I'd still like to have responses to the question I asked last chapter - it's interesting to see others' points of view :D

The feast was great for the most part. He shared a smile with Draco from across the Hall, watched a bunch of people get sorted, and ate a tonne of great food. Seemed like gravy wasn't a problem for him anymore, and it couldn't have been, not with the amount he poured on his mash. Food really was great, except when you had to eat it just to get fat so your baby would be 'healthy'. And it was talk of the baby that ruined his meal in the end.

"Just think, in eleven years, your son or daughter will be getting sorted! Isn't that scary to think of? We'll only be twenty-six or so…" Hermione said. Harry would rather not. Fantastic. While all his friends were out having fun, or advancing up the career ladder, Harry would be stuck at home, wasting his parents' money. It wasn't as if anyone would want to marry someone who already had a family that was too old to integrate themselves into. So he'd have no one to share the burden with, and that thought scared him. He hated thinking of his future now, when before it had been pretty exciting – dreaming of stardom as an Auror.

"Yes, thank you for the reminder that my life is going to be crap. I really appreciate it." Hermione scowled at him, and he thought that someone was finally going to tell him off for being such an arsehole to them, but no such luck. Instead, he saw Hermione mouth the word 'hormones' to herself, and he was now officially in a bad mood. He would have stormed off if he had known the password, but as it were, he was going to have to stay put. Well, unless…

"'Mione, I'm getting a bit tired," he said, hand covering his stomach lightly. If she didn't get the hint, then everyone in the school was giving her more credit than she deserved. "Do you think you could give me the password so I could lie down?" Eyes squinty behind the glasses as if tired…

"Of course! It's about time you started thinking of… you know." Harry refrained from rolling his eyes despite wanting to quite desperately. "Password is Aurora Borealis." Harry nodded and clambered over the bench, sending a glance over to the Slytherin table. The fact that Draco was still looking at him put a smile on his face, which he carried all the way to the common room.

As he changed into his pyjamas that evening, Harry caught sight of his lightly rounded stomach in the mirror. Did… did he have to tell Draco about it? It would be great to be able to be normal again, to not have people mollycoddling him all the time. All his closest friends knew about the parasite, but Draco didn't. If the other boy found out, then fair enough, but he certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell him. He'd be dropped in a second, wouldn't he?

The next morning, Harry piled his plate full of waffles and syrup, and was quite enjoying himself when he noticed he could feel Hermione's evil glare boring into his forehead.

"What?" Obviously, she hadn't interpreted this as an indication to get back to her own meal like he'd intended, as she began to speak.

"You shouldn't be eating that junk anymore: you have to eat healthily! It's alright for Ron to stuff himself full of that rubbish but you should be thinking of the," she looked around at this point, to make sure no one was eavesdropping on the conversation, "baby. It's not going to be healthy if you don't look after yourself. Plus, I don't think someone your size should be eating as much as Ron for Merlin's sake!" Harry placed down his fork gingerly. So he was getting fat, then. Hermione had all but said it. What was he supposed to do? Healer Jacobs had said he needed to gain weight; said he was under for his height, but he didn't want to look fat. But then again, at five foot five, he and Hermione were of a height, and she wasn't fat. She looked alright. So… was he supposed to weigh more or less than her? This was all hurting his head, and he pushed away his waffles miserably, picking up an apple instead. From now, he was going to eat what he liked, no matter what anyone said. If he wanted to eat nothing, he would, and no one would stop him.

The timetables came around, and Harry found himself excited over it. Even if he wouldn't be able to continue with the training after school, he could at least lay the groundwork for his Auror course. Maybe he'd be able to begin when the parasite entered Hogwarts. He unfolded it and was surprised to see that a good chunk of his lessons were missing… Charms was there, as was Divination… But where were Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions? Confusedly, he took a look at Hermione's timetable to see that all of her subjects were there, and the same went for Ron. Just when he was getting annoyed, a slip of paper fell from the timetable with only a few words on it.

Harry,

Please come to Professor Dumbledore's office after Breakfast.

Professor McGonagall

What the hell was going on? Gathering his things, Harry said goodbye to his friends, taking the journey up to the Professor's office. He hadn't been here too often before, unlike Fred and George, who had been so close to expulsion so many times Mrs. Weasley had lost count. Professor Dumbledore scared him a little, but that was to be expected in Harry's opinion, what with his awfully strange beard. Even after having been in the Wizarding World for years now, Harry had never seen such a long beard. He reached the office before long, and the Gargoyle moved. Well, at least he didn't have to guess what the password to the office was.

Trying to swallow past a lump in his throat, Harry ascended the stairs. Why had half of his classes been taken away? It didn't make any sense to him. Having reached the top of the stairway, Harry knocked softly. When there was no answer for a few seconds, he knocked again, louder this time. Maybe he hadn't been heard…

Before he could dwell too long on this, the door swung open and he was met with the sight of Albus Dumbledore. The man had always scared Harry slightly; he didn't know what it was about him, though. What he did know, however, was that this man had sent him to live with the Dursleys for ten years of his life, and those were years of childhood he'd never get back.

He'd never understood why the man had sent him there – the explanation of 'blood protection' meant nothing to him. Voldemort was dead. He'd been dead for a long time now, everyone knew the story. Sometimes Harry wondered if it was true, if he'd really defeated Voldemort when he was only a year old, but then he shook it off. It wasn't as if his life had been made any better by it.

The man was sitting behind his desk, looking weary. There were four chairs in front of the desk: two were already occupied. Harry's eyes widened minutely upon seeing Professor McGonagall there, as well as Madame Pomfrey and… Healer Jacobs? What was he doing here? The penny dropped. Oh. This was all about the parasite, wasn't it? When Dumbledore motioned to the empty chair, conveniently (for them) placed right in the middle of the others, Harry sat reluctantly, already uninterested in what they had to say. McGonagall began to speak first.

"Mr. Potter. Due to the… incident that happened last year, and your subsequent… condition, we have had to make changes to your timetable." She looked clearly uncomfortable, and Harry knew all she wanted to do was tell him he was expelled. Quite frankly, he didn't know why he hadn't been. Probably due to his 'status' and the scandal it would cause, although he could tell that his head of house couldn't care less. He was still confused, however. Why would subjects need to be taken off? Healer Jacobs now took up the speaking.

"These subjects are ones which pose a threat to the health of you and your baby during this pregnancy. Due to the nature of the spells on the syllabus for Transfiguration, ergo large animals to objects and vice versa, there is a great risk of a spell missing the intended target and hitting you. If you were to transform into a teacup, there's no telling what would happen to your child, and if your child were to be transfigured into a knife…" The end of the sentence didn't really need to be said out loud for Harry to want to throw up. Right. Transfig. was out if he didn't want to die. But the other two…? The Healer continued.

"Defence is out of the question as well. Things will be quite physical, and rough, as the students this year will be practising duelling. Even a Jelly Legs could be disastrous for you, Harry." He could see it now. Falling over onto his stomach and… Wait. It wasn't as if he cared if the parasite died, right? So what if he fell over then… The scowl that had been threatening to break out appeared, and Jacobs seemed to sigh; his shoulders drooping. Harry guessed that Jacobs still remembered his distaste for the child in general. Good, he thought. Don't want people thinking I want it or anything. Because I don't.

Madame Pomfrey finished up what was turning out to be a bit of a tag-team, with the last part of the speech. Harry merely rolled his eyes. He'd had enough.

"And as for Potions, surely you can see why this isn't an option, Potter. The fumes from the potions, not to mention the potions themselves are all far too dangerous. I can't allow it." Who cared about her? What if he wanted to do it? Harry turned to Dumbledore, pleadingly. He couldn't let this happen…

"Professor, I need to do these subjects! If I don't get OWLs in them, then I can't do them for NEWTs, and I won't be able to be an Auror…" Dumbledore looked grim, the familiar sparkle in his eyes gone. Harry had never seen him look so miserable.

"I'm sorry, my boy, but the danger to your health is too much to overlook. We want you to be as safe as you possibly can in this old school, and if we have to set back your career options by a few years to do so, then we will." He looked uncomfortable here, and McGonagall coughed.

"Mr. Potter, I'm sure you wouldn't have read up on this, thinking it to not be a problem that would ever apply to you, but there are rules and regulations regarding families and Aurors…" Harry waited. He knew this was going to be bad.

"As you know, most start Auror training at age eighteen and ten years of training and field service must be completed before the age of thirty." Harry couldn't really see where this was going, and the confusion must have shown on his face, because McGonagall carried on speaking. "However, someone with a child not of Hogwarts age may not do field training, as it involves real dangerous situations, and the Ministry will not be held responsible for taking away the parent of a young child. As you have probably learnt recently, family is very important in the Wizarding World.

"This means, Mr. Potter, that there is little to no chance of you becoming an Auror." Harry stared, gobsmacked. By the time his child was eleven, Harry would be twenty-six! Far too old to even contemplate being an Auror… So what was he supposed to do for the rest of his life? Leech off his parents' money until it was all gone, then live like the Weasleys? Harry didn't think that he could. He hadn't even considered any other careers, determined to become an Auror. He should have kept his options open like Hermione had told him to, but like Ron, he'd thought that nothing would jeopardise his dream.

There was silence in the room as the adults waited for Harry to digest the information, then Dumbledore deigned to speak.

"I'm very sorry, my boy." Harry shook his head. He didn't want empty apologies. He didn't care.

"If it's all the same, may I go back to the common room? I don't feel so good." Jacobs cleared his throat before he could stand up.

"The free lessons you have would be best spent reading the books on pregnancy that I've sent ahead to your dorm room. But some of them will be checkups with me and Madame Pomfrey." Harry nodded blankly and stood up, not meeting the eyes of any of the adults in the room.

He went down the stairs numbly, paying no attention to the dense silence he left behind him.