Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had a splitting headache. He blamed Hermione since she’d been the one to drag them out to the latest gay bar. She’d coaxed and cajoled and outright demanded, and before Harry knew what had happened, he and Ron had been shoved into their jackets and dragged out into the night.
He hadn’t minded at first, but they’d been in the damned place for a couple of hours now, and the novelty had completely worn off for him. The music thumped a relentless beat as coloured lights lit up the dance floor in random segments. The heat inside the club was so thick he could almost taste it. Sweat and cologne and booze mingled in the air to form a heady smell. Everywhere he looked, there were bodies dancing, drinking, touching. Everyone around him looked to be having a fantastic night, which just made the pain forming behind his eyes all the more prominent. Seriously, was there anything worse than people enjoying themselves while you felt crap? He took a swig of his drink and pondered what would happen if he caused the power to circuit in the club, accidentally, of course. Even great wizards lost control now and then. He could feel himself cheering up at the thought and indulged himself a little more with his fantasy. However, before he could get too far into it, Ron appeared at his side, his arms wrapped around an incredibly wobbly Hermione who was practically draped over his chest.
“Sorry, mate. I’d better get this one home.”
“I’m fine, Ronnnald!” She dragged the word out as she wrapped her arms around Ron’s neck and attempted to pull him down for a kiss. “I love your freckles, especially the ones on your bum.”
“‘Mione!” screeched Ron as Harry tried to hold in the laugh that was bubbling in his throat. “Look, let’s just go home and snuggle. You like to snuggle, don’t you?” Harry watched Ron try to reason with Hermione, who unfortunately seemed more intent on trying to climb Ron’s body than actually listening to him. “Come on, love. We can grab some chips on the way.”
Hermione’s attention snapped to her boyfriend, and Harry had to turn away to hide his giggles.
“With cheese and gravy and ketchup?”
“Sure,” shrugged Ron, sensing victory, “if that’s what you want.”
Suddenly, Harry found himself with a faceful of bushy hair as Hermione held him in a vice-like hug.
“I love you, Harry. Not sexy love, but love love, like family. You know?” Her lip began to tremble as the thought that Harry might not be on the same page, sniffing. “You do know, don’t you?”
Alarmed at the glistening in Hermione’s eyes, Harry assured her that he did indeed love her as Ron helped to prise her off his person and lead her away to the nearest Floo. It was difficult to hold Hermione responsible for his headache when she was such a squishy drunk like that.
Harry stared dolefully into his drink for a moment before deciding to cut his losses and leave. He lifted his jacket off the barstool and began to weave his way through the melee when a shock of white-blond hair caught his attention. Surely not, he thought to himself as he found himself craning his head for a better view, and there he was—Draco Malfoy, surrounded by several men, all vying to get his attention.
After a few seconds, Harry realised he’d been standing frozen in place, his jaw hanging open as he practically drooled over Draco Malfoy. Merlin, when had the guy gotten so hot? Gone was the pointy sour teenager he remembered from the trials. Instead, the blond had grown into his looks, his face still angular, but attractively so. His slim body was clad in a silver see-through shirt and a pair of skinny jeans that were so tight they looked painted on. His hair, which used to be soaked in gel and pushed back, was now tied in a loose top knot with an undercut that accentuated his long neck. A neck that just begged to be kissed and sucked and bitten. Harry could feel his cock wake up at that thought and subtly adjusted his jeans as he continued to stare.
The guys surrounding Draco were wasting no time, each one trying to stroke parts of Draco as he gyrated and swayed to the beat. One of the men ran a hand across Draco’s hip and gripped his arse, and suddenly Harry was charging across the club, pushing people out of his way roughly as he went, until he finally reached the group. Without thinking, he grabbed the offending guy and yanked him away from Draco, who simply turned and watched the proceedings as if it were a mildly interesting movie and not an all-out brawl.
“Hey! What the hell’s your problem, dickhead?”
“Hands off!”
“Why, Potter, I didn’t know you cared.” Merlin, even the arse's familiar drawl was getting him hot.
Feeling like he seriously should have left with Ron and Hermione, Harry turned to face his old nemesis and held his gaze. After a moment, he held his hand out, an offering. Draco looked at Harry’s outstretched palm and then back up to his eyes, nibbling his bottom lip as he pondered what to do. After what felt like the longest few seconds of Harry’s life, Draco smiled and placed his hand in Harry’s grasp. There was a moment where they both just stood, hands joined, staring, and then Harry turned and stalked towards the Floo, tugging Draco along behind him, deaf to the protests of his prior admirers.
*****
Harry had always thought it was impossible to Floo while kissing, so of course, Draco would be the one to prove him wrong. They tumbled out of the Floo, arms wrapped around each other as they kissed and licked and grabbed, growing more frantic by the second. With what felt like a tremendous force of will, he managed to pull himself out of Draco’s arms and put a few steps of distance between them.
“Do you- ah- want a drink or something?” Harry panted in between kisses, trying to gain some semblance of control over the situation.
“Why bother, Potter?” challenged Draco breathlessly, his eyebrow cocked sexily. “If I wanted to drink, I would have stayed in the club. I was under the impression we came here to fuck.”
Harry felt his face flush brilliantly at Draco’s vulgar words, which only worsened as he heard Draco laugh at his bashfulness.
“Oh, come on, it’s not like you’ve never heard the word ‘fuck’ before. Shall we just get on with it?”
Harry looked over at Draco, his eyes slowly taking in his lean body, the lean thighs, the taut stomach, all the way up to the brilliantly white teeth that were nibbling at that obscenely plump bottom lip, and knew there was no decision to make. He was doing this.
“You want to fuck, Malfoy?” asked Harry, feeling suddenly predatory. He moved in close enough for their breath to mingle and placed his hands on Draco’s hips. “Well, if it’s a fuck you want,” Harry suddenly spun Draco around and pushed him forwards, so he was bent against the mantle, his arse sticking out tantalisingly. “then a fuck is what you’ll get.”
He reached around the other man and undid the button and zip before yanking the impossibly tight jeans down to mid-thigh and found himself sucking in a harsh breath. Draco wasn’t wearing any underwear. The gorgeous pale skin of his arse mesmerised him for a moment until Draco’s voice snapped him out of his stupor.
“Are you needing an instruction manual, Potter?”
Almost frantically, Harry ripped open his own jeans and shoved them and his boxers down far enough to free his cock. Quickly, he cast the charms, making sure the preparation charm was strong enough. He didn’t know how much lube Draco would need, but he was damned if he were going to make this painful for either of them.
“Condom or protection spell, Malfoy”, Harry rasped, his cock aching the longer he waited poised behind the other man.
“Such sexy talk, Potter.”
“Pick-”
“Just fucking do it already, you fucking tw- oomph.”
Harry barely registered Draco’s surprise as he sheathed himself fully inside Draco’s arse, the tight warmth gripping him as the muscles fought to expel the intrusion. He held still for a moment, trying to let Draco catch his breath, and then began to snap his hips back and forth, grinding on each in stroke to catch Draco’s prostate, causing the other man to groan and push his arse back against each new thrust.
The sound of skin slapping and lube squelching filled the room amidst the groans and pants and fuck yes’s and the harder you bastard’s .
Then, mere minutes after they’d stumbled through the Floo, Harry felt Draco’s arse clench around his cock like a vice as Draco moaned his release. The thought that Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and arsehole extraordinaire, had just shot his load all over his fireplace tipped Harry over the edge, and he thrust twice more before stilling, his cock pumping Draco’s arse full.
Carefully, Harry pulled out of Draco and stumbled back a few steps, hindered by his jeans that were still sitting at mid-thigh. He rubbed his eyes as he struggled to control his breathing, determined not to pass out in front of the Slytherin. Draco turned around slowly and faced him, his cheeks and neck rosy with the flush of his climax. By all rights, the man should look ridiculous, his jeans halfway down his legs and his hair stringy with sweat, but he didn’t. Harry could feel his cock stir at the sight, and Harry suddenly couldn’t face Draco leaving before he’d fucked him at least once more. Preferably in his bed this time. He wanted to open him up properly and find out how he tasted. Merlin, he’s beautiful , thought Harry absently.
“Stay the night.”
It wasn’t a question, and Draco knew it. He stared at Harry, seemingly searching for something, and then finally nodded. Harry stepped up to Draco and wrapped his arms around his waist, taking a moment to press a kiss to his mouth, and then apparated them both to his bedroom. It was already after 2 am, and they didn’t have time to waste on using the stairs.
*****
Harry scrunched his eyes up at the morning light and threw an arm over his face in an attempt to block it out. He wasn’t sure which was worse, his hangover or the acrid taste in his mouth. This was why he shouldn’t drink, he thought to himself, as he tried to coax himself into going to the toilet before his bladder exploded. Another reason why he should drink was the weird dreams it gave him. He’d dreamt that he pulled Malfoy at a bar and shagged him in his living room! And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d then shagged him in his bed for a good portion of the night before they both had passed out. He gave a feeble chuckle that turned into a wheeze as more details of the dream came back to him. It was fucking weird. For one, he didn’t think Draco was gay, and there wasn’t enough booze on Earth to make him shag that twat.
Finally unable to ignore his bladder any longer, Harry stretched his arms out over the bed, freezing when his arm brushed something on the pillows. He opened his eyes and reached out to find a piece of parchment lying on the opposite pillow, the neat writing completely unfamiliar.
Thanks for the fun and the sore arse, Scarhead. See you around.
DLM
Harry stared at the note in shock as he replayed the dream - memories he supposed - from the night before. Slowly, the stark reality that he hadn’t dreamed it at all and that he had, indeed, fucked Draco sodding Malfoy began to sink into his throbbing, dehydrated brain.
“Shit.”
Harry smiled at Kreacher as he set a fresh pot of coffee in front of him. The wrinkled elf nodded and turned back to cleaning the stove, mumbling about coffee not being an appropriate breakfast choice.
“I’m fine, Kreacher. I’ll grab something later on at work,” assured Harry, not in the mood to have yet another argument about his breakfast habits.
“As Master wishes, I’m sure he is knowing best,” grumbled Kreacher, causing Harry to sigh. It had been years since the Dursleys had starved him, but he still hadn’t gotten into the habit of always eating breakfast. Sure, if there were others about, then it was different, but cooking and eating breakfast just by himself seemed like a waste.
Just as he reached to pour himself some coffee, there was a sharp rapping at the kitchen window. Seconds later, Kreacher had let the owl in and placed it on the table in front of Harry along with a bowl of owl treats.
The owl was massive, with talons and a beak that looked to be razor-sharp. The eyes were haughty, and it held itself with an air of indifference.
“Who do you belong to, then?” Enquired Harry as he began to untie the letter. As soon as he had the letter free, he offered the owl a treat, which it turned away from and hooted disdainfully.
“Too posh for a treat, eh?” mumbled Harry as he examined the letter. He didn’t recognise the handwriting on the front and turned the letter over, sucking in a breath when he saw the Malfoy crest stamped in silver wax glinting up at him. He hesitated, unsure if he should open it or not, but his wards were set to refuse any mail which intended harm, so it couldn’t contain a curse or anything. Besides, the last time he saw Draco was hardly negative, even if it was a little embarrassing. Unable to control his curiosity, he slid his nail under the seal and popped the letter open, pulling a piece of thick creamy parchment from inside.
Dear Mr Potter,
I apologise for interrupting your breakfast, but I have an urgent matter which I must discuss with you at your earliest convenience. Please consent to join me at Malfoy Manor for evening tea at eight o’clock tonight.
Calliope will wait for your response.
Narcissa Regina Malfoy
He read the missive twice before summoning a quill and fresh parchment to pen a quick reply. It had been months since he’d seen Draco, so it couldn’t be about him, and he hadn’t heard of any outstanding charges or legal issues to do with the Malfoy’s at work. However, it couldn’t be anything nefarious since it would be idiotic for them to plot against the Saviour. After another moment or two of reflection, he confirmed his attendance that evening and sent the haughty owl on its way. Thoroughly intrigued, Harry reached for his coffee and tried to put the letter out of his mind. He had other things to worry about before then, like work.
*****
Harry shook his head at how surreal his life had become as he followed the prim little house-elf through Malfoy Manor. He’d been apprehensive at the thought of having to go back to the place where his friends had been held prisoner and tortured, but he needn’t have worried. The place was unrecognisable, obviously having been redecorated to within an inch of its life. Now, the oppressive rooms were light and airy, something he never thought would have been possible. Finally, after traipsing after the elf for what felt like miles, they came to a stop just outside a large ornate door.
“Mistress Narcissa be in this parlour, Sir.”
Harry nodded his understanding, and the elf vanished with a loud crack. He took a moment to gather his courage, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
Narcissa Malfoy was sitting at a small dining table, an elaborate tea service laid out in front of her. Her hair was twisted up from her neck in an elaborate bun, and her pastel blue robes made her eyes seem vibrant as she smiled up at him and gestured for him to take a seat.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr Potter,” she began gently, “would you like some tea?”
“Just Harry is fine, and tea would be great, thanks.”
He settled himself into his chair and tried to force himself to relax as Narcissa called for the house-elf, who appeared and began to busy themselves with the tea immediately. Once they had both been served, the elf popped away, leaving Harry to fidget with his cup as Narcissa watched him curiously.
“Now, Mr Potter— Harry, you must be wondering why I asked you here,” she observed.
“Yes, you said it was urgent?” His voice wavered slightly, betraying his nerves, and he found himself hoping that Narcissa hadn’t picked up on it.
“I did.” she agreed, placing her teacup back on its saucer and fixing him with a severe expression. “I have something very important to discuss with you, but first, I must ask that you promise me your discretion regardless of what action you decide is necessary.”
“It’s not illegal, is it?” He hadn’t considered that there might be some kind of fishy business going on that they would want his help with, but now, the possibility caused his stomach to flip over painfully.
“No, Harry, it isn’t illegal, but it is delicate, and I require your assurance that this will go no further if you choose not to be involved.”
“Involved?” He parroted, unable to stop himself from sounding like an utter moron.
“Mr Potter, your word?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll keep whatever it is to myself.” Harry murmured, feeling he might burst from the anticipation.
“Thank you.” She took a sip from her teacup and sighed, as if dreading the conversation to come. That idea alone that there was something that could rattle a woman who’d managed to lie to Voldemort’s face without blinking an eyelid made Harry shiver with foreboding.
“My son is pregnant.”
Harry blinked rapidly, as if the words had physically bopped him upon the head.
“Draco?” He asked, somewhat intelligently, to make sure they were on the same crazy page.
“Yes, my son Draco is pregnant.” She confirmed slowly, like she was explaining an obvious concept to a young child.
“Is that even possible?”
He saw Narcissa roll her eyes ever so slightly and couldn’t help but feel indignant. It was a valid question as far as he was concerned. If guys could go around getting knocked up, then there would be loads of them waddling about Diagon Alley moaning about the lack of weird ice cream flavours.
“I assure you that it is indeed possible.” Narcissa’s voice was calm and steady, which helped Harry wrap his aching brain around the concept. “Rare, but possible.”
“Why are you telling me this,” Harry demanded suddenly, feeling utterly baffled at the turn the evening had taken, “and not a healer or someone?”
“Mr Potter, he is pregnant with your child.”
He could see Narcissa’s mouth continuing to move as she expanded on the news she’d just hit him with, but he couldn’t make out the words. His ears were slowly being filled with a persistent buzzing like someone was inserting bee after bee into his brain. Pregnant. He knew what that meant, of course. It was the bit where men could get pregnant, and Draco was currently having his baby that seemed to have him slipping into mild catatonia. A sudden pain in his lungs had Harry realising his breath was coming in short quick bursts, and he forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose. There was no way he was going to descend into an all-out panic in Narcissa Malfoy’s tea parlour.
Eventually, after what seemed like several months, the buzzing had receded entirely, and Harry was able to blink his eyes back into focus. Narcissa was peering at him in concern as a house-elf was spooning sugar into his cup of tea.
“Drink, Mr Potter. Sweet tea is good for treating shock.”
“I’m not shocked,” he argued automatically, even as he lifted the cup to his lips, “I just, I had no idea it was a thing. Men getting pregnant, you know? It’s the sort of thing you think you would notice, isn’t it? Or at least something they’d tell you about in school.”
“I completely understand. It’s not very common and seems to be a trait affiliated with purebloods. I suspect it's a way of ensuring the bloodline is carried on regardless of the sexual orientation of the reigning heir.”
“But I don’t get how you think it’s mine?” voiced Harry, his brain finally starting to rumble back into gear. “I mean, surely I’m not the only one who’s...been with Draco that way.”
“Because you’re the only one I’ve ever let fuck me, Scarhead.”
Harry whipped his head around at Draco’s words to see Draco leaning against the door jamb. He looked dressed for a night out, with impossibly tight black leather trousers and a grey silk shirt with the top few buttons open to reveal an expanse of pale, hairless chest. His arms were crossed over his chest, which only served to highlight the slight roundness of Draco’s stomach. However, what really drew Harry’s eyes was the searing fury glinting in the usually cold grey eyes as he faced his mother.
“Draco, really,” admonished Narcissa, clearly unimpressed with the crassness of her son. “Why don’t you sit with us and we can talk this through?”
“You had no right to bring him here, Mother.” Draco’s voice shook with repressed fury, his pale face flushing with emotion.
“I had every right,” argued Narissa calmly. “He’s the other parent.”
“You had none whatsoever!” Draco responded as he pushed himself away from the door frame and stalked to the Floo, his graceful movements seemingly unhindered by his blossoming stomach.
“Wait, where are you going?” Called Narcissa, her voice suddenly shrill and strained. “You’ve not eaten all day.”
“Out,” he responded flatly, grabbing a handful of green powder.
“When will you be back?”
“Later, maybe.” Draco threw the powder into the fire and stepped into the flames. “Don’t wait up, Mother. Later, Scarhead. Diagon Alley!”
Harry sat for a long moment, watching Narcissa take deep breaths through her nose in an apparent attempt to calm herself.
“Can I get you more tea, Mrs Malfoy?” Harry asked tentatively. The last thing he needed was for her to faint or something.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She took another full minute before she addressed Harry again, fixing him with a look of such desperation. Harry felt his heart ache for her.
“Now you see why I called you here? He’s pregnant with your child, and yet he refuses to do anything about it! He won’t see the family healer or take any of the prenatal potions I procured for him. He goes out most nights drinking and comes home hours, sometimes days later, smelling of alcohol and sex. I fear that if he doesn’t alter his behaviour dramatically, he and the baby will be in danger. I just didn’t know what else to do, Mr Potter.”
“Okay,” sighed Harry, trying to get his thoughts in order, “start at the beginning.”
Harry strode out of the alley he’d just apparated to and crossed the street towards Easy Sleazy’s — a gay bar that was infamous for one night stands and bathroom fumbles. He’d already checked out three other bars in search of Draco and had had no luck so far. Merlin, he had to find the idiot before he did some permanent damage to himself and the...well, that was something they were going to have to discuss later on.
He stepped up to the bar door and pushed it open, wincing slightly at the sheer volume of music and the smell of sweat and other bodily fluids that hit him like a freight train. He froze on the threshold and tried to adjust to the gloom and heat of the place before forcing himself to move further inside. His brain was sagging under the pressure of everything Narcissa had told him that evening, and, more than anything, he wanted to find Draco and just sit in a quiet room with a very large glass of firewhisky.
He found himself inevitably thinking back to when he was sitting in the parlour looking at a medical report from the family Healer. Narcissa had told him that Draco had allowed her to call the Healer when he was throwing up constantly every morning, seemingly without a cause. However, when the Healer announced that Draco was pregnant and proceeded to give a full report on the status of his condition, Draco apparently clammed up, all but threw the Healer into the Floo, and had refused to discuss the situation ever since. She’d only found out about Harry being the father when Draco had gone on a two-day bender, and she had stumbled across Draco’s journal while searching his room for clues to his whereabouts.
The report had been crystal clear— pregnant, eight weeks from conception, (which would make Draco about 17 weeks pregnant now), and the baby had appeared to be in good health. Now though, Narcissa wasn’t sure what state Draco or the baby’s health would be in since he’d been binge drinking and sleeping around since the night he threw the Healer out of the Manor. It was mind-boggling, to say the least, and Harry knew that the only way he’d be able to face the situation would be to take things one step at a time. And step one was finding Draco before he did anything too stupid.
He scanned the immediate area around the bar and the small group that mingled and swayed on the dance floor but couldn’t see any sign of Draco anywhere. That didn’t mean he wasn’t there, though, thought Harry, as he squared his shoulders and headed towards the toilets.
As soon as the toilet door swung shut behind him, Harry could hear the moans and cries of several couples in locked cubicles as they got each other off. Cutting clearly through the other voices, was Draco’s. Harry would know that voice anywhere, especially since he’d heard Draco make similar noises not too long ago.
Slowly, he stepped towards the middle cubicle and paused, listening for Draco’s familiar drawl.
“That’s it, yes. Suck it harder, damn you.”
Harry groaned in resignation, knowing that whatever was going on in the cubicle wasn't going to be pretty. He lifted his right hand and held it over the lock, his mouth tugging into a slight smile at his wandless magic. He’d been able to do it for a while, but it still never ceased to amaze him each time he used it. Magic, he thought, really was a wonderful thing.
He swung the door open and sucked in a harsh breath as he found himself staring at Draco, his eyes squeezed closed in pleasure, as a slim brown-haired man knelt before him, his head bobbing frantically back and forth.
As if sensing he had an audience, Draco’s eyes snapped open and fixed Harry with a penetrating stare. It was surreal, Harry decided, to have someone watch you as you watched them get sucked off. He could tell every time the brunette did something Draco liked from the way Draco’s lust blown eyes would narrow to slits, as if relishing the pleasure.
“Really, Potter,” huffed Draco between moans, “you’re meant to wait your turn. At the very least, you should wait until this one has finished.”
Only just realising they had company, the brunette pulled his mouth off Draco with an audible pop and turned his horrified gaze upon Harry.
“You’re— Oh fuck!” He staggered to his feet, his face draining of all colour as he went. “You never told me your boyfriend was Harry fucking Potter, you dickhead.”
“Oh, do shut up and occupy your mouth more usefully,” demanded Draco, seeming uncaring that his cock was hanging outside of his leather trousers for all to see.
“You, get to fuck. Now.” ordered Harry, pointing at the Brunette, who scarpered out of the toilet without a backwards glance. “Come on, you useless git,” grumbled Harry as he gathered Draco into his arms and pulled him out of the cubicle.
“Do you mind, Potter? Some of us are trying to get off here.”
“Do yourself a favour, Malfoy, and put your cock away.”
“Why bother,” chuckled Draco lightly, “you could always finish the job that what's-his-face started.”
Harry tried to breathe through the annoyance as he reached down and tugged Draco’s trousers closed, making sure the button at the top was securely fastened.
“Spoilsport,” intoned Draco, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.
“You’re far more trouble than your worth,” Harry informed him as he gripped Draco’s wrist firmly and pulled him out of the toilet, through the crowds, and outside into the alley he’d arrived in.
“I’m going to apparate us, are you ready?” He waited for Draco to nod before he spun them, picturing Grimmauld Place clearly in his mind’s eye.
*****
As soon as they landed in the main hall, Harry propped Draco against the wall, where he teetered drunkenly, and pulled his wand and began slashing it around, strengthening the wards and making it impossible for anyone to apparate in and out of the building. Then, he summoned the jar of Floo powder and shrunk it down until it was able to fit snugly in his jacket pocket. Once he was satisfied Draco would be secure, he summoned Draco’s wand and placed it in his pocket along with his own.
“Right, let’s get you upstairs,” directed Harry, tugging Draco away from the wall and steering him up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He opened the door to one of the spare bedrooms and manoeuvred them both inside. He pressed Draco to sit on the edge of the bed as he began to move around the room, opening drawers and cupboards, returning moments later carrying clean pyjamas and a spare toothbrush.
“You can use these tonight, and we’ll see about getting more of your stuff over here from the Manor tomorrow, ok?”
“Say what now?” asked Draco, his voice high with disbelief. “You actually think I’m going to agree to just stay here? Whatever for, exactly?”
“It’s for the best, Draco. You need to look after yourself and the eh—”
“The eh? The eh what, Potter?” demanded Draco furiously.
“You know, the baby.”
“The baby. Of course, the baby,” repeated Draco in a near whisper. He glared at Harry and lurched to his feet, swaying precariously before managing to catch his balance. “That’s all you fucking care about, isn’t it?” continued Draco, his voice steadily rising now, “the filthy Potter spawn that’s fucking up my life! Well, screw you and screw the baby.”
Harry forced himself to stay calm, letting Draco rant as he pleased. He watched as Draco balled his hands into fists and raved aggressively about life and fairness and how he needed a bloody drink now. Harry stood and waited patiently, keeping quiet and still, until finally, nearly fifteen minutes later, Harry saw the fight seep out of Draco, causing his shoulders to sag. The look in his eyes was lost and sad, and Harry suddenly felt like he couldn’t bear to look into them.
“Come on, you’ll feel better once you’ve had some sleep,” promised Harry, once again holding out the pyjamas and toothbrush. Draco simply shook his head and let himself fall onto the bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes or even remove his shoes. Unwilling to argue the fact any further, Harry put the bundle of items onto the dresser and stepped towards the bed. Carefully, he eased off Draco’s shoes and pulled a thick woollen blanket over him.
Finally satisfied that Draco would be comfortable enough for the night, he filled a glass of water from the adjoining bathroom and placed it on the bedside table. As an afterthought, he conjured a small bucket and placed it on the floor next to the bed, just in case Draco was sick during the night. Lastly, he set a monitoring charm to let him know when Draco finally woke up and left the room, taking care to lock it securely behind him.
Once back downstairs, Harry filled a glass of whisky and slumped down into his favourite armchair. A quick glance at the mantle clock revealed it was still only 11.30 pm. Harry couldn’t believe it had only been a few hours since he’d had tea with Narcissa. He took a deep sip of his whisky, relishing the feeling of the alcohol burning away the deep throbbing fatigue that was weighing down his body. It was late, but he knew Narcissa would still be awake, anxiously awaiting news of her son. Gathering his last bit of energy, Harry conjured his stag Patronus and sent it with a message, letting Narcissa know that Draco was safe with him at Grimmauld place and he would contact her again in the morning once he’d spoken to Draco. As the stag cantered off through the wall and away to Wiltshire, Harry took another long sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, scrunching his eyes tightly shut. He gave his head a light shake and let out a dark chuckle, to think he thought it was a mind fuck when he discovered Pettigrew was still alive. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure the next morning would be much better. Harry placed his drink on the end table with a final sigh and closed his eyes, finally allowing sleep to claim him.
Harry knocked lightly on the spare bedroom door and stepped inside, closely followed by Kreacher carrying a breakfast tray for Draco.
The man in question was still lying in the middle of the bed, the blanket wrapped securely around his body. Harry tilted his head and wondered how the Malfoy heir would feel if he knew he currently resembled a poorly constructed sausage roll.
“Is young Master Black alright, Master Harry? Should Kreacher get a Healer? Or maybe make a poultice?”
Harry watched as Kreacher peered at Draco’s unconscious form, his face torn between reverence and concern.
“Don’t worry about it too much, Kreacher,” assured Harry gently. “He’ll feel better after he has the breakfast you brought him.”
He directed a deliriously happy Kreacher to put the tray on the bedside table and dismissed him, the murmurings of how much of an honour it was to serve a real Black heir fading as he went. He was unsure of how Draco would react to Harry, never mind a slightly batty old house-elf.
Harry quickly pulled the curtains back and opened the window, thankful for the brisk morning breeze that brushed past his face and into the room, chasing away the slightly sour smell coming from the bed.
Quickly, he went into the en-suite and turned the taps on full, adding a generous amount of bubble bath to the water. From the smell of things, Draco would definitely be needing a long bath. Leaving the tub to fill, Harry went back into the bedroom to find Draco sitting up and grumbling.
“Really, Potter? What bloody time is it?”
“It’s just after 10 am. I let you sleep a bit, but we really need to get things going. There’s loads to do today.”
“Oh, we do, do we?” mocked Draco in a sing-song voice. “I’ll have you know that I don’t have to do shit.”
Suddenly, Draco pitched forwards slightly and groaned painfully, his hands sliding over his bloated stomach.
“Maybe you should save the arguing until you’re a more normal colour. Here, drink this. It’s just ginger tea, but it’s meant to help with nausea.”
“I don’t need fucking ginger tea, Potter. Just get me a damned hangover potion.”
“No.”
“No?” asked Draco in a dangerously quiet voice. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, you can’t have one. They’re not recommended for use when you’re pregnant.”
“What the fuck would you know about it? Just get me one.”
“I’m not getting you one, and neither will Kreacher if you ask him, so accept it. You can have ginger tea or water. There’s also some buttered toast that should help your stomach settle as well.”
“Buttered toast? Well, now I do feel spoiled,” said Draco sardonically. “And what the hell is a Kreacher anyway?”
“He’s my house-elf. I’ve told him the situation and to take orders from you as long as they don’t contradict any orders I’ve already given him.”
“Fuck it,” demanded Draco, hoisting himself off the bed and staggering into the en-suite, slamming the door shut behind him. Harry waited, and after a moment, the toilet flushed, and Draco reappeared, looking suddenly furious.
“Where are my shoes? You know what, never mind my shoes. Where’s my wand?”
“I’ve got it safe for now, don’t worry.”
“Don’t tell me when to worry, Potter.” He glared at Harry so fiercely, he was suddenly very thankful that looks couldn’t kill. “Hand it over. Now.”
“No,” replied Harry calmly. Seeing Draco begin to open his mouth, Harry ploughed on quickly, determined to head off any further ranting until Draco had at least had a bath. “And before you get your knickers in a twist, it’s really for your own good. I need you to stay here for a bit so we can talk and get you seen by a Healer, and then you can have your wand back, okay?”
Draco, whose face had rapidly grown redder and redder as Harry had spoken, looked like he was ready to erupt. He stepped closer to Harry until they were only a foot apart and abruptly pushed his weight into Harry’s chest, causing him to stumble back a step.
“Look, you seem to think that I need rescuing, but I bloody don’t. You also seem to be under the impression that I and this thing inside me have something to do with you, but we don’t. This is my life and my body, and I’ll do whatever I want. If I want a hangover potion, then I’ll fucking have one. If I want to get pissed and shag a different guy every night of the week, then that’s my prerogative. Now, let. Me. Go. Or I swear, I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.”
“Draco, please, you shouldn’t get yourself worked up. It can’t be good for the baby.”
“I swear to Morgana, if you mention the fucking baby one more time, I’m going to throw myself out of that bloody window.”
“You can’t; I’ve warded it in case you get any bright ideas like making a sheet ladder.” He’d meant it to lighten the mood, but if he was honest, it wasn't far from what Draco would likely do if given a chance.
“You can’t keep me locked up in here. I’m not your fucking hostage.”
“No, you’re just a guy who’s making bad choices, and I’m trying to help. Look, why not have a bath and try to relax? I’ve had Kreacher bring over some of your clothes. You’ll find them in the dresser and wardrobe.” As an afterthought, he waved his hand to stop the taps running, aware that the bath must be close to full by now.
“I don’t want your help, Potter, and I certainly don’t want a bloody bath. Get it through your head.” Draco rubbed his hands over his face and took several deep, harsh breaths. “Fine,” he snapped after a few minutes, “you win. I’ll stay stuck in here against my will. Happy?”
“Draco—”
“Just leave, will you? If I have to stay here, then I shouldn’t be forced to look at your stupid face.”
“Can I just—”
“No!” screeched Draco suddenly, his eyes shining with angry tears. “Please just fucking leave me alone. It’s the least you could do.”
Harry stood awkwardly for a moment as he watched the other man try and choke back his tears and then shrugged. Draco was right. If Harry was going to keep him there, the least he could do was give Draco his personal space.
“I’m not going to lock you in,” Harry informed him quietly. “I’ll send food up to you until you decide you want to come down and join me, alright?”
He turned and left the room without waiting for a reply, pulling the door closed behind him. He paused, trying to catch his breath, and then trotted down the stairs to call Narcissa. They certainly had a lot to discuss, and he had to organise for the rest of Draco’s things to be brought over.
It had been two days since Draco had ordered Harry out of his room. At each mealtime, Harry personally prepared a tray for Draco and left it outside his door. And each time, Draco had left the tray untouched. If Harry tried to speak to Draco through the door, he received no response. Draco, it seemed, was determined to wait him out in this weird standoff. Each time he saw the tray still full, Harry had to purse his lips against screaming at the idiot for being so pig-headed. He knew Draco needed time to adjust, and he would do his best to make sure he got it.
However, when Harry saw the latest tray, a lunch of salad, treacle tart, and ginger tea, still lying exactly as he’d left it, he’d finally had enough. He stepped over the tray and rapped lightly on the door, pausing only for a moment before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Harry’s eyes watered as they tried to adjust to the dim room. The lamps were off, the fire was out, and even the curtains had been pulled tight shut as if the light was Draco’s enemy. The air in the room was heavy and stale, smelling of sweat and stagnation. Harry wrinkled his nose and strode over to the window, opening the curtains and the window to let in light and air. Able to see a lot better, Harry turned around and hissed in shock at what he saw.
Draco was lying on his side on top of the bed. He was still in the same clothes he’d arrived in and had clearly not washed in any way. His cheeks and eyes were blotched and red from crying. The rawness of the red only served to make the rest of his skin look much more pale than usual, verging on drawn and peaky. His whole body was quivering, letting Harry know he was awake even though his eyes were closed. His arms, though, were what shocked Harry the most.
His arms were splayed across the bed, the forearms facing upwards. Across the left arm, over the remnants of the faded dark mark, were long bloody welts. It looked as if Draco had scratched his skin raw, and sure enough, the fingernails on his right hand were caked with blood and bits of skin.
“Sweet Circe, what did you do?” breathed Harry, horrified at what Draco had done.
Harry moved closer and sat gently on the bed beside Draco. He felt the mattress dip with his weight, but Draco gave no sign that he noticed or cared.
“Draco, I’m just going to have a look, okay?” asked Harry gently as he reached for Draco’s wounded arm.
The welts were deeper than he first thought, some of which had begun to clot and others which were still bleeding freely.
“I’m going to clean these before I can heal then, okay, Draco?” Harry advises, looking carefully for any sign that Draco has heard him.
“Bugger off,” groaned Draco after a moment. “I don’t want you in here.”
“Draco, you can’t leave these like this.”
“And why not?” demanded Draco as he suddenly lurched into a sitting position and pulled his arm out of Harry’s grasp.
“Because they’ll get infected, that’s why.” reasoned Harry carefully.
Draco scoffed and pushed himself up off the bed, turning to face Harry straight on, his eyes gleaming and wild.
“If I need to be stuck in here, then I’ll do it on my own terms,” Draco informed him stubbornly. “I don’t want to eat your stupid healthy food. I don’t want your fucking ginger tea or your offers of sending for a Healer.” He lifted his injured arm and ran a hand roughly through his greasy hair. “I want to drink and fuck and just stop feeling like this for more than five bloody minutes. Is that too much to ask?”
“Draco, you can’t. You know you can’t. It isn’t good for you.”
“Don’t tell me what’s good for me, Potter. I’ll be the judge of that.”
“What about what’s good for the baby, then?” challenged Harry, suddenly fed up with the whole thing.
It was the wrong thing to say, as Draco ran at him, all teeth and nails, scratching and biting and kicking and punching. His hands form tight fists that he thumps furiously against Harry’s chest, and somehow Harry instinctively knew that Draco needed this, had to get it all out somehow, that if he didn’t, he’d end up dying from self-hatred. Draco pounded away at him, blows raining across his chest, shoulders, and even once on the chin, causing him to stagger back a step or two. Still, he stood there and took it, letting Draco cleanse the anger out of his body.
Draco was gasping now, great heaving sobs that shook his whole body as he continued to attack Harry, but the blows were losing their aggression. Finally, they stopped altogether, as Draco succumbed to his tears. His eyes closed, and Harry managed to catch Draco as his body went limp with sadness. Carefully, he wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders and hooked the other under Draco’s knees, and carried him over to the bed. He sat down, balancing Draco upon his knee, and wrapped the blanket tightly around Draco’s shoulders as they shook with the force of his sobs.
Harry had no idea what to do. He’d always sucked at comforting crying people. It had been one of the things Ginny and Hermione had always moaned at him about. This, though, seemed different. More raw. He began to slowly rock them both, smoothing his hands over Draco’s hair and back as he murmured soothing noises into Draco’s ear. After a while, the shuddering had stopped, and Draco was still and silent.
“Draco?” whispered Harry cautiously.
“Hmmm?”
“Please, let me help you.”
Draco pulled away from Harry and slid off his knee onto the bed. He looked exhausted, and Harry’s heart twinged for him.
“Why do you want to help me? Is it just because of the baby?”
“At first it was, but now...I don’t know. You need help. You seem so angry at everything, and you’re taking it out on yourself. You don’t deserve that.”
“What would you know about it, Potter?”
“I know enough,” replied Harry mulishly. “You had no choice in the, just as I had no choice. I know you value family above all else, that you’re a loyal friend to those lucky enough to earn the position. You drink tea, but you prefer coffee. You like Quidditch but prefer to watch it rather than play. You like to fly for fun. You and Blaise used to play one on one seeker’s games at the weekends back at Hogwarts, and you were both quite evenly matched. Your favourite colour is blue, even though you pretend it’s green.”
“How the fuck do you know all that?” queried Draco suspiciously.
“The same reason that you know random crap about me,” answered Harry with a half shrug. “We were always a bit obsessive about each other back in school, weren’t we?”
“That was then; why are you bothering now?”
“Because, for some reason, you’re under my skin.” Harry watched as Draco’s eyes widened at that admission, his perfect white teeth snagging his bottom lip pensively. After a tense moment, Harry leans forwards and strokes the hair out of Draco’s face.
“Please, let me take care of you?” Harry could hear his tone was veering dangerously close to begging, but he found it hard to care. He didn’t know precisely why he needed to do this, just that it was what he was meant to do. He was built to look after Draco.
“I don’t know why, but I need to do this. I want to do this. It’s important to me. You’re important to me. Please?”
Slowly, Draco nodded tiredly and allowed Harry to lead him into the en-suite to get cleaned up.
*****
In the end, Harry managed to coax Draco into having a bath. While Draco washed, Harry set about making some soup and sandwiches for him, along with two pots of tea. He knew Draco wasn’t warming up to the ginger tea but wanted some on offer if he changed his mind. Once the tray was ready, he carefully carried it up to Draco’s bedroom and set it on the desk and waited for Draco to finish up in the bathroom.
At least ten minutes later, Draco finally emerged, dressed in loose pyjama pants and a short-sleeved t-shirt. His feet were bare, and his hair was still wet, and he rubbed a fluffy white towel over the wet locks as he walked. Draco sat on the bed crossed legged and slowly began to comb out his hair. Then, once it was hanging in a damp straight curtain to his chin, he gathered it up into a small bun on top of his head, securing it with an elastic.
“I brought you some food, in case you're hungry,” said Harry redundantly, gesturing awkwardly at the tray. “I didn’t know what you were in the mood for, so I tried to keep it light and hot.”
“Do you know you babble when you’re nervous?” observed Draco, as he got up from the bed and padded softly over towards the desk. “Are you having some too?”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to eat with you,” confessed Harry, blushing a little.
“Then you thought wrong.”
His voice was flat, almost monotonic, and his eyes were distant, but Harry felt that he’d made decent progress by getting him to eat. He watched as Draco pulled the tray towards him and lifted the spoon, his eyes still fixed expectantly upon Harry.
“Well? Ask your elf for some soup then. I’m not eating if you’re not.”
“Fine,” sighed Harry, secretly delighted that Draco was finally going to eat something.
Once their plates were clean, Draco walked back over to the bed and climbed under the covers, curling up onto his side.
“I got dressed and ate something,” Draco informed him in a quiet voice. “Can I be left alone now?”
Harry nodded and turned to leave, his stomach dropping at the abrupt turn of atmosphere.
“Will you join me for breakfast tomorrow?”
“I will if you go now.” Promises Draco.
With a last look at the Draco shaped lump on the bed, Harry stepped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
Harry leaned back into the cushions lining his armchair and gazed into the fire, trying to think of new ways to make Draco smile that little bit more.
It had been several weeks since Harry had had his first breakthrough with Draco. Now that he was eating and sleeping much better, Draco was looking much healthier. It had taken some wheedling, but Harry had managed to get him to agree to see a Healer and take his prenatal potions every day, although he endured it with a sour attitude each time. His personality was slowly emerging, and Harry found himself living for the days when Draco was in the mood to argue with him. Draco had reverted to calling him the old taunts, but they had lost their edge, and Harry fancied there was even an undertone of affection in them.
Narcissa had sent over Draco’s things. Their evenings were spent reading aloud to each other, playing chess (which Harry lost spectacularly at), or listening to the Quidditch league results on the radio. Anxious to ensure Draco felt at home, Harry had allowed him to redecorate his room to his liking, letting him have free reign with paint samples and furniture catalogues.
As much as he seems to be coming back to himself, Harry still finds himself worrying. There are times when Draco doesn’t think he’s being watched, where he looks in such despair he might drown in it. He has nightmares, too. Harry can hear him scream and cry in his sleep from his own room down the hall. He’d learned very quickly to leave him be on those nights, as the one time he tried to offer comfort, Draco had punched him in the face and snarled at him to leave.
Harry had also noticed the touch thing. Draco never let anyone touch him except for the Healer during checkups, and even then, he only tolerates the touches which are absolutely necessary. When Narcissa visits, he refuses her hugs and touches, keeping himself at a firm distance from everyone around him.
Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He didn’t know what he could do to make Draco more comfortable. Behind him, a floorboard creaked, and Harry knew Draco had sought him out. Why, though ? Wondered Harry. Draco had never bothered to come into his study before. The footsteps came closer, slow and light, until, finally, Draco was standing in front of Harry, the light of the fire making his fine blonde hair look like a halo.
Harry forced himself to stay still and quiet, waiting for Draco to say something, anything. Draco stares at him, his eyes unreadable. It’s unsettling, and Harry fights a squirm that wants to slide down his spine.
Then, after several minutes, Draco moved forwards and straddled Harry’s lap, one knee on each side of his thighs. Harry held his breath and waited, unable to move even if he wanted to as Draco began to lower himself until he was seated fully upon Harry’s lap, his blossoming bump brushing against Harry’s stomach. Harry looks into Draco’s eyes, searching for an explanation or a sign that Draco needs something.
“What are you doing,” whispers Harry, unable to hold the silence much longer.
Instead of answering, Draco leaned forwards and brushed his lips against Harry’s, causing Harry to gasp at the contact. Boldened by Harry’s response, Draco pressed more kisses against Harry’s lips and jaw, grinding himself down onto Harry’s lap, causing them both to moan.
“Wait,” breathed Harry, trying to keep hold of his rapidly vanishing self-control. “This... this isn’t right.” He hisses as Draco grazes his bottom lip with his teeth and groans. “Draco, stop.”
“You don’t want me to stop, Harry.” panted Draco, pressing his erection onto Harry’s. “I can feel how much you want this.”
The voice in Harry’s head, the one that knew he should push Draco off, was suddenly silenced, muzzled by the louder chorus thrumming through his blood. He arched up into Draco’s kisses, his hips thrusting as Draco ground down. Draco’s scent is all around him, his taste invading his mouth, and suddenly Harry’s so hard he feels he might die.
Abruptly, Draco pulled back from the kiss and heaved himself off Harry’s lap. However, before Harry could form any words, Draco pulled him to his feet and began to pull him towards the stairs. Harry, desperate for another taste of Draco’s mouth, allowed himself to be led. Just as Harry placed his foot on the bottom step, the floorboard creaked shrilly, jerking Harry out of his lust-fuelled haze. He tugged his hand out of Draco’s grasp and stepped back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
“No, Draco. This isn’t right.” Harry asserted, his voice strained with frustration.
“Why not?” argued Draco stubbornly.
“Because you don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me anything.”
“You think I’m doing this because, what, you think I’m trying to pay my way? My vaults are hardly empty, Potter.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just, I know you’re grateful for the help, but I don't want you confusing gratitude with something more.”
“Are you really as stupid as you look, Potter?” demanded Draco furiously, his eyes narrowing in temper. “You have no idea, do you? Why do you think I went with you that night at the club?”
“Erm, you were horny?” asked Harry, suddenly feeling like he was on thin ice.
“Salazar, save me,” hissed Draco, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’ve always fancied you, Harry. Always wanted you. So yeah, when you looked my way at the club, I was happy to take the bone you were throwing me.”
“Then why all the messing about and refusing to eat and not letting me help you at first?” rambled Harry, feeling like he’d missed something obvious.
“Because, you complete moron, I didn't want you to be around me just because I was having your baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come to your senses and kick me out, but instead, every day, you do these little things for me that make it harder to keep away from you. Subscribing to my favourite magazines, even though I know you never read them. You buy my favourite caramels and leave them for me in my room. The foot rubs you give me when my ankles get sore and swollen from lugging around your spawn all day.”
Harry smiled at that last point, remembering how much persuading it had taken Draco to let Harry sit him down and rub his sore feet for him.
“You get Kreacher to make my favourite meals. You switched tea brands because you found out I preferred another more. And still, it’s more than all that.”
“More?” questioned Harry stupidly, feeling like his brain had vacated the premises.
“Yes, more,” assured Draco softly, a small smile tugging the corner of his pink lips. “Every day, more than that even, you tell me how important I am. You’ve honestly shown me so much more respect than anyone ever has my entire life. And I began to think that maybe, just maybe, you wanted me for me , and not for the fact that I can give you a child.”
Then, the smile on Draco’s face vanished, leaving a vulnerable frown in its place.
“I was wrong, though. I must have mistaken the signs, and I’m sorry.”
Draco stepped away from Harry and placed his hand on the banister, but before he could place his foot on the bottom step, Harry pulled him back around to face him, mere centimetres separating them both.
“Don’t go.” Harry could hear the pleading in his voice and found he didn’t care a jot. All he knew was that if let Draco leave now, then he would never get this chance again.
“Why not?” asked Draco, his expression guarded.
“Because I love you.” breathed Harry, sliding his hands up to cup Draco’s face. “I’ve tried so hard not to, and Merlin knows you don’t make it easy, but I can’t help it.”
“You mean it?” Draco’s voice was small and chock-full of hope, causing Harry to smile indulgently.
“What do you think?” whispered Harry, as he leaned in to capture Draco’s mouth with his, sweeping his tongue into Draco’s mouth as he deepened the kiss.
After a moment, they broke apart and leaned their foreheads together, breathing heavily.
“Promise me that you won’t regret me.”
“I promise, Draco, that I will never ever regret you.”
With that, Harry led Draco upstairs and set about giving him a reason to let Harry love him for the rest of their lives.