Disclaimer: Characters herein do not belong to me, accept for Richards and Healer Roberts and any other OC. Other than that, Harry Potter and his companions are from the creative mind of J.K Rowlings. Believe me, if they were mind, Deathly Hallows would have ended much differently.

Rating: M at the very least, for adult situations, slash, language, MPreg and angst. Turn back now if any of this bugs you.

Pairing(s): HP/DM; HP/SS later.

Summary: Life throws a wrench into Harry's happy ever after. Draco shows himself to be a total git, and Snape just might have a heart. When Draco realizes what he's lost, will it be too late? Somewhat DH compliant.

Inspiration: "Foolish Games" by Jewel.

A/N: No, I haven't abandoned my other stories. Shattered is just giving me a bit of trouble. And this little bunny is already 3/4th of the way done. I am a bit stuck on the epilogue, and will be seeking your opinions when I post the second to the last chapter. I don't want to spoil too much right now. Hope you enjoy, no matter how cliche this plotline may start out. Reviews welcome, Flames... not.

Foolish Games -Part 1-

Silence.

There was a time when Harry craved silence. It was a way to lose himself, to discover himself, and to understand the world around him. Now, when it greeted him as he walked into flat, it felt suffocating. He ran a hand through his rumpled hair and sighed.

"Draco."

His voice bounced around the empty hallway. He already knew his lover of five years wasn't at home. As usual. It had become all too typical as of late. Harry had found over the past few months that Draco was gone more often than not. Even when he was home, he seemed miles away in his mind.

It hurt. It hurt so badly. Harry could feel the icy mood that filled the air whenever they were together. And sometimes he could swear he saw a flicker of disgust in those steel grey eyes. He knew Draco wasn't happy, deep down. And yet, he just couldn't let him go. He loved the Ice Prince.

Perhaps that is what hurt the most. The fact that Harry still loved him, still wanted to be with him, even though Draco didn't.

Oh Draco hadn't said so, not in words at least. But the actions were still there. The distance and lack of comfort Harry had come to crave. No one understood Harry like Draco did. And vise versa. Or so he had thought. Now, he wondered if he had ever really known the man after all.

Laying his keys on the hall table, he slipped off his shoes and padded into the kitchen. Glancing at the fridge, he looked for the note he knew wasn't there. Without bothering to turn on a light, he grabbed a glass of water and walked down the hall to their bedroom. How much longer would they share this room? The bed? Their lives? Harry could feel their relationship fade away, draining the life out of him. His hands were trembling slightly as he set the glass down on his side of the bed.

Pulling off his clothes, he wandered into the bathroom. Turning the water as hot as he could stand it, he stepped under the spray, taking in a deep breath as the water stung his gold-kissed skin. His lids slide over green eyes, remembering a time when he never showered alone. Remembering hands and lips; moans and sighs and sweet, sweet screams of mutual release. They had sought out a flat that had a huge shower just for that reason. When was the last time they had been together in here? Harry couldn't recall. Weeks, maybe longer.

Disgusted and depressed, he quickly finished washing and shut off the water. Wrapping a towel around his lean waist, he went back into the bedroom. With a groan, he fell into bed, not bothering to get dressed. What did it matter, anyways? In all likelihood, he would be asleep long before Draco came back home.

If he comes back at all- his traitorous mind supplied. He scowled deeply and buried his head deep into Draco's pillow. Draco hated it when Harry stole his pillow. But right now, it was the only thing Harry had to hang onto. And so he did. He hang on for dear life, as if letting go would admit there was something very wrong. A shuddering breath left his lips and he burrowed deeper.

"I will not cry. I will not cry," he whispered over and over, as the tears began to slip through his firmly shut eyes, trailing down his cheeks and soaking the pillow that smelled like his Draco. It was foolish, folly and weak, he knew. However, in the dark stillness of their room, he simply didn't care. A sob escaped his throat. There was no turning back now.

Draco paused just outside the front door, his hand ready to place the key in the lock. He took a deep breath, smoothing down his hair and his clothes one last time, and pasted a smile on his face. He knew it didn't reach his eyes anymore. At least not here. Silently, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Dark silence greeted him. He frowned. The flat felt cold. No smell of dinner or sound of Harry moving around hit him.

Something wasn't right. Entering the house, he closed the door with a snap. Harry's shoes sat at the foot of the lower entryway stair and his set of keys was on the table. Draco's frown deepened. He was sure his lover was home. So where was he? Usually, no matter the time, Draco could find Harry somewhere in the front rooms, and a plate of food waiting for him, charmed to still be hot.

Tonight there was nothing but cold, darkness and silence. Draco was not amused. A peek in the kitchen told him there was no dinner waiting. A glance in the living room yielded no results as well. Frustrated, Draco called out Harry's name. Hearing no response, he left the living room behind in favor of searching for Harry in the rest of the house.

He paused outside their bedroom. The door was halfway open. One look inside, and he let a sneer cross his face. Sprawled out across the bed lay the very nude, and still delectable Harry. His skin shone in the pale moonlight that filtered into the room through the blinds. His body was deliciously toned due to years of Quiddich. In spite of himself. Draco felt his body responding as it always did when presented with such a sight.

Quietly, he moved across the room, dropping his clothes as he went. He paused at the side of the bed, looking down at the frowning face of his lover. Drying tear tracks still shone on his cheeks. Draco waited for the tale-tell signs of guilt he should feel, knowing he was the cause of such tears. Sadly, he felt nothing. Exactly what he had felt for months now.

Leaning forward, he trailed his fingers over the bare expanse of skin across Harry's back. He felt, rather than heard, Harry's breath hitch. With a smirk, he continued his explorations, loving the fact that he could illicit such a response. Within moments, he had Harry moaning and squirming under his touch.

"Draco…" Harry breathed out, opening those green eyes to stare at the gorgeous blond before him. Draco silenced him quickly with a bruising kiss, shoving a finger into Harry's tight entrance. Harry hissed and tensed up. Draco twisted the finger harshly.

"You know if you tense up, it only makes it worse," he said, not quite keeping the smugness from his voice. Harry winced and struggled to relax. It was like this with Draco each time they made love any more. If that's what you could call it. Personally, Harry felt there wasn't much love involved anymore. At least not on Draco's part.

He wanted to struggle, to push Draco away. But the feeling of Draco's hands and mouth, and his own loneliness overwhelmed his protests. He would hate himself later. He always did.

Their coupling was hard, fast and painful. Harry felt each thrust into his body as if knives were ripping him apart. His eyes filled with tears, although he wasn't sure if it was from the brutality of the act, or from the lack of love he saw in Draco's face. He bit into the pillow below him, muffling his screams. Draco only would take him from behind now days. It was as if he couldn't stand to look Harry in the face. Harry's heart shattered a little more with every thrust and grunt coming from his lover's mouth.

It shamed him to think that he was glad when Draco gave one more hard thrust and groaned out his release. He stilled for a few seconds, emptying himself into Harry's body, before disengaging and rolling off to the side. There was no post ecstasy cuddling or whispered words of endearment. Instead, Draco laid gasping in air for a few moments, before standing and trudging to the bathroom. Minutes later, Harry heard the shower turn on. His stomach rolling fitfully, he turned away from the door, pulling the covers up over his body and pretended to fall asleep. It was then that he realized Draco hadn't once spoken his name.

Harry was up before the dawn the following day. Standing at the large picture window, he watched as the sun kissed the sky good morning, and bathed their room in hues of gold and red. Gryffindor colors. He smirked briefly, the action looking tense and broken. A glance at the sleeping god on the bed made his breath catch. Draco was gorgeous on the worst of days. But sleeping, his face relaxed and the touches of the sun rise glowing around him, he was heavenly. Harry's heart broke, ragged lines bleeding pain and strained promises. Clutching the small black box in his hand, he shoved the other through his unruly curls. With a silent sigh, he touched his lips to the sleeping man's forehead, and walked away.

He had come to a decision in the sleepless hours of the night after Draco had returned to bed. On the one hand, he could stay with Draco, waiting for the day when the blond finally called it quits. It would be the Gryffindor thing to do, to brave it out. Somehow, he despised that thought. It would come to an end, with yelling and name calling, no doubt.

He didn't think he could take something like that. He didn't want to hear the thoughtless words that would spill from those full lips. He refused to think of the look of hate he knew would flash through those cloudy eyes.

So he didn't. He took option 'B' and simply walked away. And tried to not look back.

He succeeded, until he hit the sidewalk. Clutching his suitcase in one hand and his chest in the other, he looked up once more to the darkened window of their flat. With tear filled eyes, he whispered 'goodbye,' and disappeared.

Severus Snape lived the last five years in relative peace and quiet. Most would think it was exactly what the snarling and crass Potions Master would want after so many years of teaching imbecilic children and dealing with manipulative men. However, Severus Snape was rather unhappy. Quite frankly, he was bored.

Life after Voldemort was painfully uneventful. With the testimony of one Potter and the memories kept by Dumbledore, he had been exonerated for the old Headmaster's death and his part in the first and second wars. He had even been awarded an Order of Merlin, much to his distaste. Gaudy old thing. He had found himself in the lime light for a short while, but soon tired of the simpering adoration of the masses. No longer needed as a spy, and with his most promising and troublesome students gone, he gave up his post a professor at Hogwarts and opened his own shop, while writing articles for The Practical Potioneer on occasion.

On this bright sunny day, the monotony on his life seemed more stifling than usual. Unable to take anymore smiling customers, or useless dribble of his assistants, he decided to take an extended lunch break. Whether or not he would actually return to his shop for the afternoon remained to be seen. Restlessly, he bought a sandwich and some tea from a little food stand in Diagon Alley and walked along the busy streets.

Over the past few days, he had done some deep thinking and came to a few realizations. One- he wasn't getting any younger. Even though he was only forty-three, and relatively young by wizarding standards, he had led a rough life. And now those years were beginning to catch up with him. Potions and playing the spy game filled his younger years, and he now realized that he was tired of the direction his life had taken. He needed a fresh start, somehow.

He also came to see that despite all pretenses he put forth, he was rather lonely. Coming home to an empty house filled with painful memories made him feel as if the walls were closing in. His life stretched out before him, filled with empty nights and boring days.

Yes, Severus Snape needed a change, and fast.

He turned his stride down another street, his gaze catching the real-estate office on the corner. Perhaps, it was time to begin that change, starting with his accommodations. With a renewed sense of worth, he stepped up to the door and opened it. A chime rang accompanied by a sharp yelp and a thump. Surprised, he looked down to the ground. Hs eyes widened in shock as tortured green eyes blinked owlishly back at him from the floor. Pale faced, the lightning bolt scar he was famous for stood out in stark contrast as Harry looked up at his old professor. They remained there for a moment, each staring at the other.

Severus was the first to recover, a sneer stretching out across his thin lips. "I see you still haven't acquired any amount of grace, Mr. Potter. Tell me, are you accustom to that place on the floor?"

Harry cringed and stood up stiffly, brushing off his pants. Tight lipped, he tiredly retrieved his fallen suitcase, shrank it and merely nodded in greeting. Severus was stunned.

"Can't even stoop to grant me a greeting, Mr. Potter? What, nothing to say?" Even in his ears, his taunts sounded harsher than normal. He wondered at this briefly before shoving the thoughts away. Harry still stood there silently, unwilling to take the bait. Frustrated, Severus brushed past him, allowing the door to close behind him. Harry caught the doorknob just in time.

"Good day, Mr. Snape," he said quietly before rushing out of the office. Confused and not a little disturbed, Severus turned at the words, watching as Harry left, his shoulders slumped in a defeated manner. Something was certainly wrong. Shaking his head, he tried to dislodge the worry that clawed at his mind. He may not like the younger man, but seeing him look so broken caused a twinge of some unmentionable emotion in his chest. He had expected a fiery retort, not the quietly spoken greeting. That man was not the man he had known for over seven years as his student.

The clearing of a throat brought his attention back to the task at hand. He had better focus on his task and forget about broken little Golden Boys and their petty little problems.

Later that night, alone in his familial house at Spinner's End, Severus once again found his thoughts turning to The Boy Who Lived Twice and his haunted eyes. He hadn't seen Harry since graduation day five years ago. They barely managed a nod at that time, glaring at each other from across the Great Hall. It was without a heavy heart that Severus saw Harry leave school, forever, he presumed. It was Severus' last year of teaching as well.

Since that time, anything he knew of the Golden Boy was through random news articles he happened upon. He did not seek out information on Harry, nor did he show any interest in learning of his life now. Harry, it seemed, preferred to stay out of the spotlight. He hadn't even shown up for the endless Death Eater Trials, sending in his testimony instead. Not that Severus noticed.

He supposed, had he been a different man, he should have sought out the Savior and given his thanks for Harry taking the time to help him at all. But he wasn't, and so he didn't. The years stretched out, and Severus found it easier to push the boy from his mind.

At least until now. Examining the memory of this afternoon as he sipped on some well aged FireWhisky, he replayed Harry's reaction, or lack thereof. The man looked haggard. Like his life had been turned upside down. Last he had heard, Harry and Draco had started up a relationship, and Harry had been hired by the Canons as a Seeker. Draco had been glowing in his happiness for both the relationship and Harry's good fortune. That had been years ago, however. And things change. Drastically so, it seemed.

Draining his glass, he decided to pay a visit to his godson in the morning. Maybe then Harry's broken gaze would leave him in peace. And the pain in his chest would finally go away.

Meanwhile, in an empty little cottage by the sea, the same green eyed young man laid on a lone black leather couch, wondering not of his encounter with his old Professor. But rather of the emptiness he felt and the questions of why floating through his mind. Silence once again was his only companion. He had a feeling he had better get used to it. It was that thought alone that brought tears to his eyes. Muffling a sob, he pulled the blanket up over his shivering form and quietly cried himself to sleep.

Morning dawned in all its annoying bright and cheerfulness. Severus disliked bright and cheery. Raining and gloomy would far better suit his task today. Grimly, he went about his morning rituals, showering and getting dressed in his customary black. He paused for a moment, wondering briefly why he continued to wear black. It didn't necessarily compliment his complexion nor his tall lanky form. He supposed, off offhandedly, that it was simply habit. Perhaps he would look into purchasing new robes later on. Something in dark blue, maybe.

Satisfied that his appearance was the best it would get without glamour or some such nonsense, he ate a quick breakfast of tea and toast, indulging a bit today with a dollop of orange marmalade. He smirked slightly, feeling nostalgic. Glancing quickly at the clock, he decided he had best be off if he wanted to talk to Draco before he opened his shop.

It was surprisingly easy to find the flat Draco was currently keeping. He shook his head in disgust. Of course the ostentatious boy would be in the finest part of London, in the best high-rise flats. How Harry had handled living here, he could not understand. Everything screamed richness, and Harry, for all his faults, was not suited for someplace like this.

And yet, he knew he had lived here recently, the gold plated plaque outside the door said as much. He ran his long finger over the name and frowned. Then, composing his face into a expressionless mask, he knocked sharply on the door. There was a shuffle from within, and then a pale, decidedly female face opened the door. Whatever Severus was expecting, this wasn't it. He shoved his surprise in the back of his mind and turned on his meanest of sneers, catching her distinct lack of attire. The girl's eyes grew huge and she paled even more.

"Fetch Draco," he growled. She squeaked and nodded, quickly turning tail to do as she was told. He waited impatiently, his thoughts swirling in turmoil.

Draco soon stood before him, yawning, his hair in disarray and shirtless. His eyes widened momentarily before he broke into a grin.

"Severus! What a pleasant surprise." He held open the door wider. "Won't you come in?"

Severus shook his head. "No, I haven't the time at the present I'm afraid. I only have a few moments, really."

Draco's face fell in disappointment. "Oh," he said dejectedly. "So what brings you here?"

"I haven't heard from you in a while and simply wanted to see how my godson was doing." He saw Draco's brow raise and knew he wasn't buying it. Damn those Slytherlin instincts.

Draco propped a hip against the doorjamb and smiled. "Really, Severus? I'm supposed to believe that drivel? Why are you really here?"

Severus, seeing no way out, settled for a half truth. "I saw your Potter yesterday," he paused, watching Draco's expression close off. Ah, so there was trouble in paradise. Although, if the girl was any indication, there was a hell of a lot more than just trouble. "He looked terrible. I was simply worried about you. You know I refuse to pry into your business. However, I had to be sure there wasn't anything seriously wrong."

There, that was acceptable, wasn't it?

Draco laughed, surprising Severus. Taken aback, he frowned deeply. "He's not my Potter, Uncle Sev. Whatever he told you was quite probably blown way out of proportion. We've split, obviously. But nothing to be worried about. He was a good fuck, while it lasted, and I'll miss that tight arse of his for sure. But there are other fish in the sea, besides the Boy Wonder." Draco's words and sneer were decidedly sharp. He looked almost feral. "If he looked so horrible, it's not any of my business, I'm sure. He'll get over it."

"I see," Severus said, saddened by Draco's calloused behavior. He may dislike Harry sodding Potter, but the man deserved better than this harsh attitude. He was quiet sure the parting had been less than amicable. "Well," he began, composing himself. "I'm glad to see you are doing so well, Draco. Stop by the shop sometime, will you? And tell your father hello for me."

"I'll be sure to do that, Severus. Thanks for stopping by. It was really nice to see you, truly. I've missed you." Draco stuck out his hand. Severus shook it, recognizing the sincerity on his godson's voice. He may be a Malfoy through and through, but the little prat was still his family. He should have endeavored to keep in touch better than he had. With a parting wave, he walked away, a few more answers than questions now plaguing him.

And plague him they did, throughout the next few weeks, in fact. He had no real reason to be so completely obsessed with The Boy Who Lived; it wasn't as if the young man's life was in any sort of danger. Furthermore, before seeing the green eyed man, he had spare him no lingering thoughts. Now his mind seemed filled with them. It was disturbing, to say the least. Even in sleep, his dreams were haunted by broken eyes and quiet words.

He was reaching his ropes end in frustration six weeks after their brief encounter when the fates deemed it right to grant him some relief. A order came through his shop for a full case of Dreamless Sleep and several anti-nausea potions. The assistant in shop that day brought it down to the lab.

"I thought you might want to see this before it was sent off, sir," the young man's voice filtered into the potions lab. Severus cast a stacous spell over the potion he was currently working on. Flicking his hand out, he grabbed the parchment from his assistant's hand. His eyes went over the order rapidly, then more slowly.

"What have you been up to, Mr. Potter?" he murmured lowly. Nodding, he looked up. "I'll take care of this one personally. I'll need to brew a few more vials of the Dreamless Sleep to make a full case. Thank you, Richards," he said dismissively. He turned back to his work, unaware of the strange look his assistant had given him on his way out.

The Dreamless Sleep potion was finished two days later. Severus, unable to keep his curiosity at bay, decided to hand deliver Harry's order. It was unlike him, he knew. And yet… and yet… his realizations a few weeks back had begun to subtly change him and his outlook.

Which brought him to his current location outside a small cottage in Brighton. The house was modest and, dare he say, homey. A small yard was lined with well-tended rows of flowers in various colors. A white picket fence ran the whole length of the front. He wondered if the back looked just as nice. Somehow, he was sure this was the work of Potter, and not some horde of house elves. Potter, he reflected with a smirk, seemed to be the type to not have such creatures.

Again, he was proven wrong. Rapping sharply on the door, he frowned, suddenly disturbed at the lack of wards he felt. Surely, the young man would have placed some up, even as a precaution. And yet, he felt none. Waiting a moment, he again knocked. A surge of wild magic wrapped around him, coating him with warmth. He stumbled back, his hand clutching convulsively around his wand, the other snaking around his middle as the magic washed over him once again before disappearing completely.

"What in the blue hells was that?" he asked out loud, unnerved by the shakiness of his voice. He hadn't felt something like that since the final battle against the Dark Lord. Now he understood the lack of wards. Potter simply didn't need them. Not if that little demonstration was of any indication. Straightening, he lifted his hand to knock once more, only to have the red door flung open, and a wide eyed little elf looking back at him, its mouth open in shock. It was wringing its hand fiercely and moved from one foot to the other.

"Professor Snape, sir," it squeaked out. "Yous come to help Master Harry, sirs?"

Severus frowned, completely confused, not only by the greeting but by the familiarity the creature showed. "Is your master at home?" he asked.

The elf hopped again and nodded. "Yes, sir. He's is. But he's is sick. He's is spending long time in the bathroom. He's is making funny noises, and Tibby knows not what to do." The hand wringing began in earnest.

The frown turned to a look of concern. "Take me to him," he commanded, following the pathetic creature inside. He looked around him quickly, not really seeing his surroundings. He would have time to examine Harry's home later, after he had determined the source of Harry's illness. Tibby led him down a short hall and stopped in front of a door. A long groan could be heard from within, and Severus turned the brass knob, pushing open the door. There, he stopped in horrific shock. Harry, the Indestructible Boy Who Wouldn't Die, was hunched over the toilet, currently dry heaving with such force even Severus had to wince. The coughing that followed sounded just as painful.

Severus grabbed a towel, wetting it in the sink. He knelt next to the younger man, wiping the cloth across the sweaty face.

"Thanks, Tibby. Who was at the door?" Harry asked, his voice a harsh scratch of sound.

"I was, Mr. Potter," Severus answered. Harry's green eyes flew to his face and he scrambled back, falling onto his rump. He sat there, shocked into silence. Severus allowed him a few moments, standing and getting the man a glass of water, which he took without a word. Severus noticed how his hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a small sip. Finally, he seemed to compose himself, his face slipping into a mask of cautious indifference.

"I guess you aren't here to do me harm. My magic wouldn't have let you through the door if that was the case. Why are you here, Snape?" he rasped out, struggling to stand. His legs shook terribly, and he found himself sitting on the closed lid of the toilet after flushing the contents away.

Severus leaned back against the vanity, his arms crossed over his chest. He leveled an appraising look at Harry, taking in his pale countenance and almost black circles under his gem-like eyes. He had long since gotten rid of his glasses, favoring Muggle contacts instead. His hair was longer, still unruly, but in a shagged way. His clothes hung off his frame, and Severus could tell he was much thinner than he should be. All in all, Severus hadn't seen Harry look this bad in years, the end of his fifth year as a matter of fact.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a box and enlarging it. He held it out for Harry's inspection. "I believe this is yours, Mr. Potter."

Harry took it from his hand, gingerly. Examining it, realization dawned on him. "My potions. But why…?" His voice trailed off and his eyes widened almost comically. "You!" He blushed. "Er… it's your shop, isn't it?"

Severus nodded. "An astute conclusion, Mr. Potter. It is indeed my shop you ordered from."

"But, why didn't you just owl them to me? The other shop always just owls them." Harry finally gained his feet, waving Severus out of the way and grasping the counter top. He ran some water, splashing it over his face. He bobbed his head in thanks as Severus handed him a dry towel.

"The other shop? I take it this is not your first order of these potions."

Harry shook his head. "Well, the nausea is new. But the Dreamless Sleep? No. My usual shop just happened to be out. So I had to seek it somewhere else."

Severus was taken aback. Dreamless Sleep was a once in a while potion. The use of it on a regular bases wasn't recommended. The side effects could prove life threatening depending on the length of usage. "You are aware that taking the potion for any extended length of time is not advised." He leveled his gaze on the fidgeting young man. Harry couldn't meet the black eyes and looked away.

"It's better than not sleeping at all," he mumbled. He rubbed a hand across his eyes tiredly. "Anyway, thanks for dropping it off. The payment was delivered already, yeah?"

Severus knew a dismissal when he heard one. He could press the matter, but seeing the state of exhaustion Harry was in, figured it simply would do no good. So he nodded. "Yes, it came through this morning."

Harry nodded in response. "Good. I'm sorry you had to come out all this way. I'll be back to using my other shop next month, so there won't be any reason to come back here." He turned towards the doorway, intent on leaving the room.

Severus reached out, then dropped his hand. What was he thinking? Comforting the Boy Who Lived? For shame. "You're welcome to order from my shop whenever, Potter. My potions are top grade after all. At least you will know you are getting the best, if you insist on taking it."

Harry seemed stunned and turned his head. "I…uh… thanks, sir. Really, thanks."

Severus simply nodded. "I'll show myself out. Be sure to let us know when you need more, of either."

It wasn't until he was back in his lab, tinkering with a potion that he remembered the nausea potion. Why in the world could Harry need so many? And why was he so sick? Once again, Severus Snape's thoughts became absorbed by the mystery of Harry Potter.

Harry groaned from his spot on the floor. I really should think about carpeting the bathroom, seeing as I spend so much time on my knees here. His nausea had only worsened over the past few days, abating only for a few hours after using the nausea potion. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and called for Tibby. The elf popped in with a small crack and fell to her knees beside him.

"Master Harry is calling Tibby? What can Tibby do for Master Harry?"

Harry leaned back against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tibby, bring me a quill and some parchment, please." With a snap the elf was gone and back. Harry took the offered writing utensils and penned a short missive. "Take this to Mr. Snape in Diagon Alley, please. And wait for his response." Tibby nodded and snapped her fingers. Harry leaned his head back and shut his eyes. He hated asking for help, but he was simply out of options.

It had started weeks ago. At first he thought it was simply a flu bug. Strange, yes. He was usually very healthy, his Quiddich career helping to maintain that health. But he was still human, and even the healthiest of wizards and witches became ill every once in a while.

However, the vomiting began to linger, taking him out of his practice games, and then one major match. After three weeks of an extremely upset stomach and excessive tiredness, his coach demanded he see their team healer. The healer, unfortunately was at a loss and simply prescribed a few potions to help with the nausea and tiredness.

When he fell from his broom a week and a half ago, his coach grounded him. He balked at first, arguing that it would pass.

"It's been over five weeks now, Potter. I don't want to do this, but you're becoming a risk up there. Another fall and it won't be a broken arm, it could be your neck." His coach squeezed his shoulder gently. "It's just for the rest of the season. We only have a few more games." He held up his hand when Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Look, if you are better in time for the finals, I'll put you on reserve."

Harry sighed. "Alright."

"Okay, now go home and get some rest. You look like shite."

Harry had done little besides resting the last few days. He barely had the energy to drag himself out of bed. If it weren't for Tibby, he was sure he would have wasted away to nothing. For once, he was glad he had argued with Hermione about Tibby. She had proven invaluable.

Groaning, he grabbed his stomach, lurching over the toilet bowl for the fourth time in the past hour. He just hoped Snape was in a helping mood.

Severus was enjoying a quiet morning at his newly acquired house on the outskirts of London. It was vastly different than Spinner's End. Less history, more peace. He enjoyed the tranquil days he spent here. While much smaller than Spinner's End, it had a homey feeling to it. He smirked inwardly. No one among his acquaintances would believe he could be happy here. And while he might not be happy, per say, he was content.

Now if only he could quit his worrying about that blasted Potter. It had been two weeks since he had been to the man's house, and the feelings of dread had only continued to grow. The Daily Prophet's headlines that morning did nothing to assail his concerns. It proclaimed that the famous Seeker had taken an extended hiatus from the team, citing health concerns as the reason. If Harry looked as bad as he had two weeks ago, Severus was certain for once, The Prophet was right on the money.

A sharp snap startled him out of his thoughts. "Master Snape, Master Harry sent Tibby with a note," the wrinkly little creature screeched. Severus was on his feet, his face stormy.

"How did you get here?" he asked dumbly. Unlike Harry's cottage, he had several thick layers of wards around his house. The question seemed to confuse the elf. She simply fluttered her ears in irritation, holding out a small piece of parchment. Severus sneered and took it. "Well, what are you waiting for? Return to your master."

"Tibby is to stay here for response, Master Snape." Tibby wrung her hands several times, her ears rotating. Severus simply shook his head. There was no reasoning with the creatures, he knew. With a sigh, he quickly read the note, his face contorting with concern.

"Where was your master when you left him?" he asked, his voice hard.

"Master Harry is on the floor, sir. He is being sick again."

That was enough for Severus. Quickly, he strode into his lab, grabbing several potions and tucking them into his robes pockets. With a swirl he nodded. "Take me to him." Tibby grabbed his hand and with a POP! they were gone.

Traveling by elf was much easier than floo or portkey. They popped right into the upstairs bathroom doorway, Tibby releasing Severus immediately. Severus looked down, his brow furrowed in anxiety. Laying on the floor curled into a tight ball was Harry, his arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. His skin was white and clammy to the touch. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and he had managed to bite through his lip, leaving a small touch of blood on his chin.

"Potter. Potter, it's me. Snape. I need you to roll over," Severus said, gently touching the younger man's shoulder. Harry did as he was told, his hands still clutched into fists against his stomach. Sweat rolled in rivets down his face, combined with tears. He continued to gnaw on his lip, leaving more blood. Severus summoned a washcloth and softly wiped the red liquid away. "How long have you been like this?" he asked. Harry shook his head. A moan slipped past his lips.

"Tibby!" Severus barked. "How long has your master been this ill?"

Tibby shifted her stance from foot to foot. "Ten days, sir. Master Harry is not allowed in the air any more. He break arm and boss says no more flying." She tugged on her ear. "Master Harry sicker now after not flying. Master Harry sick all the time now."

"And how long has he been on the floor today?"

"Since dawn," Tibby squawked. Severus' eyes widened.

"Six hours? He's been here for six hours?" Tibby nodded. Severus shifted, gathering Harry into his arms and standing. "Show me his bedroom. I need to lay him out."

Tibby shook her body and led the way. Harry's room was right across the hall from the bathroom. The bed was large, and Severus was surprised to see the coverlet was an earthy bronze color. The sheets looked damp and rumpled.

"Change the sheets, Tibby. And gather a few towels and a basin of water, please." The elf was quick to obey. Severus watched her move about, shocked at how light his load was. Harry, for his age and career, should have been much heavier than he was. Concerned, he shifted his burden until Harry's head laid against his shoulder. Harry let out a soft wail, and settled.

Within minutes, Tibby had finished her task, and went in search of the towels. Severus gently laid his burden down. Harry automatically moved to curl up again. Severus' grip on his shoulders stopped him. His green eyes cracked open.

"Severus…" he whispered. Severus paused a moment, shocked to hear his name pass Harry's lips. He shook himself.

"Harry, I need you to lay flat for a bit. I need to examine you." Harry shook his head slightly, groaning. "I know it hurts, but it will only be for a moment." Harry stopped struggling, the fight gone out of him. Severus moved his wand over the prone man, casting a few diagnostic spells. He wasn't a medi-wizard by any means, but he did have a basic understanding of healing. The results were confusing and conflicting.

"Have you seen a healer, Harry?" he asked, frowning deeply. Harry nodded.

"The team healer. He couldn't figure out what's wrong."

"That's it? You haven't seen anyone at St. Mungo's?"

"No, I thought the potions you and he had given me would fix whatever this is. It's just a bug." Harry threw an arm up over his eyes, the light causing a sharp headache to start. Tibby drew the curtains closed and placed the basin of water and towels on the bedside table. Severus barely noticed, examining the results still.

"I don't understand this," he murmured to himself, looking from the floating chart to Harry. He spelled off the man's shirt, critically looking over his torso. He looked far too thin, his stomach sunk in and his ribs entirely too visible. There was a slightly discolored bruise on his right side. "Where did this come from?" he asked, his finger tips lightly touching the marred skin.

Harry flinched. "Quiddich accident a few weeks ago."

"The same one that broke your arm?" Harry nodded. Severus scowled, frustrated. "I think you need to see someone at St. Mungo's, Harry. This is beyond me." Harry said nothing, his stomach rolling again. Severus could see the tell-tale signs of his throat constricting to keep down the vomit. He summoned a bucket, helping the man roll to his side as he emptied his stomach again. When he had finished, Severus bundled him up tightly into a blanket and picked him up. Stepping to the fireplace, he activated the floo and shouted "St. Mungo's." Moments later, they stood in the busy lobby of the wizarding hospital.

A surprised witch looked up at him. "Sir?"

"I need a healer," he said, surprised at how frantic his voice sounded. He clutched his burden closely to his chest.

"Sir, you'll have to wait. Take a seat over there and we will get you checked in." The witch gestured to the bustling waiting room. Severus turned his onyx eyes with a full on glare to the woman.

"Look, this is Harry Potter here. The bloody Savior of you lot. He's very sick and requires immediate attention. Unless you want his blood on your hands." The witches' eyes got as big as saucers and she spun on her heel. For once, Severus was glad Harry had such clout. He pulled the now shivering man closer in his embrace.

The sound of rushing feet soon reached his ears and he turned his head towards it. A tall graying man came to a stop before them, the insipid little witch on his heels. She appeared out of breath and rather embarrassed. Severus felt a small smirk of delight touch his mouth. Sobering, he looked at the Healer.

"Miranda said you had Harry Potter here?" he questioned. Severus nodded.

"Yes. He called me to his house this morning, complaining of stomach irritation. He's almost catatonic now. I ran a few diagnostic spells over him, but cannot determine what ails him. I thought it best to bring him here."

The Healer nodded. "Come this way, Mr. Snape. We'll see what we can do." Severus followed the man into an examining room, his worry growing. Harry had grown silent, not even a whimper had issued forth from him in the last few minutes. Placing him on the bed, he stepped back to allow the Healer to do his job. He watched as the same spells were preformed and saw the same reactions.

The Healer stood silently, looking over the results with a strange expression on his face. He turned to Severus. "How long has he been like this?"

Severus shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. I saw him a few weeks ago when I delivered some Dreamless Sleep and anti-nausea potions to his house. He had been sick to his stomach then as well, but he said nothing as to the length of time his illness had been with him. His house elf showed up at my house this morning with a missive from Mr. Potter here asking for my help."

"Did he give any indication today how long it had been?" the Healer asked.

Severus shook his head. "No, he was barely responsive when I got there. His house elf did say he had been sicker since his departure from his Quiddich team. That was over a week and a half ago. I believe she said it had been ten days to be exact."

The Healer turned back to Harry, looking over his slight form. "And the bruising?"

"That accident a few weeks ago. It was in the papers."

A light dawned in the man's eyes. "Oh yes, I recall reading something about that. Broke his arm too, I believe." He paused, re-reading the results. "It's most peculiar. Some of these reading indicate a higher level of hormones typically found in pregnant witches. But that's impossible for a wizard."

Severus felt his throat tighten as he gasped. The Healer gave him a funny look. "What is it, Mr. Snape?"

Severus shook his head. No, no that simply wasn't possible. The last male pregnancy had been over a century ago. And Harry is the strongest wizard in over a century, his mind supplied. "It's not impossible, sir. Just extremely rare. The wizard has to be truly powerful. And Harry…Mr. Potter is truly powerful." The Healer's face matched his in horror.

"Oh Merlin…" he breathed, his mouth gaping like a fish. "Bloody hell, what do we do now?"

To that, Severus had no answer. Somewhere in his heart of hearts, he felt a twinge of anguish of the poor boy that Fate just wouldn't leave alone. It appeared once again, that he had gotten the short end of the stick. Just how he would handle this, well, that remained to be seen. Then another thought struck him. "Damnation," he growled, placing his head in his hands. If Harry truly was pregnant, there could only be one man as the father.

Draco sodding Malfoy.