A/N - a follow up for Dragon's Grace (obviously), and also a tribute for Alan Rickman's 71st birthday, which was yesterday.

"Potter, what is that?"

"Umm—" Harry glanced down at the cup he was holding out, then looked back up at Severus. "Tea?" he tried.

"And those?"

Harry's gaze lowered again to stare in bemusement at the plate he was holding in his other hand. It was neatly laid out with several scones, cut into halves and covered in strawberry jam. "Afternoon snack?" he said, weakly.

Severus scowled at him. "And what, exactly, gave you the impression that I wanted one?" he demanded.

If his hands hadn't both been full, Harry would have rubbed the back of his neck. To be honest, he didn't know why he'd brought them over to Severus. He hadn't even wanted them himself.

"I'll just . . . put them back," he muttered, turning to return to the kitchen.

A snort from Severus stopped him. "Well, you may as well leave them now that you've done them," he said.

Baffled – Severus had made quite a point before of not liking strawberries, in any form – Harry placed his offerings on the side table beside Severus' chair, and retreated to the kitchen.

"Harry, what on earth are you doing sleeping on the settee? You'll hurt your neck."

Blinking himself fully awake, Harry winced and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Too late for that," he muttered, levering himself upright, with a lot more wincing. It felt as if all the bones in his neck had fused together, and the muscles in his shoulder and neck were spasming. "And I'm sleeping out here because you kicked me out of bed."

"What?" Severus sounded – and looked – surprised. "Why would I . . . ?"

"I have no idea. One minute I'm fast asleep, the next I find myself on the floor. Then you wrapped yourself up in the duvet, and hissed at me every time I tried to get back on the bed."

"I did that?" Severus frowned, uncertainly. "I don't remember doing that."

Harry forced himself to stand up and stretch, and almost instantly regretted it. "Believe me," he said, wryly, "I have the bruises to prove it."

A slow smile curved Severus' lips. "Perhaps I should kiss them better," he purred. "It's the least I can do, since I apparently gave them to you."

"The least . . ." agreed Harry, absently, as Severus led him into their bedroom.

"Sev! Dinner!" Harry called.

To his surprise, Severus appeared a lot more quickly than Harry had expected. Seating himself, Harry watched as Severus eagerly plucked a morsel up with his fingers, and began chewing with a satisfying crunch!

At the unexpected sound, both of them froze, looked at each other, and then looked down at Severus' plate.

The plate that was covered in empty snail shells, half buried in a large pile of soil.

"What the—?" Harry exclaimed, shocked. He didn't remember preparing that! "Sev, I'm so sorry! I don't know . . . I'll just . . ." he stuttered, reaching for the plate as he began to rise from his seat.

An arm abruptly curled around the plate, and a low growl rumbled from between Severus' teeth. The normally pale golden scales over his cheekbones were beginning to turn a harsh red.

"Um, okay." Harry slowly sank back into his chair. "I'll just . . . let you have it, then."

After a moment's hard staring, Severus finally straightened up and sighed. "Apologies, Harry," he said. "It appears the Dragoonal instincts are getting the better of us."

"Instincts?" Harry reached out to touch Severus' hand. "Sev, what's happening? You're not going into heat again, are you?" he asked, alarmed, as the thought occurred to him. It was barely two weeks since the last heat.

Shaking his head, Severus took Harry's hand in his own, although Harry suspected it was more because he wanted to ensure Harry couldn't remove the plate from in front of him rather than any great desire to hold Harry's hand. "No, it's not heat," he reassured. Then he pulled a face as if he'd bitten into a lemon – or was looking at one of Neville's brewing attempts. "Unfortunately, I fear you were right."

"Oh. Good. Great." Harry paused, biting his lower lip. "Uh, right about what?"

"Have you ever seen birds, right before they lay their eggs?" Severus asked. Confused – what did birds have to do with their Dragoonal instincts? – Harry shook his head. "They need calcium, to build the shells," explained Severus. "So they tend to eat a lot of shells; snail, usually, but occasionally discarded shells from other birds. Sometimes soil, if they can't find enough snails." He looked down pointedly at his plate, picked up another shell, one that wasn't quite as empty as it could have been, and popped it into his mouth.

Swallowing hard, Harry looked away, trying to figure out the link between birds laying their eggs and Severus . . . oh. OH!

Harry's gaze shot back up to meet Severus'. "You . . . you're . . ." he spluttered, his gaze falling to Severus' waist. "Oh, Merlin, really?"

"I fear so," said Severus, glumly. "It explains all of our actions recently."

Torn, Harry couldn't decide whether he wanted to smother Severus in hugs and kisses, or run away as fast as he could, screaming his head off.

'Don't dragon heats produce eggs?' he remembered asking, once Severus' heat had finished. And Severus' scathing response of 'I do not produce eggs'.

Except . . . apparently . . . he did.

"Um – er – so . . . what do we do?" he asked.

Severus paused, another shell half-way to his mouth. "I continue eating . . . this," he said, grimacing, "and then presumably, at some point tomorrow, I shall . . ." He made a vague hand gesture. ". . . produce an egg."

Harry rubbed his free hand over the back of his neck. "And, uh, just how will you produce an egg?" he asked, hesitantly.

Severus gave him a pained look. "Believe me, I don't think we want to know," he said.

As it turned out, the reason Harry had been forcibly kicked out of bed was because Severus' instincts had decreed it the perfect place for a nest. The following morning, Severus curled himself up under several duvets, hissing and roaring every time Harry approached the bed.

He ended up pacing maniacally in the living room, checking the window, the door, and the bedroom every few seconds, his shoulders tense, and claws sprouting from his fingertips. It seemed his own protective instincts had gone into overdrive.

However, there was no sign of anybody outside – Severus' Confundus Charm was still up, Harry reminded himself; they'd have to see about removing that, or reducing it, at some point so that the Dragon Reserve could start functioning again – and the only sign of any strange dragons was an elderly female that was perched several miles away, staring intently at their house.

"Seems we've got a midwife on hand," Harry called out. There was no response from Severus, aside from a few grumbles and a hiss or two. Harry tried desperately not to think of just how Severus was producing an egg from his very male body.

Thankfully, when Severus finally allowed him back in the bedroom several hours later, there was no sign of any blood. Instead, nestled in a pile of duvets in the middle of the bed, with pillows surrounding it, was a small, cream-shelled egg.

"Wow," Harry whispered. He reached out and gingerly touched it with a finger. It was quite hot, and softer than he'd been expecting. "Isn't it . . . a bit small?" he asked, glancing at Severus. "Is it okay?"

"It'll be fine," Severus said, dismissively, although even as he spoke, he was poking and prodding the material to hold the egg better. "It'll grow, and harden. As long as we keep it warm, then it should hatch right on schedule."

"Which will be . . . ?" Harry queried.

Severus shrugged. "No idea," he admitted. He ran a gentle hand over the egg. "We'll just have to wait and see."

Several months later…

"Harry! It's hatching!" Severus bellowed.

Harry cringed. "Merlin, Sev, I'm right here in the same room!" he protested. "And I can see it's hatching."

He certainly could. The egg – much, much larger than it had been when Severus had first laid it – was now rocking alarmingly, and minute cracks were appearing all over it, as the infant inside fought to break free. There were muffled grunts coming from it, and tiny squalls of distress.

"No," Severus said, as Harry stepped forward to help. "It has to break out on its own!"

"How is it supposed to do that?" Harry asked. "Sev, it's not actually a dragon. I hope," he added under his breath, before continuing, "It's not got anything to help break the shell."

"It's . . . kicking," said Severus, eventually, with a pause in the middle that meant he'd had to think about it.

"The poor thing's going to get tired long before it manages to kick a hole through that shell!" Harry pointed out. He stepped forward again and carefully tapped one of his claws on the shell. The infant inside froze for a moment, before the rocking and squalling began again, more enthusiastically this time, as though knowing it's parents were out there had galvanised it.

Holding the egg steady with his other hand, Harry drew his claw along one of the cracks in the shell, widening it and chipping away at the tough material. Once they could see the infant through it, still enclosed in the protective sac, Severus came to stand beside Harry, nudging him out of the way.

Unsheathing his own claws, he carefully punctured the sac and tore it off, leaving their child to take his first gasping breaths of air, before he commenced to trying his new lungs out to see just what volume he could reach.

"It's a boy," said Harry, softly, gazing down at their son. Reaching out, he ran a hand over the tufts of wild black hair, and smiled down into warm, hazel eyes. "Hello, there."

Severus ran his finger down the baby's cheek, across the small strip of tiny green scales that highlighted the cheekbones. "Alan," he said, equally softly. "Our Alan."

Harry slid his other arm around Severus, kissing his cheek before looking back down at their newborn. "Alan," he agreed. "Our handsome boy. Happy birthday."