I now have a review average of 5 per chapter! You have no idea how happy that makes me :D Something for you all to respond to today is this: Where do you think this story is going (bearing in mind there are very few chapters left) and based on that, what you think should/would happen in the sequel?

So what if he hadn't eaten for five days? He'd gone longer before, and they knew it. And no, he didn't care about the welfare of the parasite. They could abort it for all he cared; it was what he wanted anyway. They'd moved him to a bed in the hospital wing to 'keep an eye on him'. What they thought he'd do was beyond him, but he supposed they were allowed to be slightly paranoid after he'd nearly fallen down a flight of stairs after fainting two days previously.

They were feeding him nutrient potions that he couldn't, no, wouldn't, keep down, and were now contemplating putting him on a muggle drip. Like hell they would. He'd rip it out if they tried. There was a mirror in his room and Harry delighted in using what energy reserves he had to make his way over to it to see how he looked at this point. He was twig-like, and it was good. If he bent over, he could see his spine, and it reassured him that not everything was going wrong. Why had Draco left him there alone? Couldn't he understand that it wasn't Harry's fault? That Draco was the one Harry wanted to be with? He dragged himself back to his bed and lay down, dizzy from the effort. Maybe he could have just a little… No. Not until… until it was dead.

Six days. They'd tried to force-feed him and it hadn't worked. He was still strong enough to stick fingers down his throat, and he did. They didn't try again, saying that he would aggravate his heart, which was getting weaker, apparently. They were always talking about how resilient the baby was, but Harry didn't care. He wished it would just hurry up. There was a check-up that day. They wanted to see how the baby was doing. Harry wanted to see if it was dead yet, although he doubted it. As long as I'm still alive, he thought, that thing will go on sapping my strength. But there was nothing he could do, no sharp instruments or loose cords to end it all with. If he had his wand…

Wait. Raw magic had created the parasite. If he wished for it hard enough it would go away, wouldn't it. Just disappear, just like that… That's what he needed. He hadn't wanted, needed it this much before. But now he did. Now he had to make this happen. When Madame Pomfrey came in, he smiled at her, but ignored her as usual. When he was better, when the parasite was gone, he'd say sorry for the trouble.

Oh. He'd wet himself, again. Sometimes he lost feeling and that happened. It was embarrassing, but it had happened enough times that he didn't really care anymore. He was sure that that was a bad thing, but again, he couldn't be bothered to think about it. He pushed himself up to see if he could get to the bathroom when a shooting pain went through his abdomen. Doubling over on the bed, Harry screamed, unable to hold it in.

What was happening? Why was he in so much pain? The bed was wet beneath him and he looked down to see blood, blood everywhere. Was his wish happening? Was the baby leaving? But… no, not now, not now! It wasn't supposed to hurt! He wasn't supposed to see it happen! Everything was meant to be quick and simple and everything would go back to how it was, and everyone would treat him normally again, and – he screamed again as a searing pain went through him. This wasn't what was supposed to happen! He was supposed to be okay! He could hear the pounding of feet outside his door, but he was lost in the pain, each stab sharper than the last.

Harry woke up, and the first thing he noticed was the absence of his pregnant stomach – just squidgy soft belly where it had been before. A smile tried to make its way onto his face, but Harry found that it didn't quite reach. He wasn't happy, was he? Now that it was gone. He had his body back; he should be rejoicing. Instead, he couldn't even bring himself to care. He wondered what they'd done with the corpse. It was old enough to have one, wasn't it? The corpse of his baby. His child. A part of him. It was gone, and wasn't coming back. People wouldn't nag him over what to eat now. He could become an Auror.

All of this meant nothing to him. His baby was dead because he killed it. He wished for it to be dead and it was. He had destroyed a life. The information whirled around in his head, but it still wasn't settling in. He… he could have a family with whoever he wanted now, right? But… would they want a child murderer…? Harry tried to curl up into a ball, but the absence of his stomach was disturbing and he stretched out again, lying flat so no part of him crossed that bereft area.

That was how Pomfrey came and found him some time afterwards. She looked harried and tired. She'd probably looked like that for the past week, hadn't she? But he hadn't noticed. He stared blankly at her for a few moments, then spoke the first words he'd said in eight days.

"Can… can I bury it?" Pomfrey looked like she wanted to kill him. He'd probably want to as well in her position.

"Mr. Potter. There will be no burying of any kind. Your son is very weak right now, but he will survive. While any other child would probably not have survived the night, it seems that your magic sensed that you were not… enthusiastic about this and it hurried along his development some. If it had not, you would be facing a trial by Wizengamot for endangering an innocent life." Harry couldn't process all of this. He had a son? Really? He had a son! He had a baby boy, and he wouldn't have to bury him, and he wasn't a murderer and… There were too many ands! Pomfrey looked like she would rather be anywhere else, but she stayed, and meekly, Harry asked,

"Is it maybe possible that I could… if it's not too much hassle, that… well, if I –" Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you can see him. He needs to be given a name." She summoned a wheelchair, and before Harry knew it, he was being pushed to another room. His stomach was tender, and he now noticed the bandages covering his lower torso. He must have a scar there, right? Tearing his mind from the subject, Harry braced himself as they prepared to go into the room housing his son.

The first thing he noticed was the many muggle styled, but magic powered, machines in the large room. Confusedly, he looked around for his son, getting more confused as they weaved around the contraptions. When they stopped in front of a large glass cylindrical box, with all kinds of tubes coming in and out of it, Harry looked towards Pomfrey with confusion.

"Where is he?" Pomfrey gestured to the mound in the middle and opened a hatch in the side of the box.

"Look." He did, and was met with a tiny face. At first, he could only think that he was looking at a doll. This couldn't be his son. This thing was so small and fragile, and looked like it wasn't alive, the rise and fall of its chest so shallow. Harry looked back at Pomfrey in incredulousness and blinked. She nodded at him, and Harry reached into the box to stroke his son's hand. It was so… so small.

"So, your son – "

"Sebastian."

"Sebastian may not be well for some months. But we are optimistic." Harry wasn't. It wasn't plausible that someone this small could live for very long. But then again, he had survived being gestated by seemingly the worst parent in the world. Looking at the tiny baby in front of him, his little face still scrunched up, Harry couldn't believe that he'd tried so hard to kill him. What was wrong with him? What kind of sick person spent months of their lives plotting ways to get rid of their own offspring? Harry turned his face away, unable to look at his son any longer, for fear he would burst into tears.

"May I hold him?" He asked, tentatively. He certainly wasn't going to be confident in the fact that Pomfrey wouldn't kill him for asking. And he was right not to be. She gave him a stony glare, and spoke.

"You may not, Mr Potter. As you can see, Sebastian is very fragile right now. Each of these machines has a different function in keeping him alive. Moving him could disrupt a tube, and at this moment in time, that would prove fatal." Harry nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn't even hold him…

"You may wish to inform his other father that he has a son. When you went into labour, your friends were told, but he has yet to find out." Harry started minutely, but his eyes stayed fixed to his son's face.

"Did you tell Draco Malfoy?" Pomfrey looked at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware that Mr Malfoy numbered among your friends. If I had, perhaps I would have. If you would, the Floo is in the next room. I trust you can wheel yourself, as Sebastian needs to be turned right now." Harry nodded blankly, watching as she gently moved the blanket from Sebastian's back and began the process of turning him over. Too many wires… He moved away from the room, fumbling with the wheels. Evidently, Pomfrey didn't care how weak he was at this moment. To be honest, neither did he. He didn't deserve to be alive right now.

He threw the powder into the fireplace, stating Oliver's address. How convenient that Collette and Oliver were holding the wedding at their home, and he had burned that invitation into his memory. Please, let Oliver be the only one home… No such luck.

"Harry! How good to see you. I haven't received your answer to the invitation, are you coming?" She looked so radiant; so happy. Harry was disappointed when even this couldn't bring a smile to his face.

"Don't worry, I'm coming. I just kept forgetting to send my answer back. Sorry, Collette."

"Don't worry!" She grinned, "I've had a lot on my mind too…" She took the time to pat her stomach lightly. Harry couldn't stop the shock from appearing on his face.

"Really? How long?"

"Just gone three months now, so it's safe to tell everyone!" Oliver really didn't waste his time, did he? Harry thought. Merely a month after getting Harry pregnant, he'd gone and done the same to his fiancée. Although, Harry reasoned, he was allowed to do that to the one he was going to marry, wasn't he? "Next check up, I get to find out whether I'm having a boy or a girl – I'm so excited!" Harry smiled slightly. This was how he was supposed to act. Collette would make the perfect mother. He was the complete opposite of her.

"I'm very happy for you two – you really deserve something like this." Collette beamed at him.

"Well, I'm sure you don't want to listen to me waffle on. I'll go get Oliver, seeing as he's probably the one you want." She winked at him and he heard footsteps leaving the room. When they came back again, Harry was relieved to hear only one set. Oliver's face looked annoyed and his voice reflected that.

"What?"

"I think it's best if you come through, Oliver."

"Is it about you-know-what?"

"Yeah." Oliver sighed and the next thing he knew, the man was in the room. It seemed like he'd grown since the last time Harry'd seen him. At any rate, he'd become more imposing, and Harry, sat in a wheelchair at waist height, felt tiny in his light cotton shirt and trousers. There was silence for a while, then Oliver cleared his throat.

"You're… not showing. Collette's got a little bump now." Harry stared at his feet.

"I haven't been taking the best care of myself lately, or our baby." There was an awkward pause. "Yes, our baby. I nearly lost him yesterday. Even though I didn't, I'm no longer pregnant." Oliver gasped.

"You miscarried?" Harry sighed at this.

"I did say that I didn't lose him. He's not gone, but he's not in good health either. It's my fault. If you want to see him – " He wasn't even allowed to finish the sentence before Oliver pushed past him, going through the door. Harry sat there, dumbstruck. He had thought that Oliver wanted nothing to do with this. If so, why was he rushing over to their son's side?

Once again, Harry wheeled himself through the doorway, wondering what he would see. When he was met with the sight of Oliver stroking their son's hand. Why did Oliver look so perfect in the presence of a baby, when Harry knew he would not look the same? Truthfully, Harry knew the answers to both questions, but he pushed them to the back of his head, not wanting to acknowledge them. He coughed lightly and Oliver sneered at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Did you do this for attention or something? Annoyed that someone else was getting more notice than you were?" Harry looked away, unable to answer. He wasn't about to admit any faults, however.

"Like you have any right to tell me anything! You're the one that left us." Oliver chuckled grimly.

"Us, is it now? From what I've heard, it's always been about you and the parasite." Harry started. How did Oliver know about that? This was just… Who had told? He couldn't believe he'd placed his trust in people, when all they ever did was betray him.

"I'm not going to listen to you, okay? Sebastian's my responsibility, and you've got your own child on the way now, don't you?" Oliver didn't say anything, but softly tucked their son back into the incubator.

"Sebastian? Trust you to pick such a stupid name. He suits Peter a lot better."

"What, Peter Potter?" Harry snorted. "That's ridiculous." Oliver gave him one cold glance, then made to leave.

"See you at the wedding, Potter." The footsteps continued to the door, then stopped.

"Not Peter Potter. Peter Wood."