One of Your Fathers Chapter 5
Title: One of Your Fathers, Part 5: Four Little Reasons
Author: rurounihime
Pairing: H/D
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mpreg
Summary: Harry's fifth month, and all is not well in the Malfoy/Potter household.
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine. Never were. We just play with their liiiiives...
Dacro Comments: I moved this chapter to my journal for public reading. Original comments can be found here. Both versions are the same.
One of Your Fathers, Part 5: Four Little Reasons
The first thing Draco Malfoy thought was Bloody hell, I’m awake.
The second thing was Falling.
The third was that the floor was really very hard when you fell from the height of the bed.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco grumbled, picking himself up painfully. He grabbed the headboard and pulled himself to his feet. Harry had kicked him out of bed once again.
This was beginning to become a nightly ritual for him. He really didn’t see why he had to suffer simply because his husband was in his fifth month of pregnancy and had taken to thrashing about inexplicably in his sleep. Draco straightened his slightly twisted pajama pants and scruffed a frustrated hand through tangled hair. He gazed blackly at Harry’s sleeping form, now completely splayed out across the bed, and muttered to himself.
“Fine, have it your way. I liked the couch better anyway.”
Stumbling a little in weariness, Draco made his way out to the living room and collapsed on the sofa there. He tried to make himself comfortable with the small fluffy pillows, but the truth was that the couch was too short. His feet hung off the edge, there was a crick in his neck already from the odd pillow angle, and the new bruise from his latest tumble ached, making him squirm. Finally he gave up, rose with a sigh, and went into the kitchen.
They didn’t have any snacks. Draco cursed, chucking things out of the pantry onto the floor.
“Salmon-flavoured crackers? Who in this wizarding world eats those?... Oh, yes, I forgot, pregnant Harry eats those... Cream of brussel-sprout soup. Hm, Harry’s again, imagine that... Bloody hell, cocktail olives? Oh, thank you so much, my dear husband, for doing the shopping last week!”
Draco grabbed a glass from the cupboard, picked up his wand from the kitchen table, and tapped the side bad-temperedly, watching water slowly rise out of nowhere to fill it.
This had to stop.
Draco wasn’t getting enough sleep. He couldn’t even nap lately, as Harry was constantly moping around in their bedroom during the day, staring at himself in the mirror. Draco knew for a fact that the mirror only assured his husband cheerfully of how much he glowed and how marvelously paternal he looked - he’d had a long chat with the mirror a month or two ago when it had flippantly told Harry he was beginning to resemble a bloated flobberworm. It was heartening to know mirrors had self-preservation instincts. But still, Harry was downcast much of the time. He mulled about the state of his body far into the night, silently staring up at the ceiling and fidgeting until Draco could barely contain his frustration. Then, the girls’ kicking woke Harry too early in the morning, which made him cross, and that only exacerbated the problem. Draco had taken to going on long walks every afternoon just to get away from Harry’s alternately morose or snappish temper.
And this coming day, he realized with a dull thud in his growling stomach, was going to be no different.
* * *
Draco woke from a fitful sleep to find his head resting on the table, water glass still in hand. He stretched, wincing as his back protested, and then wondered if Harry was up. From the silence of the house, he suspected not.
Maybe he’d ask Hermione to come over and have tea with Harry today. She’d insisted that they allow her to floo over anytime she wanted in order to help Draco and Harry with whatever they needed. At first Draco had been a little perturbed by this arrangement, but that was before he’d woken one morning to find a fully prepared English breakfast on the kitchen table, with Hermione stacking clean dishes in the cupboard. It really was a big help, especially with him too tired, and Harry too dejected, to do much. Perhaps Hermione could share some pregnancy wisdom with his husband.
The clock told him in a bored voice that it was sometime after noon. Draco gaped in disbelief for a long moment, then scowled furiously.
“Blasted table.” He got up and wandered into the living room, rubbing the back of his neck. Why hadn’t Harry woken him? How could he, you imbecile, if he’s still asleep himself? Well, good. He needs it.
Draco spent the next hour scrounging up a makeshift brunch of toast and that damned brussel-sprout soup, and then reading the paper. He got fairly engrossed in a story about the discovery of purple three-humped camels in Egypt and realized only gradually that there were rustling sounds coming from the bedroom. He sat back, chewing his lip. It was quite possible that Harry was feeling better today. He shifted moods faster than a Firebolt flew. But it was also likely that Harry was just as down as ever. Draco closed his eyes and sighed. He hated to see Harry so upset. The mood swings at the beginning of the pregnancy were nothing compared to now. At least then he’d had just as much happy-Harry as sad-Harry. Lately, Draco had begun to forget what it was like to hear his husband laugh.
He stood with a jerk and crossed the kitchen, heading for the bedroom. Whatever it took, today he was going to make Harry smile again. Neither of them could take much more of this.
Draco paused in the doorway to the bedroom. Harry was fully dressed in a baggy shirt and sweat pants, sitting on the end of the bed staring off at the wall. He had his hands wrapped around a piece of clothing, twisting it between his fingers. Looking closer, Draco saw that it was the Chudley Canons shirt he’d given Harry for his last birthday. He walked forward into the room. Harry was tugging at the cloth absently, as if trying to stretch it.
“Draco, why do you stay with me?”
Draco stopped, blinking, feeling that familiar unpleasant sensation creeping into his innards. It was about to happen again, he could tell. The air in the room was intensifying, crackling. He mulled over his next words carefully, and then decided on the truth.
“Because I want to. I love you, Harry.”
But it was no use. He’d apparently said the wrong thing, again. Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t see how anyone could love me when I’m like this. I can’t do anything anymore.”
Draco sighed and walked over to stand behind his husband. He kneaded his shoulders gently. “Harry, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“How can you say that when I look like this?”
“You look beautiful to me.”
This time, the response was not one he’d prepared for. Harry whirled in his seat on the bed, eyes sparking angrily. “Oh, good. You think I look beautiful. Well, that’s just fine for you! You don’t have to watch every piece of clothing you own get more and more useless because you happen to be blowing up like a balloon!”
Draco frowned, hands stilling. “That’s not fair, Harry, and you know it.”
Harry stood with an exasperated sigh and stalked over to the mirror. “Look at me! I look ridiculous. I can’t even wear the clothing I bought three weeks ago anymore. Merlin, everything’s wrong now. I’m Harry Potter. I’m the Boy Who Lived. I’m supposed to be able to - I can barely shift for myself at all now! I don’t know why I bother.”
This was the root of the problem, not the clothing at all, and they both knew it. It had come up before. Draco’s mind was telling him to stay silent, to let it go, but his compounded weariness over the past month was goading him forward. After all, he was a member of this household too, wasn’t he? “Harry, you bother because you care about yourself and the babies.”
Harry was silent, staring at his reflection in the mirror with a slight frown on his face. Draco took a deep breath. Perhaps, at last, he could calm his husband down enough to keep this from blowing up again.
“You love them. And you’ll be a wonderful father to them. The girls need you. And I am so proud of you.” He stepped up behind Harry and settled his hands lightly on the dark-haired man’s wider hips. Harry eyed him in the mirror. “Just hold on for a few more months, Harry. You’re doing great. They’ll be born soon, and then-”
“And then what?” Harry looked strangely frightened. “Then what? I’ll be back to normal? I’ll just... go back to what I was doing before this happened? Go back to being Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. No, I don’t think so, Draco!” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Nothing’s going to be the same. You should know; you didn’t even want these babies in the first place!”
Draco’s mouth fell open in shock. Harry’s words cut deeply, making his chest ache. He stepped away from his husband, saw the way Harry’s eyes widened in realization of what he’d said. But Draco couldn’t cope with it right then. He was too tired, too sore. Too hurt. He turned away and shook himself, trying to keep his emotions from spilling over.
“I’m... going for a walk.”
Harry stirred. “No. You stay. I’ll go.”
Draco looked at him mutely. He felt if he spoke he might start... He shook his head, grimacing. Eyed Harry’s large belly plaintively. They both knew the risks of going outside; they had nothing to do with looking overweight, and everything to do with being Harry Potter.
Harry looked down, blushing. His ears were scarlet, and he purposely refused to meet Draco’s eyes. “I’ll use a concealment charm.”
He walked to the door. Draco slumped down on the bed and raised his hands to his head, running his fingers through his hair. Belatedly he realized that Harry was still standing there.
“Draco, I...”
Draco shook his head because he knew he was about to collapse in weariness. If Harry said one more word, he wouldn’t be able to keep it together. Silence for a moment. Harry’s eyes on him. And then soft steps down the hallway. Draco heard the front door open and shut.
He flung himself back on the bed, taking a deep breath, and then another. What was happening to them? It was true that Draco hadn’t initially planned for the babies, that he had been rather put off by the idea at first. But that had only been for a shocked moment when Harry had first told him. He’d gotten over it quickly. He thought Harry had gotten over it as well. But apparently it was still lurking there, in Harry’s mind.
How in the world could Draco get it through to his distraught husband that this was the happiest event he’d ever experienced? That touching Harry’s belly and hearing the girls’ heartbeats made him want to shout it out to everyone? That he was willing to go to the ends of the earth and back in order to see that Harry remained safe during his pregnancy? That just looking at his husband as he poked through baby rattles and downy blankets was enough to render him speechless with contentment and anticipation?
He knew he had to be patient. That Harry was undergoing mood swings, that he didn’t mean what he said. But it was so hard to hear those words - you didn’t even want these babies in the first place! - from Harry’s lips. Draco curled up on his side, feeling dangerously close to crying again.
Suddenly there was a rattle at the front door. It flew open with a bang and he heard frenzied footsteps in the front hall. Draco pulled himself up from the bed and hurried out of the room, concern brushing away everything else.
There was Harry, red-faced and breathless, leaning against the door.
“Harry, what-”
“Oh Merlin, Draco, they’re all out there! Reporters and… and… I don’t know how they... They’re all just standing there!”
“Harry, wait a minute. What?”
Harry turned haunted eyes to Draco. “They saw me, Draco. They know about it. And now there will be stories... and pictures... and...”
Harry slid to the floor, his face in his hands. Draco swallowed and rushed to his side. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, Draco, I forgot about the charm. Now it’ll be everywhere! Now everyone will see me and... they’ll never leave us alone...”
Draco clutched Harry’s shaking body. He could see the lack of sleep in Harry’s face, the frantic twitch of his shoulders. For the first time he picked out voices from outside. He glanced up over the window sill and saw an ungodly number of media people on their front lawn. He looked at Harry, and it finally dawned on him just how distraught the dark-haired man was, and why. He couldn’t take this, not in the state he was in.
Anger flooded Draco’s head and he clenched his jaw. How dare they pester Harry? So what if he was Harry Potter? Draco should have expected this, what with the two of them being so high-profile in the wizarding world. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Harry be comfortable, and screw it if Draco was going to stand by and let those ridiculous wankers force him to submit to this harassment.
“Harry, I want you to go lie down and get some rest. I’ll handle this.”
Harry allowed himself to be raised from the floor and led back into the bedroom. Draco saw him safely onto the bed, and then stalked out of the room, grabbing his wand.
He was a Malfoy. Regardless of what else was going on, he knew the media would remember that little fact. He gritted his teeth and yanked open the front door.
The noise on the front lawn swelled and several reporters clamoured forward. He heard one of them off to the right talking brusquely to a Quick Quotes Quill.
“...just stepped out of the house. Recent rumors of Harry Potter’s pregnancy are apparently very true, judging by the size of his stomach...”
A young woman stepped up in front of him and held out her hand. “Hullo, hullo, I’m Vina Virabella from the Daily Prophet, how are you, I’d like to ask you a few quick-”
Draco held up a single finger, stopping her in mid-sentence. She looked up and for the first time seemed to realize who she was talking to. Her face went a few shades paler. He fixed her with a glower that was apparently fairly distressing because she backed up a step. There were a few gasps and the crowd behind her grew quiet. He could hear subdued whispers, see looks of apprehension on several faces.
The media still knew enough to worry when Draco Malfoy was angry.
Well. The sods were smarter than they looked.
Draco narrowed his eyes at the people in front of him. They looked back uneasily, cringing under his withering stare.
“I have three answers for you.”
“But I haven’t even asked any ques-”
The woman reporter halted abruptly as Draco turned a baleful gaze on her. After a moment in which the petite woman grew very fidgety, Draco continued in a low icy voice.
“Three answers. Yes, Harry Potter is pregnant. Yes, I, Draco Malfoy, am the father. And yes,” he glared murderously at the Prophet reporter heading the impromptu gathering of media people, “I will personally curse you with Unforgivables you have never even dreamt of if anyone so much as thinks about touching this doorbell.”
The reporter frowned and put her hands on her hips, confusion getting the best of her. “Excuse me, that’s not quite fair! How am I supposed to control what all of them do?”
Draco leaned forward very slowly until he was looking straight into her pale blue eyes. “You had better find a way of convincing them quickly. It would be a shame if something... unpleasant... were to happen to you.”
The small woman swallowed visibly and nodded, eyes wide. Draco smiled at her languidly, relishing the way she flinched. “Good afternoon, my dear.”
The woman nodded again, her head reminding him of a jack-in-the-box’s, and stumbled backward down the steps. Draco turned and went back inside. The last thing he heard before the door shut was the woman shouting in a shaky voice for everyone to clear off.
“Are they gone?”
Draco turned and saw Harry standing in the kitchen doorway, half hidden by the door jam. At first glance he looked calm, but Draco saw his fingers clutching the frame tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” Draco walked over to where his husband stood, taking his whitening hand in his own and caressing his fingers. Harry let out a sigh.
“I know. But... I can’t seem to...”
For one blinding second, Draco was tremendously tempted to go back out the front door and hex everyone still in the yard, starting with that insipid young reporter woman. Promises about doorbells be damned. It was the weary look on Harry’s face that stopped him.
Draco carefully set his wand down on the small table in the hall. “Well, come on then. I guess I’ll have to put you to bed properly.”
Harry glanced up at him, a puzzled look on his face. Draco held out his arms. Harry looked at them for a moment, blinking. Then he frowned at his husband in confusion.
Draco rolled his eyes and let out a mock exasperated sigh. “Harry, love, I know you think the world of me, but even I can’t manage to carry you to bed if you stand way over there.”
Green eyes widened. “You can’t be serious, Draco.”
Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Of course I can be, occasionally.”
“You’ll never be able to lift me!” Harry’s face colored and he looked away. “I’m... a cow. I don’t even know why you...”
The despondent look in his husband’s eyes made Draco want to lock him away from prying eyes forever. He took advantage of Harry’s inattentiveness to move forward and carefully lift his shocked husband into his arms. Harry let out a squeak and flung frenzied arms around his neck. Draco bit back a grin and looked at him sternly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I carried you over the threshold when we moved in. I see no reason why I can’t do the same now.”
A smile stole across Harry’s face. “If I remember correctly, I was the one who carried you.”
“Details.”
Harry clung to Draco’s neck as he maneuvered his way through the house to the bedroom. He protested all the way. “Draco, stop this and put me down. This is crazy, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Hm, nothing hurts yet.”
“I’m too heavy!”
“Yes, you do seem to have gained a bit of weight, love. How did that happen again?”
Harry turned his head into Draco’s shoulder to hide his smile. The tall blonde moved gingerly into the bedroom and gently settled his husband on the bed. He gave Harry a chaste peck on the forehead before dropping to his knees on the floor, leaning on his elbows next to his dark-haired companion. “Oh, now I remember. That was my fault, wasn’t it?”
Harry’s grin widened fractionally. “I seem to remember you playing a small part in what transpired.”
Draco ran a hand over Harry’s cheek, caressing the soft skin with his thumb. “You really should smile more often. I’ve missed it.”
Harry’s expression slipped and sadness rolled into his eyes again. “I can’t seem to find a reason lately.”
Draco slid his hand down to the top of Harry’s burgeoning belly, stroking it gently. “Here’s a reason, right here.”
He lowered his hand a half a foot. “And here. Another.”
Harry looked at him uncertainly. Draco could see he was biting his lip. His eyes looked very large. Draco cupped Harry’s face with his free hand, letting his thumb brush his nose. “Here’s a reason.”
Harry sniffed softly, covering Draco’s hand on his belly with his own. He intertwined their fingers and stared at their hands for a long moment, turning them over. Then he squeezed Draco’s hand and looked up.
“And here,” Harry murmured, ghosting his fingers across Draco’s cheek. Draco closed his eyes at the touch and let out a soft sigh.
“I’m sorry, love. For what I said. And the way I’ve been acting.”
Draco opened his eyes at Harry’s words and shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for, Harry.”
His husband looked at him for a long moment, eyes glittering. He slid a hand through Draco’s hair, pulling him in gently until their lips met. Draco kissed him softly at first, then with more urgency as Harry rose to press against him. He found Harry’s hand and linked their fingers again, relishing the flux of warmth, the pulse he had been missing from the man he loved. The world outside, all those reporters, all the mood swings... everything wisped away silently. Here it was just them. The four of them.
Draco liked the sound of that.
When the kiss ended, and Harry was looking at him dreamily, Draco climbed into bed, turning his husband and wrapping his arms around him. Harry settled back against him with a sigh, hugging one arm close. Draco splayed his fingers over Harry’s belly.
“Are they awake?”
Before Harry could answer, Draco felt a gentle flutter under his fingertips. He gasped, and heard Harry chuckle sleepily. “Not for long, I hope. It’s time for their daddies to sleep.”
Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck, giving him a lingering kiss, and pulled a quilt over them both. “Indeed.”
* * *
When Draco awoke, the sun had slid halfway down under the horizon, casting golden streaks of failing light across the ceiling. Harry was still snoozing away contentedly, a soft smile on his lips. Draco gazed at him for a moment, suddenly fulfilled with the idea of just lying there entwined forever. But a thought nagged at Draco. Something had awoken him.
A sound. A squeal of some sort.
It came again.
His muscles stiffening in wariness, Draco extricated himself as carefully as possible from Harry. He made sure the quilt was covering his husband before slipping out of the bedroom into the dimly lit hallway. He could see the front door standing half open, cool air flowing in softly to touch his bare feet. Anger flared in Draco’s chest, accompanied by a tiny pang of fear. Where had he left his wand, anyway? If one of those people had dared to-
Oh.
Draco stopped in the doorway, realizing at last that the front door was not idly open. Hermione stood in it, a dishcloth thrown over her shoulder, holding a plate in damp hands. Her back was to him, and she was blocking his view of whomever she was speaking to. Draco crept a bit closer until he could see, while still remaining hidden.
Hermione was not alone. Ron was leaning on the other side of the door jam, hands shoved in his pockets, an easy smile on his face. And beyond them, a reporter he had noticed earlier that day. A tiny mouse of a girl, covered in freckles. Couldn’t be more than fifteen. Draco smirked. Persistent, he thought. And clever. She stayed around until everyone else drifted off. But she’ll be just as gone if she gets too ambitious.
He could just make out the conversation.
“...was hoping to talk to either Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Potter,” the girl said in a shy voice. “But I understand they don’t wish to be disturbed.”
Hermione’s response floated pleasantly back to him. “Well, it is quite tiring being pregnant.”
“Really? Even for the husband?” the girl asked, eyes wide. Then she blinked at her own words and blushed furiously. “I mean… the one who isn’t... um... carrying the baby?”
“Oh, yes indeed,” Ron answered smoothly. “I mean, think of all those cravings. And the mood-swings. And the incessant yelling, gods, the yelling.”
Hermione turned, her lips twitching in what was desperately trying to be a frown, and smacked her husband lightly on the arm. “Ronald Weasley. I never yelled!”
“So,” the girl said, smiling openly now, “you two have known them for a long time?”
“Oh, yes,” Ron said. “Been friends since school.”
“At Hogwarts, right? I’m going to be in my sixth year there when the school year begins again.”
“That’s lovely, dear,” Hermione said. Draco could almost see the motherly smile behind her words.
The girl grinned back cheekily and looked down at her meager notepad. “Well, I’d better be going. I don’t want to bother them. And none of this will go into my story, don’t worry. I’m really supposed to be covering the difference in potting techniques of Mandrakes over at the nursery in Diagon Alley. I’m interning at the Daily Prophet this summer. Just about the sort of thing an intern would get. But... I’ve heard all about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and... well, I’ve always wanted to meet them. But it doesn’t really matter.”
Hermione spoke. “I’ll tell them you dropped by tomorrow. Perhaps, if they aren’t too busy, they wouldn’t mind talking to you.”
The girl’s face lit up so much that Draco was thankful Harry wasn’t awake to see it. The little freckly girl would be inside with a cup of tea and a handful of biscuits so fast she’d think she’d been port-keyed. “That’s brilliant! Thank you!”
Halfway down the walk, however, she turned back with a quizzical look on her face. “I was here earlier today when Mr. Malfoy said he would… well, I don’t rightly know because the reporter woman was so frantic, but... when he said he would curse her if anyone rang the bell. He wouldn’t really do that to anyone... would he?”
Hermione and Ron turned to each other, their faces blank. Then they both burst out laughing.
“Sorry to say this, but… don’t get your hopes up,” Ron managed between guffaws.
Draco grinned and padded back to the bedroom, leaving the two of them gasping in the doorway. The evening was looking up.
~*~
Links to all chapters
Author: rurounihime
Pairing: H/D
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mpreg
Summary: Harry's fifth month, and all is not well in the Malfoy/Potter household.
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine. Never were. We just play with their liiiiives...
Dacro Comments: I moved this chapter to my journal for public reading. Original comments can be found here. Both versions are the same.
One of Your Fathers, Part 5: Four Little Reasons
The first thing Draco Malfoy thought was Bloody hell, I’m awake.
The second thing was Falling.
The third was that the floor was really very hard when you fell from the height of the bed.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Draco grumbled, picking himself up painfully. He grabbed the headboard and pulled himself to his feet. Harry had kicked him out of bed once again.
This was beginning to become a nightly ritual for him. He really didn’t see why he had to suffer simply because his husband was in his fifth month of pregnancy and had taken to thrashing about inexplicably in his sleep. Draco straightened his slightly twisted pajama pants and scruffed a frustrated hand through tangled hair. He gazed blackly at Harry’s sleeping form, now completely splayed out across the bed, and muttered to himself.
“Fine, have it your way. I liked the couch better anyway.”
Stumbling a little in weariness, Draco made his way out to the living room and collapsed on the sofa there. He tried to make himself comfortable with the small fluffy pillows, but the truth was that the couch was too short. His feet hung off the edge, there was a crick in his neck already from the odd pillow angle, and the new bruise from his latest tumble ached, making him squirm. Finally he gave up, rose with a sigh, and went into the kitchen.
They didn’t have any snacks. Draco cursed, chucking things out of the pantry onto the floor.
“Salmon-flavoured crackers? Who in this wizarding world eats those?... Oh, yes, I forgot, pregnant Harry eats those... Cream of brussel-sprout soup. Hm, Harry’s again, imagine that... Bloody hell, cocktail olives? Oh, thank you so much, my dear husband, for doing the shopping last week!”
Draco grabbed a glass from the cupboard, picked up his wand from the kitchen table, and tapped the side bad-temperedly, watching water slowly rise out of nowhere to fill it.
This had to stop.
Draco wasn’t getting enough sleep. He couldn’t even nap lately, as Harry was constantly moping around in their bedroom during the day, staring at himself in the mirror. Draco knew for a fact that the mirror only assured his husband cheerfully of how much he glowed and how marvelously paternal he looked - he’d had a long chat with the mirror a month or two ago when it had flippantly told Harry he was beginning to resemble a bloated flobberworm. It was heartening to know mirrors had self-preservation instincts. But still, Harry was downcast much of the time. He mulled about the state of his body far into the night, silently staring up at the ceiling and fidgeting until Draco could barely contain his frustration. Then, the girls’ kicking woke Harry too early in the morning, which made him cross, and that only exacerbated the problem. Draco had taken to going on long walks every afternoon just to get away from Harry’s alternately morose or snappish temper.
And this coming day, he realized with a dull thud in his growling stomach, was going to be no different.
* * *
Draco woke from a fitful sleep to find his head resting on the table, water glass still in hand. He stretched, wincing as his back protested, and then wondered if Harry was up. From the silence of the house, he suspected not.
Maybe he’d ask Hermione to come over and have tea with Harry today. She’d insisted that they allow her to floo over anytime she wanted in order to help Draco and Harry with whatever they needed. At first Draco had been a little perturbed by this arrangement, but that was before he’d woken one morning to find a fully prepared English breakfast on the kitchen table, with Hermione stacking clean dishes in the cupboard. It really was a big help, especially with him too tired, and Harry too dejected, to do much. Perhaps Hermione could share some pregnancy wisdom with his husband.
The clock told him in a bored voice that it was sometime after noon. Draco gaped in disbelief for a long moment, then scowled furiously.
“Blasted table.” He got up and wandered into the living room, rubbing the back of his neck. Why hadn’t Harry woken him? How could he, you imbecile, if he’s still asleep himself? Well, good. He needs it.
Draco spent the next hour scrounging up a makeshift brunch of toast and that damned brussel-sprout soup, and then reading the paper. He got fairly engrossed in a story about the discovery of purple three-humped camels in Egypt and realized only gradually that there were rustling sounds coming from the bedroom. He sat back, chewing his lip. It was quite possible that Harry was feeling better today. He shifted moods faster than a Firebolt flew. But it was also likely that Harry was just as down as ever. Draco closed his eyes and sighed. He hated to see Harry so upset. The mood swings at the beginning of the pregnancy were nothing compared to now. At least then he’d had just as much happy-Harry as sad-Harry. Lately, Draco had begun to forget what it was like to hear his husband laugh.
He stood with a jerk and crossed the kitchen, heading for the bedroom. Whatever it took, today he was going to make Harry smile again. Neither of them could take much more of this.
Draco paused in the doorway to the bedroom. Harry was fully dressed in a baggy shirt and sweat pants, sitting on the end of the bed staring off at the wall. He had his hands wrapped around a piece of clothing, twisting it between his fingers. Looking closer, Draco saw that it was the Chudley Canons shirt he’d given Harry for his last birthday. He walked forward into the room. Harry was tugging at the cloth absently, as if trying to stretch it.
“Draco, why do you stay with me?”
Draco stopped, blinking, feeling that familiar unpleasant sensation creeping into his innards. It was about to happen again, he could tell. The air in the room was intensifying, crackling. He mulled over his next words carefully, and then decided on the truth.
“Because I want to. I love you, Harry.”
But it was no use. He’d apparently said the wrong thing, again. Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t see how anyone could love me when I’m like this. I can’t do anything anymore.”
Draco sighed and walked over to stand behind his husband. He kneaded his shoulders gently. “Harry, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“How can you say that when I look like this?”
“You look beautiful to me.”
This time, the response was not one he’d prepared for. Harry whirled in his seat on the bed, eyes sparking angrily. “Oh, good. You think I look beautiful. Well, that’s just fine for you! You don’t have to watch every piece of clothing you own get more and more useless because you happen to be blowing up like a balloon!”
Draco frowned, hands stilling. “That’s not fair, Harry, and you know it.”
Harry stood with an exasperated sigh and stalked over to the mirror. “Look at me! I look ridiculous. I can’t even wear the clothing I bought three weeks ago anymore. Merlin, everything’s wrong now. I’m Harry Potter. I’m the Boy Who Lived. I’m supposed to be able to - I can barely shift for myself at all now! I don’t know why I bother.”
This was the root of the problem, not the clothing at all, and they both knew it. It had come up before. Draco’s mind was telling him to stay silent, to let it go, but his compounded weariness over the past month was goading him forward. After all, he was a member of this household too, wasn’t he? “Harry, you bother because you care about yourself and the babies.”
Harry was silent, staring at his reflection in the mirror with a slight frown on his face. Draco took a deep breath. Perhaps, at last, he could calm his husband down enough to keep this from blowing up again.
“You love them. And you’ll be a wonderful father to them. The girls need you. And I am so proud of you.” He stepped up behind Harry and settled his hands lightly on the dark-haired man’s wider hips. Harry eyed him in the mirror. “Just hold on for a few more months, Harry. You’re doing great. They’ll be born soon, and then-”
“And then what?” Harry looked strangely frightened. “Then what? I’ll be back to normal? I’ll just... go back to what I was doing before this happened? Go back to being Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. No, I don’t think so, Draco!” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Nothing’s going to be the same. You should know; you didn’t even want these babies in the first place!”
Draco’s mouth fell open in shock. Harry’s words cut deeply, making his chest ache. He stepped away from his husband, saw the way Harry’s eyes widened in realization of what he’d said. But Draco couldn’t cope with it right then. He was too tired, too sore. Too hurt. He turned away and shook himself, trying to keep his emotions from spilling over.
“I’m... going for a walk.”
Harry stirred. “No. You stay. I’ll go.”
Draco looked at him mutely. He felt if he spoke he might start... He shook his head, grimacing. Eyed Harry’s large belly plaintively. They both knew the risks of going outside; they had nothing to do with looking overweight, and everything to do with being Harry Potter.
Harry looked down, blushing. His ears were scarlet, and he purposely refused to meet Draco’s eyes. “I’ll use a concealment charm.”
He walked to the door. Draco slumped down on the bed and raised his hands to his head, running his fingers through his hair. Belatedly he realized that Harry was still standing there.
“Draco, I...”
Draco shook his head because he knew he was about to collapse in weariness. If Harry said one more word, he wouldn’t be able to keep it together. Silence for a moment. Harry’s eyes on him. And then soft steps down the hallway. Draco heard the front door open and shut.
He flung himself back on the bed, taking a deep breath, and then another. What was happening to them? It was true that Draco hadn’t initially planned for the babies, that he had been rather put off by the idea at first. But that had only been for a shocked moment when Harry had first told him. He’d gotten over it quickly. He thought Harry had gotten over it as well. But apparently it was still lurking there, in Harry’s mind.
How in the world could Draco get it through to his distraught husband that this was the happiest event he’d ever experienced? That touching Harry’s belly and hearing the girls’ heartbeats made him want to shout it out to everyone? That he was willing to go to the ends of the earth and back in order to see that Harry remained safe during his pregnancy? That just looking at his husband as he poked through baby rattles and downy blankets was enough to render him speechless with contentment and anticipation?
He knew he had to be patient. That Harry was undergoing mood swings, that he didn’t mean what he said. But it was so hard to hear those words - you didn’t even want these babies in the first place! - from Harry’s lips. Draco curled up on his side, feeling dangerously close to crying again.
Suddenly there was a rattle at the front door. It flew open with a bang and he heard frenzied footsteps in the front hall. Draco pulled himself up from the bed and hurried out of the room, concern brushing away everything else.
There was Harry, red-faced and breathless, leaning against the door.
“Harry, what-”
“Oh Merlin, Draco, they’re all out there! Reporters and… and… I don’t know how they... They’re all just standing there!”
“Harry, wait a minute. What?”
Harry turned haunted eyes to Draco. “They saw me, Draco. They know about it. And now there will be stories... and pictures... and...”
Harry slid to the floor, his face in his hands. Draco swallowed and rushed to his side. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, Draco, I forgot about the charm. Now it’ll be everywhere! Now everyone will see me and... they’ll never leave us alone...”
Draco clutched Harry’s shaking body. He could see the lack of sleep in Harry’s face, the frantic twitch of his shoulders. For the first time he picked out voices from outside. He glanced up over the window sill and saw an ungodly number of media people on their front lawn. He looked at Harry, and it finally dawned on him just how distraught the dark-haired man was, and why. He couldn’t take this, not in the state he was in.
Anger flooded Draco’s head and he clenched his jaw. How dare they pester Harry? So what if he was Harry Potter? Draco should have expected this, what with the two of them being so high-profile in the wizarding world. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Harry be comfortable, and screw it if Draco was going to stand by and let those ridiculous wankers force him to submit to this harassment.
“Harry, I want you to go lie down and get some rest. I’ll handle this.”
Harry allowed himself to be raised from the floor and led back into the bedroom. Draco saw him safely onto the bed, and then stalked out of the room, grabbing his wand.
He was a Malfoy. Regardless of what else was going on, he knew the media would remember that little fact. He gritted his teeth and yanked open the front door.
The noise on the front lawn swelled and several reporters clamoured forward. He heard one of them off to the right talking brusquely to a Quick Quotes Quill.
“...just stepped out of the house. Recent rumors of Harry Potter’s pregnancy are apparently very true, judging by the size of his stomach...”
A young woman stepped up in front of him and held out her hand. “Hullo, hullo, I’m Vina Virabella from the Daily Prophet, how are you, I’d like to ask you a few quick-”
Draco held up a single finger, stopping her in mid-sentence. She looked up and for the first time seemed to realize who she was talking to. Her face went a few shades paler. He fixed her with a glower that was apparently fairly distressing because she backed up a step. There were a few gasps and the crowd behind her grew quiet. He could hear subdued whispers, see looks of apprehension on several faces.
The media still knew enough to worry when Draco Malfoy was angry.
Well. The sods were smarter than they looked.
Draco narrowed his eyes at the people in front of him. They looked back uneasily, cringing under his withering stare.
“I have three answers for you.”
“But I haven’t even asked any ques-”
The woman reporter halted abruptly as Draco turned a baleful gaze on her. After a moment in which the petite woman grew very fidgety, Draco continued in a low icy voice.
“Three answers. Yes, Harry Potter is pregnant. Yes, I, Draco Malfoy, am the father. And yes,” he glared murderously at the Prophet reporter heading the impromptu gathering of media people, “I will personally curse you with Unforgivables you have never even dreamt of if anyone so much as thinks about touching this doorbell.”
The reporter frowned and put her hands on her hips, confusion getting the best of her. “Excuse me, that’s not quite fair! How am I supposed to control what all of them do?”
Draco leaned forward very slowly until he was looking straight into her pale blue eyes. “You had better find a way of convincing them quickly. It would be a shame if something... unpleasant... were to happen to you.”
The small woman swallowed visibly and nodded, eyes wide. Draco smiled at her languidly, relishing the way she flinched. “Good afternoon, my dear.”
The woman nodded again, her head reminding him of a jack-in-the-box’s, and stumbled backward down the steps. Draco turned and went back inside. The last thing he heard before the door shut was the woman shouting in a shaky voice for everyone to clear off.
“Are they gone?”
Draco turned and saw Harry standing in the kitchen doorway, half hidden by the door jam. At first glance he looked calm, but Draco saw his fingers clutching the frame tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” Draco walked over to where his husband stood, taking his whitening hand in his own and caressing his fingers. Harry let out a sigh.
“I know. But... I can’t seem to...”
For one blinding second, Draco was tremendously tempted to go back out the front door and hex everyone still in the yard, starting with that insipid young reporter woman. Promises about doorbells be damned. It was the weary look on Harry’s face that stopped him.
Draco carefully set his wand down on the small table in the hall. “Well, come on then. I guess I’ll have to put you to bed properly.”
Harry glanced up at him, a puzzled look on his face. Draco held out his arms. Harry looked at them for a moment, blinking. Then he frowned at his husband in confusion.
Draco rolled his eyes and let out a mock exasperated sigh. “Harry, love, I know you think the world of me, but even I can’t manage to carry you to bed if you stand way over there.”
Green eyes widened. “You can’t be serious, Draco.”
Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Of course I can be, occasionally.”
“You’ll never be able to lift me!” Harry’s face colored and he looked away. “I’m... a cow. I don’t even know why you...”
The despondent look in his husband’s eyes made Draco want to lock him away from prying eyes forever. He took advantage of Harry’s inattentiveness to move forward and carefully lift his shocked husband into his arms. Harry let out a squeak and flung frenzied arms around his neck. Draco bit back a grin and looked at him sternly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I carried you over the threshold when we moved in. I see no reason why I can’t do the same now.”
A smile stole across Harry’s face. “If I remember correctly, I was the one who carried you.”
“Details.”
Harry clung to Draco’s neck as he maneuvered his way through the house to the bedroom. He protested all the way. “Draco, stop this and put me down. This is crazy, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Hm, nothing hurts yet.”
“I’m too heavy!”
“Yes, you do seem to have gained a bit of weight, love. How did that happen again?”
Harry turned his head into Draco’s shoulder to hide his smile. The tall blonde moved gingerly into the bedroom and gently settled his husband on the bed. He gave Harry a chaste peck on the forehead before dropping to his knees on the floor, leaning on his elbows next to his dark-haired companion. “Oh, now I remember. That was my fault, wasn’t it?”
Harry’s grin widened fractionally. “I seem to remember you playing a small part in what transpired.”
Draco ran a hand over Harry’s cheek, caressing the soft skin with his thumb. “You really should smile more often. I’ve missed it.”
Harry’s expression slipped and sadness rolled into his eyes again. “I can’t seem to find a reason lately.”
Draco slid his hand down to the top of Harry’s burgeoning belly, stroking it gently. “Here’s a reason, right here.”
He lowered his hand a half a foot. “And here. Another.”
Harry looked at him uncertainly. Draco could see he was biting his lip. His eyes looked very large. Draco cupped Harry’s face with his free hand, letting his thumb brush his nose. “Here’s a reason.”
Harry sniffed softly, covering Draco’s hand on his belly with his own. He intertwined their fingers and stared at their hands for a long moment, turning them over. Then he squeezed Draco’s hand and looked up.
“And here,” Harry murmured, ghosting his fingers across Draco’s cheek. Draco closed his eyes at the touch and let out a soft sigh.
“I’m sorry, love. For what I said. And the way I’ve been acting.”
Draco opened his eyes at Harry’s words and shook his head. “Nothing to apologize for, Harry.”
His husband looked at him for a long moment, eyes glittering. He slid a hand through Draco’s hair, pulling him in gently until their lips met. Draco kissed him softly at first, then with more urgency as Harry rose to press against him. He found Harry’s hand and linked their fingers again, relishing the flux of warmth, the pulse he had been missing from the man he loved. The world outside, all those reporters, all the mood swings... everything wisped away silently. Here it was just them. The four of them.
Draco liked the sound of that.
When the kiss ended, and Harry was looking at him dreamily, Draco climbed into bed, turning his husband and wrapping his arms around him. Harry settled back against him with a sigh, hugging one arm close. Draco splayed his fingers over Harry’s belly.
“Are they awake?”
Before Harry could answer, Draco felt a gentle flutter under his fingertips. He gasped, and heard Harry chuckle sleepily. “Not for long, I hope. It’s time for their daddies to sleep.”
Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck, giving him a lingering kiss, and pulled a quilt over them both. “Indeed.”
* * *
When Draco awoke, the sun had slid halfway down under the horizon, casting golden streaks of failing light across the ceiling. Harry was still snoozing away contentedly, a soft smile on his lips. Draco gazed at him for a moment, suddenly fulfilled with the idea of just lying there entwined forever. But a thought nagged at Draco. Something had awoken him.
A sound. A squeal of some sort.
It came again.
His muscles stiffening in wariness, Draco extricated himself as carefully as possible from Harry. He made sure the quilt was covering his husband before slipping out of the bedroom into the dimly lit hallway. He could see the front door standing half open, cool air flowing in softly to touch his bare feet. Anger flared in Draco’s chest, accompanied by a tiny pang of fear. Where had he left his wand, anyway? If one of those people had dared to-
Oh.
Draco stopped in the doorway, realizing at last that the front door was not idly open. Hermione stood in it, a dishcloth thrown over her shoulder, holding a plate in damp hands. Her back was to him, and she was blocking his view of whomever she was speaking to. Draco crept a bit closer until he could see, while still remaining hidden.
Hermione was not alone. Ron was leaning on the other side of the door jam, hands shoved in his pockets, an easy smile on his face. And beyond them, a reporter he had noticed earlier that day. A tiny mouse of a girl, covered in freckles. Couldn’t be more than fifteen. Draco smirked. Persistent, he thought. And clever. She stayed around until everyone else drifted off. But she’ll be just as gone if she gets too ambitious.
He could just make out the conversation.
“...was hoping to talk to either Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Potter,” the girl said in a shy voice. “But I understand they don’t wish to be disturbed.”
Hermione’s response floated pleasantly back to him. “Well, it is quite tiring being pregnant.”
“Really? Even for the husband?” the girl asked, eyes wide. Then she blinked at her own words and blushed furiously. “I mean… the one who isn’t... um... carrying the baby?”
“Oh, yes indeed,” Ron answered smoothly. “I mean, think of all those cravings. And the mood-swings. And the incessant yelling, gods, the yelling.”
Hermione turned, her lips twitching in what was desperately trying to be a frown, and smacked her husband lightly on the arm. “Ronald Weasley. I never yelled!”
“So,” the girl said, smiling openly now, “you two have known them for a long time?”
“Oh, yes,” Ron said. “Been friends since school.”
“At Hogwarts, right? I’m going to be in my sixth year there when the school year begins again.”
“That’s lovely, dear,” Hermione said. Draco could almost see the motherly smile behind her words.
The girl grinned back cheekily and looked down at her meager notepad. “Well, I’d better be going. I don’t want to bother them. And none of this will go into my story, don’t worry. I’m really supposed to be covering the difference in potting techniques of Mandrakes over at the nursery in Diagon Alley. I’m interning at the Daily Prophet this summer. Just about the sort of thing an intern would get. But... I’ve heard all about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and... well, I’ve always wanted to meet them. But it doesn’t really matter.”
Hermione spoke. “I’ll tell them you dropped by tomorrow. Perhaps, if they aren’t too busy, they wouldn’t mind talking to you.”
The girl’s face lit up so much that Draco was thankful Harry wasn’t awake to see it. The little freckly girl would be inside with a cup of tea and a handful of biscuits so fast she’d think she’d been port-keyed. “That’s brilliant! Thank you!”
Halfway down the walk, however, she turned back with a quizzical look on her face. “I was here earlier today when Mr. Malfoy said he would… well, I don’t rightly know because the reporter woman was so frantic, but... when he said he would curse her if anyone rang the bell. He wouldn’t really do that to anyone... would he?”
Hermione and Ron turned to each other, their faces blank. Then they both burst out laughing.
“Sorry to say this, but… don’t get your hopes up,” Ron managed between guffaws.
Draco grinned and padded back to the bedroom, leaving the two of them gasping in the doorway. The evening was looking up.
~*~
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