbye to the men they knew that they could never have.

One night. No regrets.

Harry woke up the next morning, sticky and sore in places he didn't know existed. He grinned to himself, remembering why he felt that way, and why he was currently sprawled across the floor of the replica potions classroom on a relatively bright Saturday morning.

The previous night, to him, had been fantastic. Draco had played the perfect role in his sick and twisted fantasy, as only a true Slytherin could. He had been rough, and careful all at the same time. Just as Harry imagined the real Severus Snape would be.

He sighed.

If anything, the plan to be shagged by his professor and get it out of his system had just backfired on him.

The crush was definitely not out of his system.

If anything, it had returned with gusto, and the images of his previous night's activities left Harry achingly hard once more.

Looking around, and realising he was alone in the room (and thus deducing that Draco must have snuck out earlier that morning), he gripped his erection and worked himself to completion, all the while thinking about Severus' hands on his body, and his length filling him to the hilt, making him cry out in passion with every thrust.

With a strangled cry –much like the one he had issued last night when he and Sev…Draco had reached orgasm in almost perfect sync- he came all over himself, and slumped back against the cold dungeon floor.

Yes, the crush was still there, but it didn't mean he regretted a thing about his and Draco's deal.

No, he'd quite enjoyed it actually.

Except, he decided upon pondering the night further, the stickiness. That, he knew, he could have done without.

Retrieving his wand from underneath his pile of clothing, he muttered a low-level cleansing charm over his body, and threw his robe over himself, coming to the conclusion that he needed a shower.

"There you are!" Hermione exclaimed later that day, when Harry eventually ventured down to the Great Hall for lunch. "Where have you been!" She demanded.

He shrugged, and reached for a bread roll and some butter, "Around."

"Around where, Mate?" Ron prodded. "When you didn't come back last night OR this morning, we got worried. You could have been anywhere-"

"I was in the Room of Requirement." Harry snapped, utterly irritated by their smothering. "I needed some space. I can take care of myself. I don't need to tell you where I am twenty four hours a day, seven days a week."

Though they looked hurt by his outburst, the other two Gryffindors nodded.

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione said quietly, "We just care about you…"

He sighed, "No, it's alright. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. I've just been…preoccupied."

"Anything we can help with?" The bushy-haired know-it-all asked gently, fearing another verbal attack from her best friend. She hated seeing him upset, and hated not being able to help him even more.

He shook his head. "No, it's just stuff I have to work out for myself." As he reached for a leg of chicken, he completely missed the look of concern exchanged between his friends.

"So," he started, sounding overtly cheery, "What have you guys been up to today?"

Another month or so passed, and Harry felt ill. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he hadn't felt right at all since that night with Draco, although the changes to his health were far subtler then. He'd had troubles controlling his spell casting in Charms and Transfiguration, and his magical input for his Potions and Herbology had been lacking. Now he felt sick to the stomach, and overtired; symptoms he'd been feeling for a week on end, at the very least.

Perhaps he'd somehow contracted the Wizard's Flu, he thought numbly as he stepped into the shower, allowing the heat of the water to sooth his tense muscles. All signs seemed to point to yes.

He sighed, and turned the taps off, wrapping a towel around his waist before stepping out of the shower and back onto the bathmat. With little amount of deliberating during dressing, he came to the conclusion that he should take a visit to Madame Pomfrey. If he did have the flu, or some other variant of it, she'd be able to fix him up almost immediately.

"Hey, Mate." Ron greeted him sleepily in the hall, making his own path to the showers.

"Hey," he returned half-heartedly, as a dizzy spell washed over him. He reached out a hand and pressed it against the nearest wall for support. The action seemed to wake his friend up.

"You alright?" The redhead asked, sounding incredibly concerned. A trait passed down from Molly, no doubt. "You look a bit like shite." Alright, maybe not quite like Molly.

Harry managed a wry smile. "Gee, thanks, Ron."

"I'm serious, Harry." The other boy kept on, "You really don't look your best today."

The raven-haired boy shrugged him off. "Nah, I'm fine, really. Just a spot of the flu, I think."

"If you're sure…" Ron looked uncertain, and clearly didn't want to leave his friend's side by this stage.

"I am." Harry replied. "Just on my way to Pomfrey now, actually. Hoping she can fix me up. Make me good as new and all that." He attempted a grin, and failed miserably as the world continued to spin.

"Alright…" Ron nodded, and slowly turned to go back on his way to the bathroom. He spun quickly back around at Harry's moan, though, and only just managed to catch the other boy as he fell to the ground in a faint. He sighed, "Sure you're fine," he said sarcastically to the unconscious young man in his arms. "Wonder why I didn't see that before."

When he got no response, he sighed again for emphasis, and attempted to scoop Harry up properly. It proved easier than he would have initially imagined. 'Does he EAT?' He thought to himself, before taking off towards the Infirmary.

His shower would have to wait.

Poppy Pomfrey looked up in surprise as the infamous redhead barrelled into the hospital wing, carrying a pale, unconscious Harry Potter in his arms. Dear Merlin, what had the boy gotten himself into this time?

"Alright, Mr Weasley, explain." She said sternly, as she gently levitated Harry to the nearest bed with a flick of her wand.

The redhead took a few breaths. "I bumped into him outside the showers –he'd just had his, and I was on my way for mine- and he looked ill. He said something about the flu, and visiting you, and then passed out. I only just caught him. He's rather light, too. It can't be healthy."

"Indeed," she said, casting a minor spell to assess Harry's vitals. "Mr Potter's always been of a slighter build to most young men his age-" she told his best friend, frowning slightly at the readings she was receiving, "-for reasons that I can't disclose. However, that said, he seemed to be gaining health and weight over the past year or so…"

Ron nodded. "We noticed that as well." At Poppy's questioning glance, he flushed. "Hermione and me, I mean." He clarified. "We were worried about him."

"How so?" The medi-witch never removed her gaze from her patient.

"Like you said…he never really looked all that healthy…but he was getting better. 'Mione said something about late growth spurts…" He shrugged, "Anyway, this last month he's been flagging a bit. Not eating all that much, looking green half the time…"

"You're a very observant friend, Mr Weasley."

Ron went red again. "Like I said; we worry about him. Both 'Mione and me."

"Of course," she turned to give him a small smile. "Other than earlier, did he give you any other indication that he really didn't feel well?"

"Er…" The conscious Gryffindor squirmed a little under her intense gaze. "I think he mentioned something about his magic being a bit weird a while back, as well. 'Mione put it down to stress. What with the end of year exams coming up in a couple of days now…."

"Miss Granger is a very smart girl," Poppy mused, nodding. "Though I suspect Harry was closer in his assumption that he might have the Flu, if the other symptoms you've described are in any way connected to the wavering of his magical energy."

The redhead nodded. "Right, well, he'll be alright if I leave him here, then?" Madame Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at him, and he blushed. "Right, stupid question." He chuckled nervously, "Sorry."

Shaking her head, the medi-witch smiled and led the boy back out into the corridor. "Mr Potter will be fine, Mr Weasley. Now run along, you do not want to be late for breakfast."

At the mention of food, the youngest Weasley male grinned and practically raced down the halls. With a sigh and another shake of her head, Poppy turned back around and headed towards her patient's bed, where Harry was beginning to stir.

"Well, Mr Potter," She began, her tone business-like once again, "Welcome back to the Hospital Wing."

The Boy Who Lived looked around at his surroundings. Knowing the medi-witch's tendency to fuss over every little thing, she'd more than likely try to keep him in for the day. He groaned.

"Oh, don't complain." She reprimanded, reaching for the magi-quill and parchment that had taken down his vitals. "You only have yourself to blame, you know. Had you come to visit me the very instant your symptoms started-"

"-I'm sorry, Madame Pomfrey." He sighed, "I know."

She narrowed her gaze at him. "Then what was the problem?"

"I've spent too much time in here over the years," he admitted, "I try to avoid it at all costs." She glared at him, and he swallowed, fidgeting under the intense gaze. "Not you, Madame. Just the infirmary."

She sniffed, as if he'd just insulted her. "That's ridiculous, Mr Potter."

He had the grace to look sheepish. "I know. Sorry."

"Indeed," she replied, still sounding rather curt. She looked down at her notes, pointedly. "Well, Mr Potter, it appears that you do not have the flu, or any variation of it."

"Oh," he looked puzzled, "but…what else could be wrong with me?"

She frowned in concentration, and re-read his symptoms. "There are any number of ailments you might have contracted," she told him, still not looking up from her clipboard. "I have to run another more complex spell, and it should narrow down our possibilities." She brandished her wand again, and waved it over Harry's body, her eyes closed.

When her eyes opened she looked down at the Gryffindor, "You've been sexually active recently." She said.

He felt his cheeks burn, but nodded anyway.

Her features softened. "Dear," she began gently, the caution in her voice scaring Harry to no end. "I believe you're pregnant."

He blinked a couple of times, before laughing outright. "Very funny, Madame Pomfrey…"

She moved to smooth down his hair in a motherly gesture of affection. "Harry, this is no laughing matter."

The Boy Who Lived's laughter subsided at the seriousness of her tone. "But…I'm a boy." He insisted. "I don't have the equipment to get pregnant."

She winced. "You're a wizard, Harry. A wizard with a lot of magical feminine energy coursing through your veins, due to the spell your mother cast when you were an infant yourself." She sighed, "It doesn't occur often –there's only been one or two recorded cases in the last few decades- but it has been known to happen. The residue of the female magic in your mother's spell has manifested itself in your body to create the necessary equipment…" She trailed off, noticing his glazed over expression. "I'll explain it all another time."

Harry nodded mutely, as the thoughts rushed through his mind. He was pregnant. He, The BOY Who Lived, was pregnant. A child. A baby. Inside HIM. He already knew he was going to keep it. He couldn't go through with an abortion; he'd always wanted a family, and he knew that magical abortions were dangerous for witches as they threatened the woman's magical energy levels if not done properly, so he assumed it was even more dangerous for pregnant wizards. But…he was so young. He'd barely had a chance to live life as a normal teenager, and now…now he was even less normal and was losing control over his life once more.

Merlin, what had he gotten himself into this time?

Poppy watched as the various emotions flew over Harry's face, and knew the exact moment that he'd accepted the news and chosen to keep the child. "Do you know who the father is?" She asked after another minute or so, bringing the young man back to reality.

He looked up at her with wide, fearful eyes. Oh, Merlin's Balls, what was Draco going to say when he found out? "Yes…I…he's the only one since…I mean, it's been ages since…then he and I…But he's been the only one this year..." He shook his head, still in a state of disbelief. It could only happen to him. "I didn't know we could…If I'd known…"

She cut him short with a wave of her hand. "It's alright, Dear. I understand." She paused a moment, "Would you like me to run a diagnostic test, to determine the health of the child and confirm the paternity?"

Harry thought for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah…" he croaked out, "I think…I think that'd be best…"

He glanced down at his flat, if not finely toned, abdomen and sighed before she pointed her wand and muttered another incantation. Soon words started appearing on the parchment held in Poppy's hand. Firstly, the words Harry Potter appeared beside the space labelled 'Maternal Father', causing the Boy Who Lived to ponder over the strangeness of the title,before both he and Madame Pomfrey gasped at the name that appeared beside 'Paternal Father'.

There, written in Madame Pomfrey's perfect calligraphy, sat the words Severus Snape.

"That's…shit… that's impossible." Harry spluttered for a moment, and soon felt the world around him fade to black as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

A/N – Okay, guys, what do you think? I look forward to what you have to say regarding the story. Yes, I did steal my own idea from 'Escapology' (another one I have to repost) regarding the reason for Harry's ability to get pregnant in the first place. I was rather proud of the uniqueness of the explanation back then –I have yet to read another fic using the same idea- and felt that I had to use it again here. (It was easier than making something new up! LOL)