Where The Flowers Grew

He definitely was not allowed to be there, but Ron called him anyway because he thought it was important and as long as he was escorted, he was fine. Ron was able to sneak him in with no problem and he quickly had to act as if he belonged. Back straight, shoulders up, gaze leveled and robes neat, pristine. He stuck to Ron like glue, and they had to move fast. It was time for a shift change and Ron was staying for a double, as a courtesy to get Harry into the Ministry like he was sneaking in contraband.

Despite being as famous as he was, Harry was virtually ignored. Ron offered a Polyjuice potion just in case, but Harry declined. He didn’t want to risk being stopped or questioned as someone else. He had hidden himself away from the public since the end of the war and only came out when he had finished publishing his autobiography. Living off of the royalties, he stayed either in Grimmauld Place or in the Potter Manor. He did his best to stay away from it, since it was nothing but a mansion asleep filled with dormant charms and wards. There was nothing for him there as even his father never lived there after inheriting it.

If he cleaned himself up enough then he was practically unrecognizable. If he swapped his lenses for contacts, slicked his hair back with enough gel, and wore expensive robes then he was able to easily maneuver himself through the bustling Ministry. Careful not to knock into anyone, he was always an arm’s length away from Ron.

They managed to merge into the lines for the floo and absorbed the nasty glares from surrounding witches and wizards who simply wanted to get home. Standing in line, his eyes carefully scanning the bodies around him, he made contact with a pair of brown eyes about six or seven wizards away. The thin, weedy body attached to those eyes were mixed with confusion and shock as to why Harry was here.

Theo Nott.

He wasn’t an Auror but was a Potions Master for the Department of Mysteries. Harry didn’t know much about Nott, but he did know that before the war his parents yanked him from Hogwarts and sent him immediately to Ilvermorny. He didn’t stay in the Americas for long and with the help of a cousin he was able to make the tail end of the war, in turn witnessing the trials and still being able to continue the last of his education to take his NEWTS. His parents weren’t crazy enough to stay and immediately liquidated their assets in England in the hopes of moving to America to join their son. They foolishly thought the fall of He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named meant the fall of all Pure-Blood Wizarding families. It wasn’t entirely unclear if they followed his beliefs, but it was clear that they wanted no part of the war and they feared for their safety no matter what the outcome.

Nott was alone in England, that was very much clear. He was alone at the trials and lived exclusively at Hogwarts as an apprentice to Slughorn.

Nott advanced aggressively towards them. Harry, not taking long to process Nott’s look of apprehension and determination, quickly snatched Ron by his elbow and cut several people to make it to the Floo. Ron sensing the urgency hurriedly sent them in a flash to the area where the interrogations occur. Nott’s fury was burned into Harry’s mind, and he was tempted to ask Ron what the hell was that, but didn’t as Ron had to adjust the wards to allow Harry in. There was something of a timer placed before an alarm is to go off alerting those around of unauthorized personnel. In this case, Harry.

It was cold and dark with light charms floating about making Harry wish he had brought his glasses instead. The hall was long with doors along the walls. They looked to be made of steel and possibly had heavy charms on them too.

“Just stay silent,” Ron said, “I’m still a trainee so I don’t have as much of a say, but my superior is rather lenient. He lets some people from other departments watch if they have a secrecy charm on.”

Harry nodded and followed carefully behind. Ron whispered a quick charm, and the locks were undone on the door with loud clanks and creaking. He was almost relieved, but that feeling died with the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt and another older man with a dismissive stare.

“Potter,” Kingsley said, “Weasley.”

“Sir,” Ron answered almost sheepishly.

“Sir,” Harry followed.

The room was small, but that was because there was another door to another room, the interrogation room. They were only in the observation room which had a large panel of glass looking into the next room. It had a metal table which was melted with the floor and two metal chairs, one on each side of the table, which were also one structure with the floor. Harry moved forward toward the glass scanning the room carefully.

There was a wizard detained, shackled to the table with heavy charms, Shacklebolt explained. The shackles around his wrists kept his hands together. Chains extended to his neck and ankles making moving impossible.

Judging by appearance alone, there was no denying he was a former death eater, the evidence was visible on his forearm where the sleeve of his robe was pulled up. He looked exhausted and paranoid. His inky hair was sticking to his forehead and his features were hollow and ghastly. Whoever he was, he was unrecognizable.   

“Who is that?” Harry asked, not breaking focus from the wizard. He was fidgeting in his seat with eyes darting back and forth.

“Rabastan Lestrange,” the other Auror in the room said.

“Lestrange? I thought all the Lestranges were either killed or locked away in Azkaban,” Harry said incredulous.

“Apparently not,” he seethed, then under his breath followed, “Right under our fucking noses.”

“Where was he? All this time,” Ron asked this time, shooting Harry a look to be silent.

“Fucking townhouse,” his voice came out in a low angry chatter, “Downtown London. Nearly got us caught with his antics. Such idiocy.”

“Language, Burke. He’s extremely skilled in potions and charms and was able to hide in plain sight,” Shacklebolt clicked, “He had charmed the entire home, glamouring and soundproofing everything visible to the muggle world.”

“How was he caught?” Ron asked carefully. Harry remembered Ron mentioned missing an important raid that required the aid of the Muggle police because he was sick and putting the pieces together, this must have been said raid.

“The victim managed to grab ahold of his wand and blast open the front door while all of the Aurors and Muggle Sector were outside. Nearly got the boy killed in the process. We had to cover it up with some leftover explosive residue,” Burke seethed. “The boy used Crucio on him. Should have let him use it on him some more. Get that boy some justice.”

“Careful now, Burke,” Shacklebolt said.

Rabastan did look awful. If he was to look anything like his brother then clearly time had not been well to him. Harry wanted to ask more questions but wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate.

“Potter,” began Shacklebolt. Harry gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “I heard you finished your book recently.” He raised a brow at Harry.

“Yes, sir, I did,”

“You mentioned you completed most of the Auror trainings, but had no interest in becoming an Auror,” he carefully quoted, and Harry noticed him watching from the reflection of the glass.

“That’s correct, sir.” Harry answered tightly. The last thing he wanted to do was talk more about his book. He needn’t ask questions if he did in fact read it.

“You would have been exceptional. You think so lowly of yourself.” He transfigured a notepad and quill and passed it to Harry. “I’ve seen many Aurors in my time and many of the best ones never believe they are the best. I trust you would reconsider, but since you are not an Auror for us I can only hope that you make do with the training you so heavily alluded to in your ‘life story’. If you would be so kind as to document the events of today and keep them to yourself.” It wasn’t a request. “Same goes to you, Mr. Weasley.”

Harry pursed his lips, not sure if he should have been offended. He didn’t want to speak for fear of saying something wrong.

“Who was the boy?” he asked instead. “Auror Burke said ‘the boy’…blasted the front door open.” He looked to Shacklebolt for an answer. “Ron didn’t mention anything else other than this being a kidnapping recovery mission.”

He could feel Auror Burke staring, not at him, but at Kingsley. He avoided his stare and focused intently on Harry.

“Mr. Potter, are you aware at how many times you make mention of Mr. Malfoy in your memoir?” he asked carefully.

“No.” Harry answered carefully, thinking how differently he could have answered instead.

“It was many. Too many to count. We believed he had died toward the end of the war, especially with the collection of a body near the school grounds. Nearly unrecognizable,” he said quietly, “Even with Mrs. Malfoy’s identification...”

“What are you getting at, sir?” Harry asked impatiently.

Shacklebolt pointed his chin in the direction of the metal door behind them. He motioned for Auror Burke to stay. As Shacklebolt guided Harry and Ron out of the tiny room, Auror Burke took that as his cue to move towards the door of the interrogation room. He stared hard at the glass panel with a twisted mouth and his hand was on his wand like he was ready to use it on Rabastan at any moment.

Shacklebolt shut the door with a charm and almost immediately there came howling and moaning from behind the steel. With a purse of his lips and averted eyes, Shacklebolt motioned them to another door. This one wasn’t as secure as the last one, but a charm was still needed to open it. He motioned for them to go first. The room was fashioned the same way as the interrogation room, but it didn’t look as…menacing?

There was carpeting in this room as well as the adjacent room behind the glass panel. There were actually lights with light bulbs and a water cooler. Harry noticed a chill in the room and recognized the wards meant to keep magic weak. Ron flinched, Harry didn’t. He had met such wards in the Potter Manor. It had something to do with a weak squib Potter that reacted badly around magic, a generation before James, an aunt or uncle to him. They lived longer than James, but they died anyway, which ended up locking the home in a trust until Harry was of age. The wards never came undone, and he hadn’t gotten around to finding someone to crack them.

Ron was the first to grow visibly uncomfortable. He didn’t even need to ask as the evidence was clearly visible. He got closer to the glass panel thinking his vision was deceiving him. He shook his head and stared harder. He wished he had his glasses because the sight before him didn’t seem to be real.

“Is that…?” he let out a low stammer. He focused hard and was convinced the wards were messing with him somehow.

‘The boy’ Kingsley had talked about was Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

Haggard and in visible distress, he paced the room carefully staring down not an Auror, but an Unspeakable. Since the war, he had heard from Ron that the Unspeakables Department went through more thorough and rigorous training more akin to military training. Just in case there was to be another war. It was rash, but it was needed. They were trained heavily with wandless spells and charms. Taught to apparate on command without splinching. And to use legilimens whenever necessary without detection.

He wanted to say he looked thin but that didn’t seem to be the case. Malfoy’s hair was longer. His fringes were cut straight across, and the rest of his hair was tied back in a low ponytail. His blonde hair was not as straight as he remembers, and it curled at the ends. His grey eyes were bloodshot and exhausted, clearly from lack of sleep. He refused to sit and continued to pace all the while his body seemed to sway as if he were about to fall over at any time.

The more he moved, the more Harry focused on how he moved. With each turn, his back was at a slight bend, his belly distended. Was he sick?

He was “the boy” Rabastan had taken, kidnapped after the war. Why the hell did Rabastan have to take him? Had Malfoy blasted the door down because he had been there so long that he had gotten sick? Was he poisoned? What was wrong with him? There had to have been something wrong with him to have such a growth on his body. A tumor? A curse?

Harry’s questions seemed to grow, but he couldn’t find the gall to vocalize them. He looked to Kingsley who was intently watching the Unspeakable ask Malfoy questions and watched as Malfoy grew more agitated and impatient.

Malfoy was manic and waved his hands about in frustration. Harry followed the motion of his bony hands and was startled when he smacked a fist against the metal table, the metal reverberating in the small room was loud enough to cause alarm. The Unspeakable urged him to calm down.

He began to raise his voice and yell at the Unspeakable some more, who did nothing, but keep their composure. It was scary to watch. It was like they were made of stone until they went and tried once more to ask the same question, but in a different format. With every question there came another outburst where Draco smacked the table and kicked the chair around.

Startled, and somewhat intrigued, Malfoy halted and moved his body to face the Unspeakable. His eyes focused and darkened upon the cloaked wizard, and he twisted his mouth into a sour expression.

“You think you’re clever.” There was a sweet venom on his lips and hatred in his glare. “It seems you think you can invade my mind like an open book.” He scoffed then braced himself on the back of the metal chair with both hands. He leaned into it and said, “I’d first beat myself into a coma before I let ingrates like you think you have the authority to thumb through my thoughts like it’s the fucking Daily Prophet.” He stared hard, eyes wide and wild. He leaned forward towards the Unspeakable, like he wanted so badly to invade their space. “You fought in the war didn’t you? You mustn’t be that old…or that young.” Malfoy stared hard.

Harry watched the Unspeakable adjust in their seat, the only movement he had seen from them. Finally, something that made the Unspeakable human.

He thought he even saw an uncomfortable twitch.

In the midst of Draco’s snide rant, the Unspeakable pushed themselves away from the table, the metal chair scraping violently against the floor. It was the first thing to look like it actually startled Draco. Harry noticed he looked quite taken aback as the Unspeakable left the room to join Harry, Ron, and Shacklebolt but not before snapping with, “We are getting nowhere with you.”

When they entered the adjoining room, habitually they locked the door. There was a swift glance to the glass panel and the Unspeakable removed their gloves and threw them onto the table.

“He is stubborn,” she said, “and grotesque.”

“What did he do?” Ron asked.

The witch pulled off the hood of her robe and it undid the charm obscuring her face. Hermione. She moved close to Ron’s side and grabbed his hand.  

“He pushed forward memories from the manor,” she told him.

“Nothing from recent?” He began to rub her hand as she shook her head. “Damn.”

“He moved memories around. There was a room I didn’t recognize,” she said carefully. “Nothing else was around. Could be where he was held.”

“What kind of room?” Shacklebolt asked.

“Basement? The walls were all stone, the one corner I saw at least and there was a glimpse of a door. He isn’t making this easy,” she continued, “He kept pushing me out. He didn’t cooperate with the Aurors, and he didn’t let the Healers near him.”

“It may just be best to send to him St. Mungo’s anyway and let the Mind Healers work with him,” Shacklebolt considered. He gave a defeated sigh and looked to be lost in thought for a moment, then he clicked his jaw but looked at Hermione to continue as she wanted to speak. “They can make him docile, if necessary.”

She winces at his words. “We’ve been looking into areas that can take him. We called his aunt and even tried getting into contact with his mother,” Hermione said quickly and listed with her fingers, “Andromeda says she has her hands full with her grandson, but she would set up a fire call to check in on him and that she’s sorry she couldn’t help. She even offered money.” Hermione looked uncomfortable as she saw Shacklebolt expected more. “Narcissa can’t be contacted. She’s in a facility in France, Lucius had spoken with Andromeda to help her transition there smoothly. Her condition is unknown at the moment…Lucius remains in Azkaban.”

Shacklebolt nodded accordingly. “Does Mr. Malfoy know Draco has been found?”

“No,” Ron said this time, “Erm, Auror Burke said Lucius believed his remains were found on the grounds outside of Hogwarts. Should we have notified him?”

“No,” Shacklebolt conceded firmly, “Only after he is examined is Lucius to be informed. It is important that he knows very little, for now. He had his hands full with his incarceration and with Narcissa’s in-patient. It will come as a shock. Since Rabastan is to be put into holding in Azkaban as well, it is important that they have very little knowledge of each other. Rabastan seems to be very…how would one say…mouthy. His anger will get him killed. Same goes for Lucius. He can only get himself into more trouble if he knows Rabastan is in Azkaban.”  

Hermione quickly jotted something into a notepad that she transfigured from her robe and nodded quickly. She whispered something to Ron and bid the men good-bye. She told Ron that she’d be home late.

Draco was finally sitting in the metal chair. He was sitting sideways in the chair, facing the glass panel and was slouching heavily in his seat. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes perfectly explained it, but he also looked relieved. Relaxed even. His hand was tightly wound around the cross rail. Harry found the scene before a tad bit pitiful. They way he grasped the chair came as a child-like gesture.

“He is to be sent immediately to St. Mungo’s,” Shacklebolt said once more.

Harry was getting tired of Shacklebolt. All he did was talk and stare blankly at the panel at Malfoy, like he was thinking about something else. He must have been considering other options. Send him already for fuck’s sake. He wanted to say that. St. Mungo’s probably would have been safer anyway. The longer Harry stayed and assessed the situation, the more uncomfortable he grew.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, please go there now. There will be an Auror there to meet you and discuss how this shall move forward. They’ve already been informed about the situation with Mr. Malfoy. They’re trained with delicate situations like this.” Shacklebolt motioned them to the door. “Auror Emilia Bluebell, Mr. Weasley. You know her.”

Ron nodded and Shacklebolt handed him a folded-up piece of parchment. He peeked at it then shoved it into the sleeve of his robe.

Harry glanced back at Draco before Ron led the way out of the door. He was slouched in the chair, his face now holding an expression that was exhibiting discomfort. His hand was pressing into his lower abdomen.

Ron called to Harry, as he found himself stuck in the doorway just staring back at the glass panel.

He then began to move on autopilot, following Ron out into the hall past all the steel doors with strong spells. He hadn’t even remembered taking the floo to St. Mungo’s until the bright lights and smells of sterility hit him.

***

He paced carefully in the small room. In the metal chair across from him, behind the metal table in the tiny interrogation room was an Unspeakable. A faceless Unspeakable. Black robes covering all of their face and almost practically their hands. They wore black gloves that covered their folded hands.

“Why the hell am I still here?” Draco asked indignantly.

“Please have a seat Draco,” they said in a garbled but understandable voice, like multiple voices speaking at once.

“No,” he said forcefully. Carefully, he avoided the metal chair as he paced.  “I don’t want to sit. I want to finally move around. It was about fucking time. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?”

The Unspeakable looked at him, or at least he thought they looked at him. All in black, it sent a shiver down his spine, but he didn’t allow them to watch him be afraid. He kept his posture even though his back ached. He ignored his swelling feet and still refused to sit. He even made sure to kick the chair back into the table.

“Can you tell what happened in the Lestrange home, Mr. Malfoy?” they asked, moving their head to follow Draco as he paced the room. They reminded him of death. Rabastan always threatened him with a Boggart, and he always thought he would see the Grim Reaper if a Boggart were to make its way to him. He never believed him but the thought alone of seeing what he feared most and it turning into the Dark Lord or even Aunt Bella scared the living hell out of him.

“What do you think happened?” he told them snidely, “Look at me! What do you think happened?” He raised a hand to smack his chest and raised his voice at the Unspeakable. Clenching his fist and then smacking his stomach next. “Look at me! I don’t even need to tell you what happened! What do you think happened? You’re supposed to be smart! Competent at your fucking job!”

The Unspeakable raised their head. Their eyes would have been leveled to him. Disdainfully, he stared back. He tried to do everything to avoid looking like he was filled with discomfort, and he hid it well. He knows he is frustrating the Unspeakable. There was always an uncomfortable pause after every outburst.

When it had hit him what the Unspeakable was doing he became angry. The way they leveled their head to focus on him disturbed him. The darkness in their face made him want to vomit and strangely enough made him want to shine a light at it as well.

It was a wave of chills that first hit his spine then a heat that crawled up his face. Little by little memories from just days ago were beginning to creep their way to the front of his mind and he forced them back. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to talk about it. His condition was reminder enough.

He was angry. Grasping the back of the chair tightly, he leaned into the Unspeakable’s face. He threw the memories to the back of his mind and brought forth images from years ago. From Hogwarts. From the war. The Manor.

“You think you’re clever,” he said carefully with a smack of his lips. He sifted through more memories and thought about what to show her next. There was so much at his disposal. So many horrid and vile things he wanted to show her to make her regret ever think about his mind like a cheap tabloid found in the Muggle stations. “It seems you think you can invade my mind like an open book.”  His fingers clenched and unclenched on the tight metal of the chair, his nails bending at the force. “I’d first beat myself into a coma before I let ingrates like you think you have the authority to thumb through my thoughts like it’s the fucking Daily Prophet.” His eyes were wide and focused deeply on the dark hollowness of the Healer. He wanted a face to form of the nothing. He so desperately wanted to see the Unspeakable squirm as he meticulously invaded their space like they had did his. “You fought in the war didn’t you? You mustn’t be that old…or that young.”

The Dark Lord was at the forefront. His serpentine figure danced on the table where he once ate all of his meals with his parents in his youth. Where He struck down Charity Burbage with Avada Kedavra.  

“Severus…please…”

She wasn’t his favorite teacher, but she was kind. Severus’s poker face at the Dark Lord’s effortless killing curse was forever seared into his mind. Her body, an empty shell fell with a plain thud onto the table, a single tear rolling down her cheek. He swallowed hard at the view before him and in his peripheral he could see his mother do the same.

In another swift motion, He thrusted Nagini at her corpse. The snake took no time in slithering its long body up onto the table and swallowing her whole. It took her feet first and unhinged the bones in its jaw. Its fangs punctured her still warm skin and used them to climb up her until she was fully down its tubular gullet.

Severus was quiet. Father was quiet. Mother was quiet. Bellatrix cackled.

The Unspeakable flinched in their seat. They fiddled with their hands and the more memories Draco pushed forward, the more the Unspeakable shifted uncomfortably in their seat.

Draco wanted to see their face. He wanted to see their discomfort. Watch their face turn green like the colors he once loved so wholeheartedly. He never thought he’d hate the color green. From the smallness of the gloves and eloquent posture, he deduces it could have been a woman. There was no difficulty in making her uncomfortable.

***

There they met Auror Bluebell. She was a tall woman, middle-aged possibly, with springy white hair and crisp robes. She was sitting on a bench outside of one of the rooms with a copy of the daily prophet up to her nose. When she saw them she snapped it shut and folded it in half.  She stood to greet them and took the folded Prophet to show them the headline.

“Death Eater Arrested After Kidnapping London Teen”

“They did it nicely,” she said, her voice was deep with a hint of amusement then with a flap, “The cover-up, I mean. This is all they let out but their covering their tracks very nicely. You should have seen the Muggle Tabloids. They were calling it a drug den right smack in the middle of downtown. It’s settled down now, but the Muggles are really rattled.” She turned to greet Harry, “Hello there, Mr. Potter, it’s good to finally meet you. You look so much nicer in person than in the tabloids.” She smiled and went on. “It’s wonderful to know that you are as hospitable as they say,” she said.

“I’m sorry?” bewildered, Harry responded. “What do you mean by that?”

“Hospitable? I was told you’re to have Mr. Malfoy in your custody until he is well enough and trusted enough to be left on his own. He can’t go back to Malfoy Manor it’s infested with-”

“No, no, hold on. What do you mean ‘in my custody?’” he asked, “Who told you this? Where are you getting this information? I wasn’t aware they were making me a guardian of any sort.”

“I was told-” Bluebell continued with even more confusion, glancing over at Ron who was sinking his teeth into his fist.

“By who?” he pressed and shot a glare at Ron.

“Shacklebolt.” Bluebell turned to face the two of them and vanished the parchment. “He said you would be the best to cover his needs especially since you live in one of Mr. Malfoy’s ancestral homes.”

Harry scoffed. “That’s absurd. I never volunteered for such a thing. The last thing I wanted to do was be involved with all this Auror business.” He waved his hand at the situation.

Bluebell shook her head and laughed. She raised her brow skeptically and with a smirked she said, “No need to volunteer. You’re already registered with the Ministry.”

“What?” Harry was aghast. He couldn’t even begin to get the gears turning to what Bluebell had said. How in Merlin’s name was he registered? There’s a registry? Like registering to be an adoptive parent? Is this what this was? His hands fisted his hair in frustration, and he debated apparating home and forgetting the whole reason on coming here. He forgot why even came here anyway. Why he so blindly followed Ron here. “That’s ridiculous. Get someone else. When the hell would I have been registered?”

Ron had stood behind Bluebell looking guilty trying to avoid Harry’s eyes. He was a hairline close to losing his mind at Ron and before he could scream at him. With deft, Ron put his hands together to try to calm Harry. “Remember George’s birthday?” Ron asks carefully. Harry didn’t nod but he narrowed his eyes at him and expected an answer quickly “Well, the paperwork for Rosie was in that pile we had you…autograph…” Harry blinked aggressively but motioned his hands for Ron to continue. “There was…a form…to register you with the Ministry. Since you weren’t raised in the magical world, you weren’t given the chance to be registered with the Ministry for certain documents like marriage certificates…or guardianships.”

“Ron, why would you do that?” Harry asks sounding exhausted because it was Ron who got him into this impossible predicament.

“We wanted you to take Rosie if anything happened to us. Surprise…” He chuckled weakly with a shake of his hands. “We thought you’d be the best option since you know…you’d have the means to take care of her…”

Harry sighs and he moves his hands to his face. “Ron you could have just asked…”

“I did…You just never gave us a proper answer. You didn’t seem against it at the time.” Ron shrunk as he tried explaining plainly.

“I was drunk,” Harry whispered in frustration.

“I know it was bad…but now we know this opened you up to other opportunities, so it looks like you’ll adopt Malfoy before you adopt Rosie,” Ron laughed a bit uncomfortable, wringing his hands. His nervous smile fading fast as Bluebell looked on with what looked like annoyance.

“Are you girls done? Over your little squabble on who takes the baby?” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder then told Harry, “You can wait in this room until the Healer is done speaking with Mr. Malfoy.” She shifted her gaze over to Ron, a bit patronizing. She had a folded note appear from small green flames in her hand and said, looking it over, “Weasley, Burke has asked for you to return to the Ministry. You’ve used up too much of your time sneaking your dear friend around our quarter. Go. Shoo.”

Bluebell pursed her lips as she watched Ron flounder and switch his eyes back to Harry. He could only utter a low apology and head into the direction of the end of the wing where he apparated back to his job. From the corner of his eyes, he could feel her side-eye. He didn’t want to say anything until she did, but the silence was tense. She crumpled the note and shoved it into her pocket before straightening herself and leaning against the wall beside the door to the room. Auror Bluebell looked more relaxed as she ran her tongue over her teeth, Harry recognizing it as her craving a cigarette.

He was in that room, Harry thought. That was the only reason he could think of as to why they remained there for so long.

“Do you want to go in?” she asked. Her face was down low, and her gaze was fixated on nothing, like she was lost in thought. The lights were bright and artificial, and it made the grey in her hair shine.

“Why would you ask me that?” Harry fixated his eyes on the woman. His hands were glued to his sides and his back was straightened to the point of pain, doing whatever it took to make himself seem taller than he was.

He was probably the most threatening person to look at had he been anywhere else, but his lack of spectacles and slick hair gave him an aura of confidence that could rival any other Auror.

“There was a long list of qualified guardians. Shacklebolt chose you for a reason. Chose you before you even got here. Before a list could even be made up.” She sounded annoyed and frustrated, possibly for having to deal with someone with no experience with this kind of work. “Do you have any idea what this job entails? You are untrained. I don’t care how famous you are.”

“I have a rough idea,” he began carefully, finding the right words to say, not even sure if he believed what he said himself. “I am trained on the basics.” He kind of knows what to expect. A traumatized man. No different from himself.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she insisted with a playful sneer. She then carefully moved her head so that her ear was facing the door, listening intently to the muffled words of the Healer and he was sure he also heard an upset raised voice. Possibly Malfoy.

“We went to school together. I know him. It can’t possibly be that difficult,” he said.

“This is completely different from you,” Bluebell said. “He’s gone through a good amount of trauma. Thrown from the war into a dungeon. This can’t be compared to what you went through. He was entirely alone in this.”

“I literally died,” he scoffs lightly under his breath, trying not to sound like he was comparing. He was still sour about dying.

“You think he hasn’t thought about dying while he was locked up in there?” Her voice was hard like a mother scolding a child. “It isn’t a competition. You got your help. Now it’s his turn.”

Harry grumbled some more and moved closer to the wall. He was going to stand near the Auror, but she pushed herself away from the wall and away from him. He rolled his eyes as she turned back to him.

“Now then,” she shuffled a bit uncomfortably, and licked her teeth again. Her eyes seemed to dart from side to side and not look at anything in particular. “Are you privy to his condition? Have you bounced some thoughts in that thick head of yours?”

Harry thought back quickly and tried to gather clues. He must be malnourished? Vitamin-deficiency of some kind? Anxious? Traumatized? Locked in a dungeon? So that must mean tortured to some degree? Possibly? He still had his Hogwarts attitude, so it might not have been that bad?

Physically, there was definitely something wrong with him. Distended belly, what did that mean? Vernon had a big belly. But he was fat, that was different. He drank and ate a lot, and it resulted in him being very rotund.  Malfoy looked skinny everywhere, almost twig-like.

“I want to say he looks fine,” he began, “but he might have a tumor or something. The Healers might want to check him all over just in case. Maybe he has some healed bones? Overall, that seemed to be the only thing that was most concerning.”

“You’re observant,” she said, “but sometimes the answer is simpler than we can imagine. The Healers have done a full body exam, and the findings were quite…interesting.” Her arms were now crossed, and he thought he saw her almost laugh. “Mr. Malfoy… was given a lot of potions while in captivity and now he…is pregnant…”

His blood didn’t run cold at the sudden answer from the Auror. She is more knowledgeable, of course, but her answer was so very…confusing. He blinked slowly and gave a hoarse laugh. He looked around to see if anyone was staring. A few Healers passed, but no one stopped to stare. Harry’s heart was racing, and he was getting sweaty and very uncomfortable.

“You’re joking.” His uneasy smile left his face and with a cock of his head he almost asked again but the Auror cut him off before he could even manage.

“I’m not.” Bluebell understood his stare and her voice was hard, trying to level with him.  

He shook his head in disbelief. “I thought Malfoy was a man?” he asked quietly then moved closer to the door, but it was shut tight.

“He is,” she told him.

“Then…how?” Harry asked with more force but with an equal amount of intrigue.

“The potions he fed him were body altering.” She twisted her lips into an ugly grimace. “It altered his body to the point…where…” she stopped and thought hard like she didn’t want to continue, or she didn’t know how to say it. She exhaled deeply, her eyes darting sideways and swiped a hand over her mouth before carefully uttering, “He wanted him to be able to carry a child.”

“That’s…”

“Illegal on so many counts. Detrimental to his body and it opens up the magical world to a whole laundry list of problems. There are already Potion Masters trying to recreate the potion without side effects.”

“What?”

“I don’t even know where to begin with this.” Again, she swiped her hand over her face and grew a little green. She grunted and placed both hands on her hips. “I have to go back to the Ministry,” she said and began to walk away, “but I trust that you can make the right decision with how his care should proceed. If there are any issues” –she waved a hand around then pointed – “call Shacklebolt. I’m not going to be available.” She pointed to the room that was beside the room Malfoy was in. “Get in there and wait for the Healer. They know you’ll be in there and they’ll inform you on how to proceed with him. Follow their instructions.” Bluebell furiously went down the hall to the floos and in a flash of green, she was gone.

Harry moved toward the door. The light was on but dim and the room smelled sterile. There was an examination table, and it wasn’t hard to notice that this wasn’t a separate room but only a part of the room where the Healers were next door. It was divided by a thick curtain, and he could make out faint words from behind it. The Healer was a man and he spoke in a somewhat monotone voice. It sounded like he was listing some things that he couldn’t decipher.

He chose to sit in the chair in the farthest corner away from everything. Even if he was to be informed of Malfoy’s condition it felt wrong to just eavesdrop. He did his best to fit himself into the rickety wood and got comfortable. He pulled out his wand and kept it in his lap and tried to follow the voices. He wasn’t trying to listen but instead focused on the hum of the throaty sounds. It was somewhat easy to hear Malfoy’s voice now. He was calm now, not frantic like at the Ministry.  

***

The Healer was attractive, Draco found himself thinking. He had this black wavy, inky hair and these beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to remind him of Tiger’s Eye. He was tall, too. Merlin, he was tall. His shoulders were pointed in his robes and his chest was broad. He also had this amazing Mediterranean tan, a tawny brown that he was able to take glimpses of at the neck or wrists. There was a scar that ran from the curve of his lip all the way up to his ear. A smiling scar. It started at the corner of his lip, a slender mark that rose slightly, tracing a path towards the ear, where there was a small dangling earring with a blue crystal. It looked to be both rough and smooth, evident of a healing process that had taken place over time. The coloration varied along its length, transitioning from a faded pink at its origin to a slightly lighter hue as it extended towards the ear.

It appeared like a delicate seam carefully stitched together. The edge of the scar was slightly raised, giving it a subtle prominence against the surrounding skin. As it traveled along its course, the scar occasionally dipped and rose, mirroring the contours of his beautiful face.

Along with this beautiful Healer was another younger, not so pleasant to look at Healer. He had a flat nose and a wide face and was thinner than a pencil. His black eyes were narrowed at Draco the entire time and gave off an aura of superiority. Draco tried to ignore his presence, but his heated gaze was heavy on his back, and he did his best to not stare back and make a fool of himself. Being here felt foolish enough.

“You have a few healed fractures.” Even his voice sent a shiver down Draco’s spine, but the good kind. It was calm and husky. He held up an x-ray of what looked like a hand. He pointed to some spots on it and showed Draco. Draco understood none of it but leaned in all the same. He smelled so good. He expected a sterile chemical smell, but it was a woody cologne instead, like cedar or mahogany. “Nothing seems to be broken, but I’d like to do some more tests. We’ve never seen a wizard in your condition before, so we’d like to treat this as meticulously as possible. Do you have any questions before we get started?”

“What tests must you perform? I would really like to leave here as soon as possible,” Draco said, his voice was calm and even but from the corner of his eye he tried to keep the other Healer in view. He just stood in the corner glaring like a child.

“It’ll just be a physical exam,” he explained. Healer N. Evergreen, his nameplate read black on gold. “We’ll take your height, weight, check your physical condition, and do some blood tests. Mainly just to see how you’re doing now.” He flipped the parchment on the clipboard he was holding, alternating his gaze from Draco back to the parchment. “I’ll be right back,” he said, “I need to just collect some more materials.”

Draco nodded and watched as Evergreen left the room. He walked with swagger. His shoulders were straight and thick like a quidditch player’s. His posture was impeccable, and it reminded him of his Pureblood upbringing. Evergreen wasn’t a Pureblood surname, but he was sure he had heard the name before. He couldn’t remember and he thought back that there may have been one in Hogwarts but several years above him. Older than Cedric and probably older than Viktor, too.

Older. Much older.

It gave him a shiver and he reminded himself that he shouldn’t allow for his imagination to run wild. He was supposed to be safe. St. Mungo’s was safe.

The door shut carefully, and the room became quiet.

Quiet until he noticed the faint aggressive hum of magic.

Quiet until the stupid Healer in the corner decided to give his opinion.

“You should have died in that house.” It was a heavy voice dripping in malice. A gurgled kind of voice that lacked hesitation and tact.

Draco clicked his tongue. He shifted on the examination chair, twisting his body to face the ugly Healer who scowled and had his wand clutched tightly in his hand.

“I’m sorry?” Draco raised his brows and said carefully, “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.” He tilted his head a bit and feigned ignorance. “It seems the explosion affected my hearing a bit. Can you say that one more time?”

“You should have died.” He seethed and his magic reverberated in the small room. Draco watched the Healer as he stood in the corner. He was twitchy with his wand, it flicked up and down as he spoke. “One more Death Eater in the hole. Why arrest you scum if the dementors are going to kiss you anyway?”

If he were to be honest, he wasn’t surprised. He expected hostility from somewhere and Healer Evergreen had thrown him off with his kindness.

Now he wonders if Evergreen had just thrown him to the wolves and his kindness was a façade meant for Draco to lower his guard. Without his wand, he was defenseless. With his current condition, he was defenseless. His bones ached; his body was sore. He was in no shape to defend himself.

“It was a waste to use resources on you,” the Healer continued, then gestured to Draco’s body, “Now to bring in a spawn. It’s unnatural. An abomination.” Draco clenched his teeth and raised his chin. “Yeah, I saw your file, you whore. Nothing good can come out of two Death Eaters. Death Eater Spawn!” He jabbed a grubby finger at Draco. “You think that little sex dungeon is enough for them to pity you? Getting on your little sex slave act? No one is going to believe you.”

Draco was biting hard on his cheek and his face was growing hot with anger. He wanted to scream at him, but his lack of protection made that impossible.

“Plenty of mothers die in pregnancy.” The Healer had this cold stare in his eyes, almost deranged. He continued, “Plenty die before the baby even makes it to term. You look to be…what? Six? Seven months? An abomination. A fall is more than enough to get you and the baby. Enough trauma would take you both out at once…”

His wand was now pointed at his face. His teeth were bared with a sinister smile.

His fingers looked like they itched the way Bellatrix’s did when Voldemort would scold anyone in the manor. Then Draco said with a raised brow, “You think a Cruciatus would be enough to do it?”

“What?” the Healer blinked, and his bitter smile faltered a bit but then tried to keep it up. His hand now looked to shake for a different reason.

“You think I want this thing inside me?” Draco said in a low voice. “What did you call it?” he asked then answered, “An abomination? Of course.” Now he shifted his body and crossed one leg over the other. It was difficult but he did it. “C’mon now,” he urged, “don’t hold out on me, Cruciatus right to the belly. Right to my swollen belly.” He placed a pale hand on the top of his stomach and tilted his head, doing his best to keep his stare even.  

The Healer looked like he was wavering. There was a quiver to his lip and a tremble to his wrist like he wasn’t sure if he still wanted to continue.

Like he had just made a mistake.

His eyes darted from side to side and his mouth opened and closed, saying nothing.

Draco absently rubbed his belly but kept his eyes on the Healer. “Do you really think I want this baby? This abomination.” There was a shift under the skin of his abdomen, and he pressed down upon it as if to make it stop but it just pushed back.

“You’re mad.” The man’s eyes were wide and wet. His wand shook more, and he licked his lips.

“Am I?” Draco raised his head and continued to rub his belly, this time leaning back on the crinkling sheet of the exam table.

The door clicked as it opened, and he could feel a shift in the magic in the room. The weedy Healer fumbled and tried to put his wand back in his sleeve but from his sheepish expression Draco could tell he was caught. He turned to Healer Evergreen who was now looking serious.

The clipboard was in his hand and his face was stern. His jaw was tight as he looked past Draco.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked them both. The tension was uncomfortable, and Draco could feel his heartbeat against his ribs.

The young Healer stuttered but before he could answer Healer Evergreen ordered him out and shamefully, head down, he sped out of the room but not before nicking Healer Evergreen with his shoulder and with a quick swipe of his wand Evergreen flipped the Healer’s robes over his head and shut the door.  

Healer Evergreen made sure to lock the door. “Now,” he began, “Let’s begin. Stand up for me please.”

Carefully Draco, slid himself off of the examination table and tried to stand as straight as possible despite feeling the twinge of pain in his back and knees. He stood taller than Evergreen who didn’t even bother to look up at him.

He jotted something down quickly then asked, “Any pain?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” he asked and continued scratching his quill on the parchment.

Draco dramatically rolled his shoulders and told him, “Back, neck, knees, ankles, head…stomach. Everywhere.”

The incessant scratching stopped. Evergreen’s eyes looked up from the parchment. He pinned the quill to the top of the clipboard then placed it on the little rolling table just beside him. “Raise your arms for me, please. Levelled with your shoulders.”

He raised his arms and stood there as Evergreen pulled up his sleeves and pressed his fingers into his arms. His thumbs pressed into the joints and it left imprints on the skin. His joints were swollen.

“Bring your arms forward.” He did and his fingers pointed outward. They looked so ghastly and boney. He was biting his cheek and following Evergreen with his eyes.  

When his hands began to shake, he tried to pull them back but began to notice the pain in his back slowly grow to excruciating.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Draco said firmly. He pulled his hands back and tried to climb onto the examination table once more. When he was trying, he swore the table was raised and he struggled a bit. Evergreen carefully came over and pulled out a step and gave him a small smile.

Draco scowled and dropped himself once more onto the table. He flexed his fingers and slouched because it was less painful than keeping his back straight.

“Pain?” Evergreen asked with a brow raised.

“My back.”

He tapped the table lightly and told him, “Lay back for me please.”

Draco grimly chuckled as he laid back with a groan. “If only it was said that nicely and I wouldn’t be here.”   

There was an icy silence and Evergreen coughed uncomfortably.

“I apologize,” Draco said quietly, “That was inappropriate.”

Evergreen tried not to react and seemed to bite his tongue at first. “It seems you use humor to cope, Mr. Malfoy. It’s not uncommon, so there’s no need to apologize,” he said finally. “You’re under a great deal of stress. The human psyche is very unpredictable.” He pulled out his wand and Draco followed it carefully with his eyes. “I’m going to use a few charms now. Is that alright?”

Draco nodded then asked, “What for?”

“I’m going to take some vitals and with the results I’ll prescribe you some potions. I also want to gage how far along you are and proceed with care from there.”

Of course, he thought to himself. It’s about that thing. He only cares about that thing. To take care of it, he must take care of Draco’s body. He chuckled and turned his head to face away from the Healer.

The charms were warm at first but soon grew cooler the more they worked, he could feel them crawl across his body like fingers passing over his skin. They were light breezes that went into his sleeves and fluttered around his clothes. Intrusive and unnerving.

“How far along do you think you are?” Draco shrugged. Evergreen passed his wand over his body some more and looked to be mentally taking some notes. “You’re healthy all around. There seems to be some calcium deficiency, but a few potions can be fixed to give you the nutrient to repair the damage. I’ll write a few scripts and send them to your residence.” When he was done he put his wand in his robes and moved to grab the clipboard again. He scratched something down and tucked it under his arm.

“It has to be potions?” Draco asked him then firmly suggested, “Can’t you give me capsules instead?”

Evergreen smiled ever so sweetly and told him, “If that’s what you prefer, I can always modify the script. Potions are more direct rather than capsules but if it is easier for you than by all means I’ll gladly write a note.” He nodded then carefully continued. He gave an uncomfortable chuckle before saying, “I’d like to address the elephant in the room. You’ll need more treatment, mainly, prenatal…You seem to be very lukewarm about your condition—”

“Stop calling it ‘my condition’. You know what this is. You did the tests. Everyone knows. It’s not a secret,” Draco glowered, “Pregnant.” The words came off his lips with so much repugnance, he almost gagged. “Is it too late to ask you to get it out of me?”

The Healer’s eyes shifted down onto where Draco’s hands were tightly folded as he laid on his back. He bit down on his lip looking for the words. “We may not know exactly how far along you are, but we do know that we can’t terminate the pregnancy. There would be too many complications if we do. There would be too many complications if this was a normal pregnancy—”

“If I was a woman?” he fumed.

“Yes,” Evergreen told him finally. “We don’t know how this would continue with you. This has never been seen before, so we are trying to proceed with the utmost caution. We don’t even know how you’ll give birth. The charms showed—”

“It comes out the way it went in,” he cut in. Draco shifted on his back and bent his knees. It was more comfortable that way.

“I’m sorry?” Evergreen grabbed the stool by the door and scooted closer to Draco.

“Like I said. It comes out the way it went in,” he reiterated, now looking at the ceiling.

“You’ve given birth before?”

“I suppose? I was smaller than I am now. You could barely tell. I was sick some days before.”

“You gave birth in that house?” he asked Draco carefully. “Was it because of a complication?”

“I don’t know. Everything seemed fine up until then.”

“What happened?” he needled. He was leaning far in his seat and was very interested in Draco’s story.

“I tried to escape, and he got angry. I don’t think he knew I was pregnant at the time. He was so…remorseful afterwards but it didn’t stop him after I healed. He knew the potions were working so he kept trying again. When it looked like it finally took, he stopped. He left me alone and that’s when I attempted again and this time, I was successful.” His voice had a twinge in triumph accompanied by a small smile.

“Draco,” Evergreen gaged delicately. He pulled himself closer to the examination table where Draco laid. His eyes were soft, and his fingers were pressed together pointing downward. “How big was the baby?”

At first, he said nothing. His mouth opened and closed, and no noise came out. The question was the shittiest thing he was ever asked. It was insensitive and demoralizing.

How big was it?

Not very.

It was little.

So very, very little.

The air was damp and cold. He could hear the steps just above him through the stone. It was a hollow noise and Draco could easily sense where Rabastan was at all times. It wasn’t as early as he thought. Lack of windows and poor lighting, but he had been up for what he thought were hours as his body was still accustomed to waking up early no matter what day it was. Even feeling as sick he was, he was still managing to stay vigilant. When the steps stopped and there was slamming that could be heard through the flat, he held his breath and listened. He waited for there to be a complete absence of noise for at least a few minutes. There was always a smaller slam whenever he left the house. Most likely a screen door. After that secondary slam, Draco carefully went up the rickety wooden stairs. If he stepped in the middle of any of them except for the top one there would be an audible creak, so he stayed close to the edges where they met with the stone wall. When he got close to the door at the stop he waited and listened some more. Rabastan bemoaned over having no more ice lollies, he liked orange and they rarely ever had any at the store, so he always stocked up and never left the house again. He must have been spending whatever muggle money he had on food and snacks because there was always constant moaning over how his handy galleons were almost run dry.

With the absence of noise, he wrapped his boney fingers around the door knob and with a soft twist, found it locked. Being locked alone had had its perks despite the cold rankness and it allowed Draco to practice his wandless magic. Rabastan took his wand ages ago. He was getting better. He was able to move things more effortlessly now, heavier things were tougher, but he could at least throw a glass of water across the room of he needed to. He touched his ear to the door and listened to what he expected: Nothing.

Draco smiled and put the tips of his finger to the knob. He traced the knob with his forefinger and whispered, Alohomora.

The lock unlatched itself and he couldn’t contain his giddiness. Carefully and quietly, he twisted the knob and with a soft creak the door opened. The flat was a mess and that was expected. Rudolphus was the clean one. He may have been evil to the core, not like Bellatrix, but at least he was clean. He rounded the door and with the cheap trainers Rabastan had thrown at him, he stepped carefully into the hall and did his best to avoid whatever was strewn across the floor. There was difficulty in finding the door and he had hoped Rabastan hadn’t charmed away the door. Draco didn’t trust himself to apparate without a wand or a clear place to go.

The kitchen was disgusting so he didn’t want to go in there. There was a sitting room, at least he thought it was one. Papers were everywhere and trash was piled up on the sofas. The windows were yellow, and it smelled of cigarettes. There were stairs to another floor, and he didn’t dare go up.

He traversed the entire bottom floor and there wasn’t a door in sight. There were only tall windows that wouldn’t budge.

There was a solitary small window perched awkwardly in the center of the kitchen wall where a quaint patio door should have been. Its proportions were disproportionate to the room, appearing comically out of place. Its frame, made of aged oak, with corners slightly askew and an odd, almost whimsical curvature. Shoving the curtain aside he attempted to undo the latch but there was none, like it was there for show. He pushed on all parts of the window and rattled it in frustration.

He backed away from the window and scanned the room. It was dirty everywhere, but his eyes landed on the rickety stool tucked right under the table. Pulling it out by the sanded wood, he flipped it so that he held it by its legs. It was easy to hold, and he gave it a good practice swing before raising it waist height and hurling it into the window.

The window should have shattered. It was tiny and ancient; it should have crumbled, sending shards of glass flying when the stool was hurled against it. Although rickety, it was sturdy.

When he thrown the stool against the window, the stool, barely touching the frame had splintered and the piece thrown back into his face and body, a bluish twinkle of light hovered over the window and adjacent wall. A protection charm.

His hands red and covered in splinters, Draco let out a desperate exhale which soon grew to short rapid breaths as he began to pace and chew at his fingers. If there was one protection charm, there were others. If it obliterated the chair, it would do the same to flesh. The house was quiet, and his pulse was loud in his temples. He wasn’t sure how much time he had but he scanned the room looking for other things to grab. When he came back, when, he had to be ready.

Draco shoved papers away from the table to look at something sharp, anything. He went to the counter when he couldn’t find anything of use. There was more luck in the drawers when he found a butcher’s knife. Just as it felt heavy and right in his hands, there came the casting of a spell. A spell to create a door in the sitting room.

From where Draco stood, the door to the basement was wide open and past it was the sitting room. He could make it if he tried. Hide the knife and act as if nothing had happened.

But he was tired. Sick and tired of being locked up like a damn animal.

He locked eyes with Rabastan. There was a wand in his hand and a grocery bag in the other. His eyes were dark, and he was angry. He stepped into the house and when the door shut behind him it zipped shut and disappeared.

Draco scowled. So much for escaping through a door, he thought. Rabastan was gripping his wand so tight his knuckles were white. He shook with anger, and he bared his teeth at Draco. The bag dropped and with a cry of frustration, he raised his wand and screamed a curse.

With all of the solitary practice he had with wandless magic, Draco was able to fling the thin kitchen table in front of him. It cracked under Crucio before crashing into the wall beside him. Draco aimed for the basement door quickly before Rabastan could throw another curse.

It wasn’t Crucio this time, but it was enough to throw Draco back and away from the door, causing him to be thrown back into the kitchen and for his legs to be pulled into the air. Landing hard on his back, he made sure the knife was secured in front of his body so that he didn’t accidentally stab himself.

Rabastan was quick and on him in less than second, his rugged hands gripping at Draco shoulders ready to drag him back into the basement. He tried to wrench himself free as Rabastan had a foot firmly on his chest. Draco wriggled and fought, and he certainly didn’t forget he had the knife, but he couldn’t get a good enough angle. There was a clear pathway to his scrotum, but he had wanted something more lethal.

He found and opening when Rabastan dropped to one knee to fist at Draco’s shirt, he thrusted up hard and managed to slice him diagonally. The blade hit Rabastan right in his pectoral and followed up to the bone in his shoulder. He cried out and quickly Draco pulled the blade back forcing it to follow the same path. Rabastan swatted at it and tried to take it from Draco, and when he couldn’t he stomped at his chest.

His foot landed on his sternum, and he gasped for air. Momentarily, his grip weakened. Rabastan curled his fist over his head and brought it down quickly over and over again onto Draco’s head. His fore arms blocked most of the hits, but a concussion was imminent.

He curled himself into a ball to block anything that had come his way. Peeking through his arms, he focused on Rabastan’s chest and with enough of a scope, there came a heavy surge of magic that manifested itself as a blue lightning bolt that shot Rabastan in his chest and propelled him into the ceiling of the tiny hall.

It had to have done enough damage, as it looked like his head smacked hard into the ceiling and he fell flat onto the wooden floor with a groan. He rolled his head in his hands and cursed a Draco in French. With the given opportunity, Draco scrambled to his hands and knees, his limbs aching from the assault. There was nowhere in his mind where he wanted to go, he just wanted to go away from here.  

He managed to get to his feet, and he made it to the hall before there came a loud crack and flash of light. Before he could formulate any thoughts or sentences he was pressed flat against the wall and face to face with an enraged Rabastan. He was screaming at him. Indiscernible words and angry noises. Draco wanted none of it and showed as such when his fingers reached for the man’s face. Draco clawed at his face, reaching for his eyes. There came a squishy sensation under his fingers and Draco felt a sense of glee before he was grabbed by the thin of his neck, a large pale hand tossed him to the wall just behind them. Thick fingers pressed at Draco’s throat, and he took in large breaths as he reached for more of Rabastan. His fingers scraped against Rabastan’s face some more and reaching farther he found more to grab. His thin fingers clenched tightly onto the sleek greasy black strands on Rabastan’s head. He howled a sharp cry of pain and he attempted to pull back but doing so loosened and tore hair free from his scalp. His hands remained high on Draco’s throat, but spasmed as he had more strands from his pale scalp.

Rabastan’s thick hands fisted at Draco’s collar and pulled his body off of the wall and it wasn’t difficult to do as he had practically starved Draco for months. Nothing but nutrition potions and basics fluids.

Draco was thrashed between the two walls of the hall, hands still at his collar. He gave back what was thrown at him and soon his fingers were wrapping tightly around Rabastan’s throat. It was a pitiful attempt because Rabastan’s arms were longer, and Draco’s grip was weak, but he tried, nonetheless.

Both men were frustrated and within the scuffle came an uncomfortable surge of magic. Draco’s gaze tried focusing on the little parts of Rabastan’s face that were still visible from underneath his grabby hands. There was a crackle of magic between them that startled Rabastan enough to make him loosen his grip long enough for Draco to wiggle free and duck away.

Draco had gotten about three steps away. His feet were heavy, and his muscles were sore, but he still tried to get away. Maybe he could have tried the stairs. There could have been a window somewhere. He ignored the fact that there may have been charms everywhere. He only wished for freedom.

Rabastan had no problem in cutting his dream short.  He was frantic and reached for Draco. He took hold of the loose robes he had given him and pulled back fiercely. Draco was yanked back by his collar and mid spin his ankle had rolled, making it easier to pull Draco to him but Draco in clear defiance had pulled up the leg of the broken kitchen table that he had been hiding somewhere. The end was sharp and splintered and Rabastan couldn’t move fast enough.

It was the first time Draco had seen true fear from Rabastan outside of their interactions with the Dark Lord.

It had been a quick reaction and Draco was already close to the floor, albeit out of his control, but Rabastan had let go of Draco’s robe and shoved him away hard, where under his collapsed ankle, Draco was tipping backward into the direction of the open door of the basement in small, disjointed steps.

Draco’s expression had gone from vitriolic to confused to horrified. He tried to catch himself on the banister, but his fingers had slipped, and he lost his makeshift weapon in the process. He slid down the first few steps on his backside and then his legs went over him. He rolled down the second half of the staircase where he hit the solid ground with a hard thud. He air had been taken from his lungs and he achingly tried to stare up at the door frame.

He tried to roll onto his side to get away, but with no clear direction he remained on his back in pain and a blooming ache that began in the pit of his stomach where his abdomen had hit the steps on the way down.

There was another audible crack and Draco’s eyes had snapped toward that direction. Rabastan had apparated to him and he was on his knees beside Draco. His hands were on his face and head with panic, no doubt, checking that Draco was still alive. With his grubby fingers he pulled Draco’s eyelids wide and once again he was met with that rare look of fear.

He hated it. It was fake and demeaning. So, he spat at him, a thick glob landing right between his eyebrows.

The shift in tone was quick. From tenderness to anger, and immediately Rabastan climbed to his feet and dragged Draco up. Draco dangled for a bit before being haphazardly hurled at the thin springy bed. It hit the stone wall behind it and Draco had hit the edge of the bed, his knees smacking against the floor. The whiplash had thrown his face into the mattress.

He gasped. The pain in his lower abdomen had grown into a roaring fire and he didn’t know how to act. He had never made noise when he was in pain. He made sure Rabastan never took pleasure in it, but this was a contracting, slicing, burning pain that made him cry out first in a low tone before escalating to a groan of terror.

Draco collapsed back onto the floor, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms held tight to where it hurt.

Whatever this pain was it was awful and excruciating. It burned.

Rabastan told him to shut up and that’d he’d make him cry for real, but Draco only shut his eyes tight because he knew what was to happen if he thought he was faking. He curled into a ball as he began to feel the hands on him and tried his best to wriggle away but that only made the pain more unbearable, if anything it made the stone floor grate even more on his skin.

“No, no, no.” There came a low chanting and Draco was sure he was the one to say it as his pants were already pulled to his ankles, but it wasn’t. It was Rabastan.

Draco peeked carefully downward. He was on his back, and he could feel his legs splayed open and Rabastan peering down at the horror between them.

His pants were to the side and the seat was a dark color.

“You stupid boy. You insolent child. You fucking idiot.” He chittered. He looked…upset. “It worked! And you ruined it! You…you…you…You did this.” He then quietly stood and with scorn said to him, “Finish. I’ll be back to clean you up.”

The pain remained intense, and he continued to stay on his side, as it was easier to bear the pain. He considered crawling over to put his pants on but could barely move and the wetness he began to feel only meant that it would seep through the fabric. He could only lie there and absorb the pain as it came. And it came in waves. The cramps pulsed in his belly and the searing was everywhere where he was exposed.

Through the pain, he began to feel a sick feeling and the more he pressed on his belly the greater the feeling.

He shifted his weight and tried to pull himself upright, trying hard to not double over. He got to his knees and dragged himself to the rickety bed to get his bears.

There was the uncomfortable urge to push. To get whatever inside out.

He wanted a bath, a shower. Something to wash away the ill feeling. With little movements he carefully planted his feet. It felt dirty and the exposure made his skin crawl, but it allowed the blood to seep from him more easily.

Draco’s body wracked with shivers and even his face began to grow wet and hot. He had been crying and he was sure a hard sob had escaped him. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain coming from the unknown extremities or from the sheer embarrassment he was feeling.

He moved himself in a squatting position that opened him, and he rocked his body as the pain came and went. His fingers dug into the sheet of the sad excuse for a bed and did what his body wanted, and he pushed.

Clots came out of him. It was a constant rotation of bits and pieces and then just a thick vicious ark fluid. Sometimes it felt just too dark to be blood.

Towards what felt like the end, he had to strain even harder as there was a blockage and the more he pushed the more it hurt. There was no choice but to hold his breath and push through the hurt until it was out and with a wet pop it was on the floor in the pool of blood beneath him. He didn’t want to lower himself because h would be sitting on it so with the strength he had left he hobbled away from the mess. Kind of pulled himself away asa his legs were now jelly. He fought the urge to lie down.

He was still bleeding but it was less now, and he was able to finally let his body relax.

It was a dark inky mess, and he could follow the droplets to his body. Within the mess was a fist size mass. It was reddish, pinkish. It was little. All of the mess for something so little. It was barely the size of his four fingers.

There was a mix of emotions within him.

Disgusted at first. It was gory to look at and he never liked blood. This looked awful. A grotesque mess. It was more blood then he had seen in the war. And this came out of his body. It was disgusting.

He got closer and he swallowed hard. He tried following the outline of what the mass was. It made him sad. It was cruel to bring it into the world like this. It was so, so little. Its head was round and bulbous and a see-through pink. There were nubs for appendage. It was soft like jelly. Its soft protective cocoon was no more. Exposed to the air he could see the tiny lines of vein. There was nothing that wasn’t identifiable.

 It was his.

And his.

He was angry it made him so sad.

He crawled away. Ignoring the pain, he crawled away from it but not before grabbing the thin sheet on his bed, it was a nasty beige, and used it to cover the jellybean looking thing. It deserved that much.

It would always be an it, he thought as he knelt over it. The blood had already begun to seep through. Always an it. They will all be an it, he prayed.

He always found Muggle religion fascinating. To believe in deity in the sky that aimlessly watched their little creations follow a poorly written book.

Draco laid himself in the bed without pants, there was no point in putting them back on if they were just to be ripped off again anyway. There came a shiver that began at his toes and followed its way up to the base of his neck. He curled into himself to stop the feeling.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because he woke up to the sound of the door at the top of the stairs opening and not quite shutting, kind of banging against the frame. He didn’t even bother turning because it was no use. There came the creaking of the stars and the sloshing of water. The creaks stopped and soon turned to hollow steps against stone.

Rabastan’s presence was unique. Draco could feel him before he even spoke. His stare alone brought upon an uneasiness he couldn’t quite explain. There was silence and shifts in fabric. He was looking around.

“Turn over,” he said.

Draco didn’t move. It was more out of annoyance rather than being outright defiant.

“Turn over,” Rabastan said a bit more firmly, “I won’t ask again.”

Begrudgingly, Draco turned himself over so that he was flat on his back. His knees were pressed together and bent a bit. There was a still a dull twinge of pain, but it was manageable. He noticed there were also vials in Rabastan’s hand along with a basin of water. Draco pressed his lips tight and stared hard to the ceiling. Solid stone with wooden beams.  He knelt beside the bed, the basin beside him.

The rag was warm and from the corner of his eye, Draco saw heating charms at work. They kept the water at an acceptable temperature as Rabastan dipped the bright white rag into the steaming water then rung it out. He brought it towards Draco. He flinched when the warm wet cloth touched his thigh.

Rabastan wiped Draco down, cleaning the blood off of his thigh. The basin soon filled with the clear pink of his blood.

“Did you know?” he asked Draco, the towel was between Draco’s legs. The movement never stopped, and he could feel the fingers swipe at every crevice below him.

Draco let out a broken sigh. “No.”

Rabastan’s hands now stopped. He didn’t look at Draco, but just kind of stared blankly at his legs, his eyes blinking slowly. He swallowed then continued the intimate action.

Rabastan was on his knees beside Draco, low enough that if Draco wanted to, he could have kicked him in the head. He didn’t see his wand on him. Rabastan’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. His pale arms were covered in dark spider veins that converged themselves to the Dark-Mark that was imprinted on his forearm.

Draco’s didn’t look like that. His was still visible, but it had begun to fade after the death of the Dark Lord.

“When you heal, we’ll try again,” he said firmly. “The potions seem to have taken well. It won’t be long until you are pregnant again. I’ll give you time to heal. If you resist, I will have to restrain you to the bed. I do want what’s best for you. You need to be able to move around to remain healthy.” His words were hollow and there grew to be a sour taste in Draco’s mouth.

“Why me?” he whispered carefully. He didn’t think he’d get an answer, but asking anyway couldn’t have done him more harm.

“What do you mean?” Rabastan said almost innocently like he was answering if he had been asked what his favorite tea was.

“Why did you take me?” There now came a low bitterness in his voice. Draco snapped, “What did I ever do to you?”

Rabastan finally ceased all actions. He didn’t get angry, but instead exhaled and leaned back to sit down cross-legged.

“You are the last descendent of the Most Ancient House of Black. The last one who is of childbearing age. As you know,” he continued, “I am very much informed on the most recent magical discoveries. I know potions and poisons not yet in books. I know they work because I’ve seen them work. I just needed a vessel to carry my blood, my child. You were the only Pure-Blood I could easily get my hands on.” He watched Draco intently and tilted his head to the side. “Your sexuality made it easy,” he said calmly, and Draco felt his blood run cold. He could feel the eyes on him, and he didn’t dare try to stare back. “It was an open secret around the Manor. As much as the Dark Lord, openly disrespected your father, he could have been thrown out at any time. The wards in the Manor protected the Malfoys and in turn, you. No one said anything because they didn’t want to be killed by the wards that protected you and your parents.”

“So, I wouldn’t be here if I shagged girls?” Draco croaked, there may have been a little hope in his voice. He could have started lying. Saying everything was a mistake. That the rumors were false.

“No.” Rabastan’s voice was hard. “It didn’t matter. At least with you, the chances of having a boy would increase. Two out of three if you know anything about genetics and gender probability. It’s half and half for a ‘normal’ pairing. At least this way, I can rebuild my family.” He sat there on the floor and Draco would feel him staring. “I was supposed to be betrothed to Narcissa, I could have been your father,” he explained with a laugh then immediately dropped his smile, “but when Andromeda ran away with that Muggleborn and was labelled a blood traitor, she became tainted. Her daughter would have been next because of her Black Blood. She proved her fertility with the werewolf, but Bellatrix made sure to take her out first. Andromeda’s betrothal to Lucius was then passed to Narcissa. You can’t have all marriages between only two families. You have to branch out. That’s how you build your tree.” He paused somewhat lost in thought but continued, “There was no one else.” He wrung the wet rag into the basin and placed it on the edge of it. “The Parkinsons allied themselves with the Goldsteins. Zabini had no interest in anymore marriages, and she sent her only child to Greece. The Notts fled and situated themselves in the Americas. The Bulstrodes wouldn’t even touch us.” He scowled, his eyes down and his lip in between his teeth. “Last were the Lovegoods, but I didn’t want her. She’s too much like Philius. She would have been a good choice, I suppose. She has both Lestrange and Rosier blood, but Rosier doesn’t go as far back as The Black Family and the Lovegoods were known to fraternize with Muggles. It wasn’t a good look. You were the only option. The potions were tested and perfected. It will rebuild my family.”

He didn’t want to look at him. Draco had no allies. There was no one to call or to get into contact. His family had burned all of their bridges. Those who allied themselves with the Malfoys either turned their backs on them or were psychotic. Rabastan was proof of the latter.  

“What is it doing to me?” Draco asked him carefully. The beams in the ceiling began to warp his vision and he prayed for an answer that didn’t make him sick. “What’s going to happen with…all of…this?” His hand started to lift but he brought it down, not caring anymore.

Rabastan laughed and adjusted the way he sat. He was now on his knees leaning forwards eagerly, his hands were pressed together. There was an unsettling gleam in his eyes.

“That’s what’s so interesting!” he exclaimed, manically. His teeth were a faint yellow and one of his canines was badly chipped. “It’s growing a womb inside of your body by pulling genetic material from your other organs. I guess based on the size of the fetus it must have fully grown about a few months ago meaning anywhere between twenty or twenty-five weeks of doses. Impressive if I say so myself. Gestation may be the same as a female body.”

Draco’s hands were clutched close to his chest. His fingering dug into his ragged clothes. He bit down hard on his lip to stop it from quivering.

“What are you going to do with the children?” he whispered.

“Raise them. Homeschool them,” Rabastan answered immediately. He was sure of his answer. “They may not be able to go to Hogwarts, but we have family in France, and they could go to Beauxbaton instead. I always did like their uniforms better.”

Draco began to shiver and clutched his shirt tighter. He tried to cease the tremor he thought would wrack his body. The bastard was crazy.

“They can be married to the French families. We can grow out family. We can find allies in the Lestranges and the Malfoys. We’ll need at least two girls, one for each family. Two boys, maybe three. Each boy can have a different surname. Lestrange, Black, Malfoy. We’ll build our family away from all of this and bring back Toujours Pur. The Pure-blood will persevere. They cannot dilute us.”

A sense of unease washed over him when he caught Rabastan beginning to move closer.  Goosebumps formed all over his skin and he wriggled away closer to the wall. The bed creaked when Rabastan put all of his weight on his hands to look over Draco. The potion vials were in his hand. Draco was bracing himself. He pressed his thighs closer together and crossed his ankles tightly.

Rabastan was bigger and stronger than he was. He had much more weight on him. It may not have been muscle, but it was enough. Draco couldn’t match his weight and he felt his bones becoming brittle.

“I don’t want this,” he murmured and turned his head to face the wall. He brought his hands in front of his chest to shield himself. “Please.”

“There is no choice.” Rabastan had stepped on the bed and climbed on top of Draco. He sat on his abdomen. He wasn’t using his full weight but just enough to tell Draco he was in control now. He cinched his knees at Draco’s hips and held him in place. With one hand, he took Draco’s wrists as he pleaded and with the other, he was unscrewing the top of the potion. Draco began to thrash and buck. He even tried to bite his hand when the vial was brought close to his mouth.

“You’re mad,” he choked, trying to wrench his wrists free. But Rabastan held on, when his grip began to lose hold, he pinned Draco’s wrists with his knee.

“It is necessary. Open your mouth,” he said firmly. His free hand tried to pry open Draco’s mouth. He was almost bit. Draco pressed his lips tight and moved his face side to side to avoid his fingers.

Rabastan grabbed his nose and pinched it shut. He did so with a calm face. Draco firmly kept his lips sealed until he felt his throat spasm and he had to gasp for air.

At that, Rabastan quickly grabbed his face by his cheeks. His fingers pressing into his cheeks painfully to keep his mouth open. Almost as if he wanted his cheeks to pinch in his teeth. The translucent blue potion was poured into Draco’s mouth where he sputtered and coughed.

With both hands free, Rabastan covered Draco’s mouth and nose with his hands. Draco’s hands were pinned, and he couldn’t get them loose. His fingers were pinched under the solid joint.  

“Swallow,” he cooed, “swallow and it will all be over.” No, it won’t.

He couldn’t breathe. The potion was warm and bitter in his mouth, but he didn’t want to swallow it. He panicked and tried to get out of the hold, but his hands were still pinched under Rabastan’s knee. He couldn’t fucking breathe. He could see his vision begin to tunnel and he could feel his eyes roll back into his head.

He’d rather pass out, he considered. He’d rather die. If Rabastan wasn’t careful enough, he’d kill him.

Draco felt a thumb at his throat. It pressed its way under his chin. Everything was growing foggy. The movement continued and with enough teasing his throat relaxed.

The weight from atop of his body shifted. He didn’t feel himself breathe and his body felt numb. Rabastan turned him onto his side and began to massage his back. Like he was under a blanket, the voice was far away.

“Breathe. Breathe.”

Fingers pressed on his back and his chest.

“Breathe.” This time it came more harshly.

Draco gasped and convulsed. He sputtered blue droplets and fought to breathe. The hand remained on his back until his breaths became even and easy.

“You’re good now,” he said softly, “There, there.” His fingers circled Draco’s back following his shallow gasps. He had gotten closer, and Draco could smell his breath from a mere inches away.

There was a wetness in his throat, and he clenched his teeth tight. Frustrated, he contemplated other ways to die. He could bite his tongue off. That seemed like the only plausible option as he had no access to anything else. No wand, no weapon. Nothing. Wandless charms and spells wouldn’t work too well in his condition, especially with how close Rabastan was.

He found himself still. There was nothing for him to do. There was nothing to grab. Rabastan was still sitting on him. His hands were all over him.

For a moment, he was far away. He couldn’t feel it anymore. It was only pressure now. Rabastan had grabbed his arms and turned him onto his stomach. Hands pressed on his back, his hips, and his cheeks were on the sad excuse of a pillow.

He just had to wait until it was over. And Rabastan would go away. He would leave him alone until the next day. And the next. And the next.

Draco’s eyes were wet. His back was flat against the examination table under the bright fluorescent lighting. Carefully, he tried to get his bearings. He tried not to act startled.

With his eyes, he panned over to the rolling stool where the Healer sat. He sat leaning forward intently and focused on Draco with a glowing wand in his hand.

“You’re evil,” Draco whispered. He glowered and frustrated tears ran down his cheek. He slowly tried to sit up.

“Welcome back, Draco,” Evergreen said carefully. He put his wand away and charmed away the clipboard that was taking notes for him.

“Evil. You’re evil.” Draco said again, “How dare you? I thought I could trust you.”

“Yes.” Evergreen’s wand glowed in his pocket. “It was necessary.”

Draco flinched and scowled at the Healer. That is what he will be from now. Draco no longer wanted to use his name.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” He stood up and when he did, it put him just a bit closer to Draco.

“Get out.” Draco shot up and swung his legs over the edge of the table. He jumped off the table abruptly and got closer to the Healer. He staggered and brought his hands up as if he was to push him.

“I want—” The Healer stepped back, startled at how close Draco had gotten to him.

“Get out!” he screeched. He thrusted his body forwards making Evergreen go for his wand. “Out!”

There came a knock at the door. Both men stopped.

“Is it okay to come in now?” the voice came from behind the door. Draco thought he recognized the voice, and it made him stop all movements. His eyes focused on Evergreen, and he watched how he relaxed with a small glance to the door.

He looked back at Draco.

“What I was trying to tell you,” he began, “We have paired you with a guardian to oversee you in your condition. At the moment, with nowhere else to go, we’ve gone with this option.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “How dare you—”

“He was recommended by Shacklebolt,” he reasoned with him, “You know him. He can keep you safe and he has the recommended Auror training to help you if anything goes wrong. Things like first aid.”

“What if I don’t want him as my guardian?” Draco said with a cock of his head.

“You assume it’s a man?” Evergreen said bemused, with a slight smile.

“I’m not particularly close with any woman,” Draco snorted. Pansy certainly wouldn’t take him and last he checked she abhorred the Auror program.

“We’ve also prepared a counselor for you to speak to regarding your traumas. It’s mandatory. Due to some of your thoughts being suicidal ideations, we’d rather be safe than sorry. You’ve been paired with a lovely woman specializing in these traumas.”

“Excuse me? You only know that because you went into my head,” he scoffed. He was still mad at the invasion of his privacy. He still couldn’t believe he had let his guard down so much. “Which I didn’t allow you to do, mind you? What if I don’t want to go?” he crossed his arms like a petulant child.

“Then instead of a guardian you’ll be placed into St. Mungo’s care and by extension, Janus Thickey,” explained Evergreen. “With that, we would have no choice but to have you committed and force the care upon you. I really don’t want that to happen, you’ve been through enough.”

“What?”

“It’s not ideal”—Evergreen tried to diffuse as he could see Draco growing upset— “but at least this way you can be monitored safely to get the help you need.”

Draco scoffed again and before he was able to shower the Healer with harsh obscenities there was a knock again and the door creaked open.

“I don’t have all day,” the voice said, “I was told I had a job and I’d like to get this over with.”

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him and it sent the hairs on his neck upright.  The door was slightly ajar and four fingers had wrapped around the door.

“Just a minute,” Evergreen said calmly. He turned back to Draco. “I want you to remain calm. He was the best choice. You may come in.”

The door finally opened.

In came a tallish man, his dark hair had been pushed back and some strands had fallen behind his ears. There were dark circles under his eyes. His robes looked to be of high quality, a heavy cotton base and layers of scaley dragon-hide on the elbows and shoulder. Expensive. His robes were splayed open with an equally expensive leather vest, almost entirely of dragon-hide. It had tinges of green around the ribs where a wand holster was strapped. But there was no wand. It was probably somewhere else on his body.  The rest was of a dark brown almost black color, and it shone its glossy finish in the fluorescent lighting. It would have been tailored meticulously to the wearer, hugging each divot and curve on their torso. Where the plate of the vest met it was tied tight right at the navel, the knots tucked and sealed right back under the leather.  

Draco lifted his gaze from the luxurious pieces. His gaze was hard, and he lifted his chin as if to almost look down at the Auror. There wasn’t much to look at, he thought. His eyes drifted from the collar of the robes that were pulled up high to the lightning bolt scar that covered part of his forehead and crept a bit into his hairline which had a white line right over the brow.

“Potter,” he breathed haughtily, “What are the odds?”  

Draco gave a short laugh and turned to the Healer. He shrugged carefully and turned back to Potter. Draco said nothing, and only smirked at Potter.

Potter’s face was hard. His emerald eyes were hollow and unemotional. Draco expected him to laugh at him. He didn’t. Potter scanned the room and his gaze landed on the Healer. He handed Potter the clipboard and Draco made an outrage noise. It came out more of a grunt.

“He has just as much of a right to view your medicals as you do,” the Healer said as he watched Potter flip through the papers, “as your guardian, he can follow your medications and treatments. If you, for whatever, reason are unable to come to a conclusion on your care then he is to step in and offer another opinion.”

“That’s shit!” Draco squawked.

“It is,” Potter agreed nonchalantly scanning the papers front and back. He didn’t have his glasses on. How could he see? The bloody liar. “He needs a lot of medicine,” he said to himself.

“Yes.” Evergreen moved to Harry’s side and looked over his shoulder to look with him over the documents. “Any concerns?”

“You’ll write the scripts?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be his doctor?” Potter asked the Healer. There was an uncertain side eye he gave Evergreen.  

“Yes. I have prenatal experience and I’ll be bringing a colleague in for a second opinion.”

“What’s your opinion?”

“Bed rest. High protein. High iron. High calcium.” The Healer listed on his fingers. “He lacks lots of nutrient. Some sun would be good for him too.”

“I’m not a pet! Or a plant!” Draco’s voice came out almost shrill. “You could have told me I needed all that!”

“We need to make sure you take everything we give you in order to keep your health in check. That’s why you have a guardian. We’re doing this for your health. You were in a steady decline before and without intervention you could have had long term consequences.”

Draco scoffed some more and crossed his arms. He continued to watch Potter, this time as he quietly talked with the Healer. He was to take multiple vitamins and be on a strict diet. No red meats or fish. No alcohol or caffeine. A shame since Draco had been good though his years in Hogwarts and hadn’t consumed any alcohol at all, even when Pansy wanted to celebrate her acceptance into a foreign Muggle University. It was somewhere in America. There was a wine from France he wanted to try. It cost a lot of Muggle money, but his father promised him a bottle when he graduated from Hogwarts. He never got his bottle, and he didn’t know where his father was. Azkaban was likely.

“The magical aspects of an ancestral home should allow for his body to heal. It’ll provide a better environment for when its time for him to give birth.”

Potter nodded grimly. “Yeah,” he began, “I’m not exactly sure how that will go.” He glanced carefully at Draco scowling. If looks could kill, he’d be dead tenfold. “How will that work? I mean he still…he still has a cock doesn’t he?”

“We are looking into ways he can safely give birth in the coming months, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. If anything is of concern, we’ll prepare for a caesarian and yes, Mr. Malfoy still has his penis.” He said the same way he would order a coffee. Nonchalantly and not carefully. Like he knew already.

“Why the ever-loving hell would you even ask that?” Draco piped incredulously. “Have I suddenly lost my autonomy?”

“It’s a valid concern,” Potter tried to justify with a weak shrug.

“It is not! It is invasive, you cunt!” He would have slapped him if he could. Punched him even. His nails had dug into his palms. Potter was definitely thicker than he was. He could strike him down easily. Maybe he wouldn’t. Potter knew about his condition. That could possibly keep him from hitting him at all. Maybe he could have even gotten Potter to do his dirty work. He wouldn’t dare.

“Merlin, you’ve gotten sassy. Watch your mouth!” Potter said with a twitch of his lip.

“Fuck you! You’re the one wanting to know if I still have a cock! You’re the pervert!” he told him right back.

Evergreen stepped between them. Draco hadn’t even noticed how close he had gotten to Potter. Evergreen had a hand up to the both of them. His finger practically grazed Draco’s chest. “Alight,” he said, “I think that’s enough. The scripts should be done.” Evergreen turned to Potter. “The scripts should be ready. Take the floo in the back hall near the children’s ward. It’s late so no one should be about. We’ll be in contact.” He handed a slip of paper to Potter which was quickly taken into the sleeve of his robes.

Potter carefully looked both ways down the hall then motioned for Draco to follow. Draco turned up his nose and carefully followed. The lights were dimmed and many of the doors were closed. They only saw one Healer in the hall, and she quickly ducked her head down and acknowledged Potter as they passed. They also passed by a desk were an older woman sat. Quickly, Potter told her Draco’s name, and she fished a bag out of a drawer from her desk. The potion bottles clinked together in the bag and Potter passed it to Draco. He took it without fuss to avoid a scene. Potter signed something then passed it back to the woman. She nodded and smiled back at him. Potter returned none of the woman’s affections.

Draco felt pressure on his bicep and a quick tug. Potter’s hand was firmly wrapped around his arm, and he was pulling him towards the end of hall. His grip was tight for no reason and Draco swore his finger were pressing into the space between the bone.

“That hurts,” he hissed and tried to pull his arm away, but Potter held tight.

They reached the floo point and he let go to grab a hefty fistful of the green powder.

For a moment, he just stood there, powder in hand not moving. Only staring at the hearth that was dusted in green and gray. He was biting his cheek and staring hard at the pile ashes and the walls. He stepped into the dust that was accumulated on the floor. He stood there for a moment. Before Draco could ask what he was waiting for, Potter’s free arm shot out and pulled Draco close to his side. Potter’s arm encompassed Draco and gripped firmly on his hip, his hand also fisting tight his clothes, as if to secure him in place. Draco’s back was pressed flat against Potter side. The potions clinked in his hands, and he did his best not to drop them. He almost cursed at the golden boy, but he was given no time as Potter had raised his voice and called out for his uncle’s home.

The area around them flashed green and in seconds they were met with the dark and imposing gothic interior of the Black Townhome. The floo made it smell hot and ashen at first, but it was soon replaced with a heavy presence of potpourri. It didn’t smell as musty as he had remembered. The portraits of prominent Black family members had been removed and replaced with much more plain paintings. The wallpaper was removed and painted a dusty brown. There was a more modern feel to the hold. Old furniture replaced. The bookcases remained. There was shiny box that sat up one of the tables were Cygnus’s phonograph had once sat.

Potter let him go. Almost forcefully, like he was something diseased.

“You’re welcome to sit anywhere,” he said, “I’ll get you a room ready. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t touch anything. I’ll order some dinner.”

Draco didn’t have much to say. He rubbed where he was sore and planted himself delicately on the sofa facing the shiny box. He didn’t remember flooing to be so painful. Feeling the phials through the bag in his hands he opened it and picked at them. They were mostly potions and there were very few pills. Disappointed, he read the labels. Vitamin B, C, D. Calcium. Folic Acid? Iron. Antacids.

Not sure what to take he threw them all back into the bag where they clattered. He shoved the bag into the space between his body and the arm of the sofa. He tried to get himself comfortable, but his back was aching. He tried to lean back into the stiff cushion.

Draco stopped when he felt the familiar uneasy movement in his abdomen. It pushed into him from an odd angle. Then it pushed upward into the top of his belly. With a firm hand Draco tried to push it back down to make it stop moving. It didn’t. It became relentless in its effort to make itself known and Draco’s time difficult. As if it wasn’t satisfied with its carrier’s action, there came a sharp nudge into Draco’s body. He exhaled sharply. It didn’t hurt but it was certainly uncomfortable, like it was rolling around inside him. Draco tried to adjust himself so that it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable but no matter how he moved the little monster was relentless. Pushing, kicking, and rolling around Draco’s insides until he could no longer stand sitting in one place for long. He stood up and that eased the movements for a moment, and he breathed a sigh of relief until the devious little bastard delivered a swift kick to Draco’s bladder.