Chapter 9
Title: Labour of Love
Part 9 of: One of Your Fathers
Author: JadaRene
Betas: dacro, saladbats, lusiology
Disclaimer: Draco, Hermione, Harry Potter, Ginny, too, and I ain’t got her, JK Rowling owns the whole lot, Warner Bros makes cash; I do not. No infringement is intended, so please don’t anyone be offended, I just wanted to make Harry say “Do me!” So show some mercy and please don’t sue me!
The first order of business had been disposing of the hideous furnishings left behind by the previous owner. The sale of the estate had passed quickly, given the combined factors of Malfoy will and the former owners’ need to get out of the mortgage as soon as possible. Harry and Draco really didn’t care where the furnishings went so long as they did go, so Harry enlisted Hermione’s help and she arranged for a nearby charity shop to haul everything away. Draco was glad to see it go, especially since it meant they could begin populating the space with their own furniture. The nursery was painted lilac and Harry, who had not had a hint of morning sickness for months, could not pass the room while the smell of paint lingered without feeling the urge to heave. This caused Draco to go into the nursery several days in a row and cast repeated drying spells amid strings of curse words describing servants’ work. More than once he tried to slip the words “house elf” into a conversation with Harry, only to have his husband shriek that it was horrible and shameful and that Hermione would make them wear buttons.
Whatever that meant.
He kept thinking they should really hire a nanny; it was getting awfully close to the twins’ due date and with the already harrowing lack of sleep, Draco didn’t really see how they could be competent parents without professional help.
All kinds of professional help.
And they were running late for their appointment with the Mediwizard. Draco sighed and bit back the urge to hurry Harry along; he knew that would only induce arguments and hurt looks and hours upon hours of apologetic gift-giving on his part. Instead he called up the staircase, “Harry, love, ready?”
He couldn’t quite understand the muffled reply from upstairs, but it sounded remarkably similar to, “I’m not going!”
Draco’s jaw tensed and he forced a neutral face on before mounting the stairs.
“Harry?”
“I said I’m not going,” Harry said, standing in the middle of their bedroom without any trousers on.
“Ah, yes, I thought that’s what you’d said,” Draco said, summoning all of his patience to the foreground. “Why…exactly, if I may be so bold?”
“Look at me!” Harry fairly shouted, as though this was expected to pass for a suitable explanation.
“You look… quite charming,” Draco said. “In fact, I rather prefer you without trousers, however the healers…”
“And that’s why I’m not going!” Harry retorted in near hysterics.
“Oh, come along,” Draco said, as his patience rapidly unraveled. “We’ll find you some trousers and then--”
“That’s the problem!” Harry said, his temper boiling over. “I haven’t got any that fit any more! None! Not one pair!”
“Don’t be--” Draco was about to say ‘ridiculous’ but the venomous look from Harry stopped that word on his tongue. Draco tried again. “Surely there must be--”
“There isn’t!” Harry snapped. “Not. One. Damn. Thing!”
“All right, now, don’t swear, the girls can hear you,” Draco said, knowing only after he’d said it that it was entirely the wrong thing to say.
“GET OUT!” Harry shouted at him, picking up a discarded pair of trousers and flinging them at Draco.
The garment caught the air, inflated, and fell harmlessly to the floor halfway between the two men. Draco fought the urge to laugh as hard as he possibly could by inhaling sharply through his nose. It wasn’t funny; he knew it wasn’t funny. At least to Harry. To Harry, this was the farthest thing from funny that possibly anything had ever been.
“Robes,” he said, clinging to his new brilliant plan as a possible salvation from the laughter.
“What?”
“Robes. You’ll wear dress robes, and no one will know you’re not wearing trousers,” Draco said, pleased at having solved the problem.
“The healer will know,” Harry said stubbornly.
“No, because they make you undress and wear that idiotic gown before they come in anyway. So no one will know,” Draco asserted. “Except for me. And as previously discussed, I find you quite charming without trousers.”
Harry allowed a small smile to momentarily cross his features and Draco seized that moment to build upon. He hastily pulled Harry’s dress robes from the wardrobe and began helping him into them, cooing all the while about how adorable Harry was, how very much he loved him, and how very large of a chocolate and strawberry sundae Harry would receive at that lovely ice cream shop around the corner from St. Mungo’s. Thankfully, they were able to keep their appointment with the Mediwizard.
+++
Harry didn’t say another word until he was attired in the hideous hospital gown and sitting on the cold table awaiting the healer. Then he looked at Draco and said, “My sundae better have loads of whipped cream.”
“Of course, love,” Draco smiled pleasantly, “and a cherry on top.”
The door opened and the healer came in. “Well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, how are we today?”
Neither of them answered the man, which caused him to chuckle. “That good, eh? Well, don’t you worry. By the time the last month rolls around, most couples are ready for the babies to be born. I’m sure you’re both getting anxious for the big day.”
“Yes,” Harry sighed, as if the healer had relieved a great weight by guessing his biggest fear. Draco watched Harry carefully. So much had happened over the last year, so many changes and adjustments for them both. No wonder they both had shadows beneath their eyes.
“Well, let’s have a look then, if you’ll just lie back…”
At this point the exam was so routine, Draco suspected he could have performed it himself. The healer pronounced them healthy as usual and helped Harry sit up again.
“Now, we have all the arrangements made for your birth by Cesarean,” the healer said, making a few notes on his chart. “So a week from Wednesday, simply come down here, tell the nurse at the desk to pull up your file, and everything will be handled expeditiously.”
Draco and Harry exchanged relieved glances.
“All right, then, ta ta,” the healer said, showing himself out.
“Well, excellent,” Draco said. “Put on your trousers and let’s go get that ice cream!”
Harry’s face fell.
“What’s the matter?” Draco asked quickly.
Harry looked at Draco and burst into tears, burying his face in his hands. “I hate you!”
“What? Why?” Draco demanded.
Harry uncovered his face and wailed, “I HATE TROUSERS!”
+++
Harry was on his second sundae when he ordered a third one to go. Draco looked on in alarm as his spouse devoured the last drop of chocolate sauce and licked the spoon.
He licked the spoon!
And for Draco, who had not had sex in several long, agonizing weeks, that act was torture beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” he said tightly. He took Harry’s hand and led him out of the shop, his left arm weighted down by the third sundae, and allowed Harry to set the pace. They wandered along the streets, not really conversing, just being together. Now that they had their appointment, and they could plan their lives around the twins’ birth date, the world seemed a bit different. Draco looked at Harry with a profound understanding that this was the last time they would have together where it would solely be the two of them. Impulsively, he pulled Harry’s fingers to his lips for a quick kiss.
“I love you,” he said quietly. This simple honesty brought a smile to Harry’s mouth and a shine to his eyes. He put his arms around Draco’s neck and hugged him close. Draco had to lean around Harry’s enormous belly to return the gesture, but it was worth it. They went back to their evening stroll, with Harry pausing to rest or window shop every few minutes.
Given Harry’s current state of waddle, Draco guessed it was going to be a long walk to the secluded spot where they could apparate. Harry, despite his enormity, didn’t seem to care at the moment. He was busy pointing out potentially useful items in store windows and making happy noises at passing babies in prams. Thank goodness there were no reporters around to see this, Draco thought with a snort. And what with the other eccentric wealthy couples in the area, no one really looked too closely at the handsome, well-dressed blond and his fat male companion.
It was somewhere around Harry’s fifteenth rest that Draco noticed he didn’t look quite right. They turned the corner and found the spot with the bank of trees that was helpful for public apparition.
“Here,” Draco said, wrapping his arms around Harry. They Apparated together, appearing in the driveway of Pink Knowle.
“Home, at last,” Draco said when they turned up the drive to their manor. “What do you want to do tonight, love? Reading? Maybe games in the Moroccan Room?”
He glanced back at Harry, who seemed to be breathing a bit heavier. He really didn’t look very good at all; Draco began to worry.
“Do you want to rest more?” he asked. Harry nodded and collapsed on a nearby garden bench. Draco studied him carefully. “Feeling all right?”
Harry shook his head. “Nnh.”
Hm, lack of actual vocabulary, that couldn’t be a good sign. “What’s wrong?”
“Dunno…” Harry said. “Sharp pain…”
He gritted his teeth and leaned over, clutching his stomach.
“Too much ice cream,” Draco said knowingly.
“Now…” Harry panted, “is not the time…for self-righteousness.”
“Sorry,” Draco said, not really sounding all that sorry.
“Now… is the time…for compassion!”
“Sorry,” Draco said, this time injecting the word with sympathy.
“Nnh,” Harry said again. A couple of deep breaths later, he sat up and said, “Okay. I feel a little better. Let’s go up to the house.”
“If you’re sure,” Draco said, offering his arm. He supported Harry all the way up the long drive and helped him into the living room. Harry promptly laid down on the sofa and went back to making that disturbing noise.
Draco took the ice cream into the kitchen and stuffed it, bag and all, into the freezer. Harry’s behavior was unnerving him, and as unlikely as not allowing Harry to eat the second sundae actually was, Draco cursed himself silently for not having done so. He took the stomach potion from the cupboard and brought it into the living room.
“Here,” he said, holding out the bottle. He bit his tongue against his thoughts on Harry’s overindulgence.
“I’ll never eat ice cream again,” Harry moaned, accepting the bottle. He took a swig and handed it back to Draco, who capped it again and set it on the coffee table.
He sat down on the arm of the couch and laid his hand on Harry’s forehead. He felt all right, but he was beginning to sweat, and in all the symptoms of an upset stomach, Draco could not remember sweating as being one of them.
“Nnh,” Harry said again, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked a little pale, too, Draco thought. Perhaps there’d been something funny in that sundae.
“Harry,” Draco said. “Harry! Look at me!”
Harry forced himself to open his eyes at Draco.
“That sundae… did it… seem all right? Didn’t taste odd or anything?”
“Oooh,” Harry moaned, shutting his eyes again. “I hate food. No more food!”
“Yes, of course,” Draco said, “but still… Harry… maybe we should take you back to St. Mungo’s.”
“Nnh,” Harry said, opening his eyes long enough to give Draco a murderous look. “Not moving.”
“Well… I… don’t… fine!” Draco said in exasperation. He stalked over to the fireplace and threw in a pinch of Floo powder from the urn on the mantle. He stepped into the flames and said clearly, “Granger-Weasley.”
“Draco?” Hermione sounded surprised when he stumbled through their fire grate interrupting their family dinner.
“Come quick. I think Harry needs your help,” he said, reaching out his hand for her. Hermione handed Jacob’s bowl of baby food over to Ron and shook her head at him.
“Just go,” Ron grunted, already spooning up another bite of baby cereal to his son.
“Well, okay, just let me grab a jacket or something,” Hermione said. She reached out and snatched the green knitted jumper off the nearby chair, then followed Draco into the fireplace.
“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, when she saw him. Harry was curled in a ball on his side, laying on the couch, mewling piteously. Hermione knelt beside him and brushed the dark hair from his pale face. “What’s wrong?”
Harry just shook his head. Hermione eyeballed Harry appraisingly. She chewed her lip thoughtfully as Harry opened his eyes.
“Feeling a little better now?” she asked.
“Yeah, but…” Harry said awkwardly.
“It comes and goes?” she guessed.
“Nnh,” Harry said again as the pain crept up on him.
Hermione smiled sympathetically and patted Harry’s arm. To Draco she said, “Have you got a watch? Or… clock?”
Draco hastily slid the Swiss watch from his wrist and handed it to her.
“All right, Harry,” Hermione said soothingly. “Tell me when the pain starts to subside, okay? It’s going to be all right.”
Draco considered her doubtfully and asked, “This isn’t some half-arsed Muggle remedy, is it?”
“No, Draco,” Hermione replied, “I assure you, it’s fully arsed.”
“Granger, that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, you know!”
“Nnh…” Harry moaned. A moment later he sighed. “I think it’s getting better.”
“What the devil…” Draco muttered.
“Oh, honestly,” Hermione said. “Isn’t it obvious? Harry’s in labour!”
“What?!” Draco virtually shouted in distress.
“No!” Harry moaned.
“He can’t be!”
“I can’t be!” Harry echoed.
“Well, I think you are,” Hermione said, her eye on the watch as Harry’s face contorted once more in pain and he made the curious guttural noise he’d been making since she’d arrived.
“He can’t be!” Draco said again with no small amount of alarm in his voice. “Our Cesarean appointment is a week from Wednesday!”
“First rule of babies,” Hermione said seriously, “they don’t give a hoot about your schedule. Come on, we’d better get you to St. Mungo’s. Draco, you get his bag.”
“His…bag?” Draco repeated stupidly.
“His bag. His bag!” Hermione said impatiently. “You know, the one with the clothes he’s taking to the hospital, little outfits for the babies to wear home, that bag.”
“Oh, that bag,” Draco said theatrically. “Well, I’ve got news for you, we haven’t unpacked that bloody bag yet! It’s still somewhere in one of these dreadful moving boxes!”
“Why on earth didn’t you unpack it yet?”
“BECAUSE OUR APPOINTMENT IS A WEEK FROM WEDNESDAY!” Draco shouted, waving his hands wildly.
“Stop shouting, Draco!” Harry said, displaying a calm face between his storms of pain. “Just… go upstairs, grab the first bag you find, and start shoving things in it. Just… just make sure me and the babies have some clothes and the rest… the rest, we’ll figure out later.”
“Right.”
They all stared at one another for a moment, then Hermione used her hands to shoo Draco and reminded him harshly, “Draco, the bag?”
“Right!” This time he dashed from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. He wrenched open the wardrobe door, grabbed the nearest suitcase, and tossed it onto the bed. He frantically threw some of Harry’s clothes into it, haphazardly mixing in paternity and regular items, then scooped up the bag and ran to the nursery with it. Inside the soothing lilac room, he yanked open dresser drawers, maniacally mixing together outfits, booties, blankies, and pacifiers. He zipped the bag shut and thundered back downstairs in a manner most unbefitting of a Malfoy.
He was rather proud of himself.
“All right, let’s go.”
“Nnh,” Harry said, “can’t move.”
“But you have to--”
“CAN’T MOVE!”
“Okay, well, then…” Draco cast a desperate look at Hermione, who helpfully shrugged.
“There’s a spell, remember? We could give him girl parts and he could push the babies out,” she offered.
“Hell, no!” Harry shouted in alarm. “Let’s go to the hospital. Yeah. That sounds lovely.”
He pointed at the bag.
“There’d better be clothes in that,” Harry grumbled, clutching his enormous abdomen.
“There are,” Draco said, patting the suitcase confidently.
“Floo,” Hermione ordered.
The three of them swirled their way to St. Mungo’s where Draco ran to the reception desk demanding to see their Mediwizard. They were referred to the Labour and Delivery Suite where Draco made the same demand of the next medical professional he laid eyes on. This one was a perky assistant healer named Jenny.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said upon hearing the Mediwizard’s name, “but he’s already gone home for the day.”
“Gone home?! My husband is in labour!” Draco said urgently. “His body is trying to… He’s in labour, for Merlin’s sake!”
“Well, don’t worry,” Jenny said. “I’m sure he’ll get here in time, and if not, well, there’s always this spell where we could give him female anatomy--”
“NO!” Draco and Harry shouted together.
“Okay, okay,” Jenny said. “Let’s just get you into a room and I’ll find out who the Mediwizard on call is.”
“Good plan,” Draco nodded. He stood holding the bag, feeling completely out of sorts as he ran a hand through his blond hair and considered tearing it out.
Jenny returned with a wheelchair and helped Harry into it. “We’ve got a nice corner room for you, and the on call wizard is on his way. It’s family only in the delivery room, so…”
“I’ll wait here,” Hermione said. She smiled encouragingly at the pair of them, and waited till they were out of sight to chew her lip worriedly.
Draco followed Jenny as she wheeled Harry down the hall. “I saw on the schedule you were due in for a C-section next week.”
“Yes,” Draco said.
“I guess the babies didn’t want to wait,” she giggled.
Harry groaned and gave him a dirty look.
“Here we are,” she said, escorting them into the corner room. Draco stowed the bag near the window and helped Jenny get Harry into bed. She helped him out of his clothes, and Draco slipped the hospital gown over Harry’s body, watching helplessly as Harry’s face twisted in pain once more.
“Hello, hello!” a cheery voice boomed, startling them all. Draco turned to see a large man with a bushy black mustache enter the room. “I’m Healer Plath. How is the patient doing?”
Harry moaned again, and hissed something in Parseltongue that no one in the room understood, but that Draco suspected to be curse words.
“Are you okay?” Draco whispered to Harry, feeling useless in the face of his pain.
Harry shook his head, unable to talk for the intense horror ripping through his body. It was like being in a long, dark tunnel, with no light and no way out, only pain. Pain eating him alive.
Draco looked down at Harry’s tortured expression wishing there was something he could do; it didn’t seem right that people were going on about there business when the only man he’d ever really loved was suffering so much.
“So... I see you were on the schedule for a Cesarean next week,” the healer said in his overly loud voice. “Are you certain that’s what you want? Because there is a spell where we could give your partner female--”
“NO!” Harry and Draco said together again.
“Why do people keep asking that?” Draco demanded exasperatedly.
“Cesarean it is, then,” the healer said. He rattled off a list of things to Jenny and she scampered from the room. When she returned, she had several other professionals in tow and a cart full of surgical equipment.
The nearest assistant began hustling Draco to put hospital garb on over his own clothes. When the Mediwizard was satisfied that everyone was attired appropriately, and scrubbed up, he and Jenny put the surgical screen up, blocking Harry’s view of his own stomach. Plath was talking, instructing them on what he was going to do as he took his wand and held it up to Harry’s abdomen, applying the first of several anesthetic spells.
At last the knot of pain that had held Harry hostage began to ease. He could make out the room around him, and he could see Draco again. He knew somehow that Draco had never really left him, although for Harry, enduring the contractions was like being held underwater, so that he couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t see. He reached for Draco.
Draco took Harry’s hand, unsure where to look, and too late, he saw blood surge out of Harry as the mediwizard used his wand to make the incision. Draco tried to breathe, tried to look away for fear that he was going to be sick, but found that he was incapable of doing either. A moment later, the healer was pulling something small and squirmy out of Harry’s belly, and Draco found his breath again.
The baby cried, and Draco thought his heart might stop then and there. Tears formed in his eyes as he squeezed Harry’s hand tightly.
“How is she?” Harry asked frantically. “How is she?”
“She’s... perfect,” Draco whispered through his tears. The healer cut the umbilical cord, and handed the baby to Jenny, who promptly whisked the infant away for cleaning.
Plath’s hands dove back inside Harry’s body and came up once more with a wriggling mass of life. The second baby cried, and this time Draco laughed.
“What? What?” Harry asked, and Draco just shook his head. He looked down at Harry in wonder.
“She’s beautiful, too,” he murmured. “Just like you.”
He leaned down and hugged Harry tightly, his heart full to bursting as he listened to his daughters cry.
The mediwizard began cleaning Harry up and preparing him to be magically stitched up. Jenny returned and handed one baby girl each to Harry and to Draco.
Draco shook his head, still in awe at the experience.
“What are you thinking?” Harry asked.
“That I’ve gone mad,” Draco said.
“Why is that?”
“Because,” he sighed, “they were only just born, and already I can’t imagine my life without them.”
~*~
Link to all chapters
*Author's note: There will be one more chapter after this, and it will be written by dacro, since it was her fic to begin with. :)
*Dacro's note - Please leave comments for this chapter on Jada's original post.
Part 9 of: One of Your Fathers
Author: JadaRene
Betas: dacro, saladbats, lusiology
Disclaimer: Draco, Hermione, Harry Potter, Ginny, too, and I ain’t got her, JK Rowling owns the whole lot, Warner Bros makes cash; I do not. No infringement is intended, so please don’t anyone be offended, I just wanted to make Harry say “Do me!” So show some mercy and please don’t sue me!
The first order of business had been disposing of the hideous furnishings left behind by the previous owner. The sale of the estate had passed quickly, given the combined factors of Malfoy will and the former owners’ need to get out of the mortgage as soon as possible. Harry and Draco really didn’t care where the furnishings went so long as they did go, so Harry enlisted Hermione’s help and she arranged for a nearby charity shop to haul everything away. Draco was glad to see it go, especially since it meant they could begin populating the space with their own furniture. The nursery was painted lilac and Harry, who had not had a hint of morning sickness for months, could not pass the room while the smell of paint lingered without feeling the urge to heave. This caused Draco to go into the nursery several days in a row and cast repeated drying spells amid strings of curse words describing servants’ work. More than once he tried to slip the words “house elf” into a conversation with Harry, only to have his husband shriek that it was horrible and shameful and that Hermione would make them wear buttons.
Whatever that meant.
He kept thinking they should really hire a nanny; it was getting awfully close to the twins’ due date and with the already harrowing lack of sleep, Draco didn’t really see how they could be competent parents without professional help.
All kinds of professional help.
And they were running late for their appointment with the Mediwizard. Draco sighed and bit back the urge to hurry Harry along; he knew that would only induce arguments and hurt looks and hours upon hours of apologetic gift-giving on his part. Instead he called up the staircase, “Harry, love, ready?”
He couldn’t quite understand the muffled reply from upstairs, but it sounded remarkably similar to, “I’m not going!”
Draco’s jaw tensed and he forced a neutral face on before mounting the stairs.
“Harry?”
“I said I’m not going,” Harry said, standing in the middle of their bedroom without any trousers on.
“Ah, yes, I thought that’s what you’d said,” Draco said, summoning all of his patience to the foreground. “Why…exactly, if I may be so bold?”
“Look at me!” Harry fairly shouted, as though this was expected to pass for a suitable explanation.
“You look… quite charming,” Draco said. “In fact, I rather prefer you without trousers, however the healers…”
“And that’s why I’m not going!” Harry retorted in near hysterics.
“Oh, come along,” Draco said, as his patience rapidly unraveled. “We’ll find you some trousers and then--”
“That’s the problem!” Harry said, his temper boiling over. “I haven’t got any that fit any more! None! Not one pair!”
“Don’t be--” Draco was about to say ‘ridiculous’ but the venomous look from Harry stopped that word on his tongue. Draco tried again. “Surely there must be--”
“There isn’t!” Harry snapped. “Not. One. Damn. Thing!”
“All right, now, don’t swear, the girls can hear you,” Draco said, knowing only after he’d said it that it was entirely the wrong thing to say.
“GET OUT!” Harry shouted at him, picking up a discarded pair of trousers and flinging them at Draco.
The garment caught the air, inflated, and fell harmlessly to the floor halfway between the two men. Draco fought the urge to laugh as hard as he possibly could by inhaling sharply through his nose. It wasn’t funny; he knew it wasn’t funny. At least to Harry. To Harry, this was the farthest thing from funny that possibly anything had ever been.
“Robes,” he said, clinging to his new brilliant plan as a possible salvation from the laughter.
“What?”
“Robes. You’ll wear dress robes, and no one will know you’re not wearing trousers,” Draco said, pleased at having solved the problem.
“The healer will know,” Harry said stubbornly.
“No, because they make you undress and wear that idiotic gown before they come in anyway. So no one will know,” Draco asserted. “Except for me. And as previously discussed, I find you quite charming without trousers.”
Harry allowed a small smile to momentarily cross his features and Draco seized that moment to build upon. He hastily pulled Harry’s dress robes from the wardrobe and began helping him into them, cooing all the while about how adorable Harry was, how very much he loved him, and how very large of a chocolate and strawberry sundae Harry would receive at that lovely ice cream shop around the corner from St. Mungo’s. Thankfully, they were able to keep their appointment with the Mediwizard.
+++
Harry didn’t say another word until he was attired in the hideous hospital gown and sitting on the cold table awaiting the healer. Then he looked at Draco and said, “My sundae better have loads of whipped cream.”
“Of course, love,” Draco smiled pleasantly, “and a cherry on top.”
The door opened and the healer came in. “Well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, how are we today?”
Neither of them answered the man, which caused him to chuckle. “That good, eh? Well, don’t you worry. By the time the last month rolls around, most couples are ready for the babies to be born. I’m sure you’re both getting anxious for the big day.”
“Yes,” Harry sighed, as if the healer had relieved a great weight by guessing his biggest fear. Draco watched Harry carefully. So much had happened over the last year, so many changes and adjustments for them both. No wonder they both had shadows beneath their eyes.
“Well, let’s have a look then, if you’ll just lie back…”
At this point the exam was so routine, Draco suspected he could have performed it himself. The healer pronounced them healthy as usual and helped Harry sit up again.
“Now, we have all the arrangements made for your birth by Cesarean,” the healer said, making a few notes on his chart. “So a week from Wednesday, simply come down here, tell the nurse at the desk to pull up your file, and everything will be handled expeditiously.”
Draco and Harry exchanged relieved glances.
“All right, then, ta ta,” the healer said, showing himself out.
“Well, excellent,” Draco said. “Put on your trousers and let’s go get that ice cream!”
Harry’s face fell.
“What’s the matter?” Draco asked quickly.
Harry looked at Draco and burst into tears, burying his face in his hands. “I hate you!”
“What? Why?” Draco demanded.
Harry uncovered his face and wailed, “I HATE TROUSERS!”
+++
Harry was on his second sundae when he ordered a third one to go. Draco looked on in alarm as his spouse devoured the last drop of chocolate sauce and licked the spoon.
He licked the spoon!
And for Draco, who had not had sex in several long, agonizing weeks, that act was torture beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” he said tightly. He took Harry’s hand and led him out of the shop, his left arm weighted down by the third sundae, and allowed Harry to set the pace. They wandered along the streets, not really conversing, just being together. Now that they had their appointment, and they could plan their lives around the twins’ birth date, the world seemed a bit different. Draco looked at Harry with a profound understanding that this was the last time they would have together where it would solely be the two of them. Impulsively, he pulled Harry’s fingers to his lips for a quick kiss.
“I love you,” he said quietly. This simple honesty brought a smile to Harry’s mouth and a shine to his eyes. He put his arms around Draco’s neck and hugged him close. Draco had to lean around Harry’s enormous belly to return the gesture, but it was worth it. They went back to their evening stroll, with Harry pausing to rest or window shop every few minutes.
Given Harry’s current state of waddle, Draco guessed it was going to be a long walk to the secluded spot where they could apparate. Harry, despite his enormity, didn’t seem to care at the moment. He was busy pointing out potentially useful items in store windows and making happy noises at passing babies in prams. Thank goodness there were no reporters around to see this, Draco thought with a snort. And what with the other eccentric wealthy couples in the area, no one really looked too closely at the handsome, well-dressed blond and his fat male companion.
It was somewhere around Harry’s fifteenth rest that Draco noticed he didn’t look quite right. They turned the corner and found the spot with the bank of trees that was helpful for public apparition.
“Here,” Draco said, wrapping his arms around Harry. They Apparated together, appearing in the driveway of Pink Knowle.
“Home, at last,” Draco said when they turned up the drive to their manor. “What do you want to do tonight, love? Reading? Maybe games in the Moroccan Room?”
He glanced back at Harry, who seemed to be breathing a bit heavier. He really didn’t look very good at all; Draco began to worry.
“Do you want to rest more?” he asked. Harry nodded and collapsed on a nearby garden bench. Draco studied him carefully. “Feeling all right?”
Harry shook his head. “Nnh.”
Hm, lack of actual vocabulary, that couldn’t be a good sign. “What’s wrong?”
“Dunno…” Harry said. “Sharp pain…”
He gritted his teeth and leaned over, clutching his stomach.
“Too much ice cream,” Draco said knowingly.
“Now…” Harry panted, “is not the time…for self-righteousness.”
“Sorry,” Draco said, not really sounding all that sorry.
“Now… is the time…for compassion!”
“Sorry,” Draco said, this time injecting the word with sympathy.
“Nnh,” Harry said again. A couple of deep breaths later, he sat up and said, “Okay. I feel a little better. Let’s go up to the house.”
“If you’re sure,” Draco said, offering his arm. He supported Harry all the way up the long drive and helped him into the living room. Harry promptly laid down on the sofa and went back to making that disturbing noise.
Draco took the ice cream into the kitchen and stuffed it, bag and all, into the freezer. Harry’s behavior was unnerving him, and as unlikely as not allowing Harry to eat the second sundae actually was, Draco cursed himself silently for not having done so. He took the stomach potion from the cupboard and brought it into the living room.
“Here,” he said, holding out the bottle. He bit his tongue against his thoughts on Harry’s overindulgence.
“I’ll never eat ice cream again,” Harry moaned, accepting the bottle. He took a swig and handed it back to Draco, who capped it again and set it on the coffee table.
He sat down on the arm of the couch and laid his hand on Harry’s forehead. He felt all right, but he was beginning to sweat, and in all the symptoms of an upset stomach, Draco could not remember sweating as being one of them.
“Nnh,” Harry said again, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked a little pale, too, Draco thought. Perhaps there’d been something funny in that sundae.
“Harry,” Draco said. “Harry! Look at me!”
Harry forced himself to open his eyes at Draco.
“That sundae… did it… seem all right? Didn’t taste odd or anything?”
“Oooh,” Harry moaned, shutting his eyes again. “I hate food. No more food!”
“Yes, of course,” Draco said, “but still… Harry… maybe we should take you back to St. Mungo’s.”
“Nnh,” Harry said, opening his eyes long enough to give Draco a murderous look. “Not moving.”
“Well… I… don’t… fine!” Draco said in exasperation. He stalked over to the fireplace and threw in a pinch of Floo powder from the urn on the mantle. He stepped into the flames and said clearly, “Granger-Weasley.”
“Draco?” Hermione sounded surprised when he stumbled through their fire grate interrupting their family dinner.
“Come quick. I think Harry needs your help,” he said, reaching out his hand for her. Hermione handed Jacob’s bowl of baby food over to Ron and shook her head at him.
“Just go,” Ron grunted, already spooning up another bite of baby cereal to his son.
“Well, okay, just let me grab a jacket or something,” Hermione said. She reached out and snatched the green knitted jumper off the nearby chair, then followed Draco into the fireplace.
“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, when she saw him. Harry was curled in a ball on his side, laying on the couch, mewling piteously. Hermione knelt beside him and brushed the dark hair from his pale face. “What’s wrong?”
Harry just shook his head. Hermione eyeballed Harry appraisingly. She chewed her lip thoughtfully as Harry opened his eyes.
“Feeling a little better now?” she asked.
“Yeah, but…” Harry said awkwardly.
“It comes and goes?” she guessed.
“Nnh,” Harry said again as the pain crept up on him.
Hermione smiled sympathetically and patted Harry’s arm. To Draco she said, “Have you got a watch? Or… clock?”
Draco hastily slid the Swiss watch from his wrist and handed it to her.
“All right, Harry,” Hermione said soothingly. “Tell me when the pain starts to subside, okay? It’s going to be all right.”
Draco considered her doubtfully and asked, “This isn’t some half-arsed Muggle remedy, is it?”
“No, Draco,” Hermione replied, “I assure you, it’s fully arsed.”
“Granger, that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, you know!”
“Nnh…” Harry moaned. A moment later he sighed. “I think it’s getting better.”
“What the devil…” Draco muttered.
“Oh, honestly,” Hermione said. “Isn’t it obvious? Harry’s in labour!”
“What?!” Draco virtually shouted in distress.
“No!” Harry moaned.
“He can’t be!”
“I can’t be!” Harry echoed.
“Well, I think you are,” Hermione said, her eye on the watch as Harry’s face contorted once more in pain and he made the curious guttural noise he’d been making since she’d arrived.
“He can’t be!” Draco said again with no small amount of alarm in his voice. “Our Cesarean appointment is a week from Wednesday!”
“First rule of babies,” Hermione said seriously, “they don’t give a hoot about your schedule. Come on, we’d better get you to St. Mungo’s. Draco, you get his bag.”
“His…bag?” Draco repeated stupidly.
“His bag. His bag!” Hermione said impatiently. “You know, the one with the clothes he’s taking to the hospital, little outfits for the babies to wear home, that bag.”
“Oh, that bag,” Draco said theatrically. “Well, I’ve got news for you, we haven’t unpacked that bloody bag yet! It’s still somewhere in one of these dreadful moving boxes!”
“Why on earth didn’t you unpack it yet?”
“BECAUSE OUR APPOINTMENT IS A WEEK FROM WEDNESDAY!” Draco shouted, waving his hands wildly.
“Stop shouting, Draco!” Harry said, displaying a calm face between his storms of pain. “Just… go upstairs, grab the first bag you find, and start shoving things in it. Just… just make sure me and the babies have some clothes and the rest… the rest, we’ll figure out later.”
“Right.”
They all stared at one another for a moment, then Hermione used her hands to shoo Draco and reminded him harshly, “Draco, the bag?”
“Right!” This time he dashed from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. He wrenched open the wardrobe door, grabbed the nearest suitcase, and tossed it onto the bed. He frantically threw some of Harry’s clothes into it, haphazardly mixing in paternity and regular items, then scooped up the bag and ran to the nursery with it. Inside the soothing lilac room, he yanked open dresser drawers, maniacally mixing together outfits, booties, blankies, and pacifiers. He zipped the bag shut and thundered back downstairs in a manner most unbefitting of a Malfoy.
He was rather proud of himself.
“All right, let’s go.”
“Nnh,” Harry said, “can’t move.”
“But you have to--”
“CAN’T MOVE!”
“Okay, well, then…” Draco cast a desperate look at Hermione, who helpfully shrugged.
“There’s a spell, remember? We could give him girl parts and he could push the babies out,” she offered.
“Hell, no!” Harry shouted in alarm. “Let’s go to the hospital. Yeah. That sounds lovely.”
He pointed at the bag.
“There’d better be clothes in that,” Harry grumbled, clutching his enormous abdomen.
“There are,” Draco said, patting the suitcase confidently.
“Floo,” Hermione ordered.
The three of them swirled their way to St. Mungo’s where Draco ran to the reception desk demanding to see their Mediwizard. They were referred to the Labour and Delivery Suite where Draco made the same demand of the next medical professional he laid eyes on. This one was a perky assistant healer named Jenny.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said upon hearing the Mediwizard’s name, “but he’s already gone home for the day.”
“Gone home?! My husband is in labour!” Draco said urgently. “His body is trying to… He’s in labour, for Merlin’s sake!”
“Well, don’t worry,” Jenny said. “I’m sure he’ll get here in time, and if not, well, there’s always this spell where we could give him female anatomy--”
“NO!” Draco and Harry shouted together.
“Okay, okay,” Jenny said. “Let’s just get you into a room and I’ll find out who the Mediwizard on call is.”
“Good plan,” Draco nodded. He stood holding the bag, feeling completely out of sorts as he ran a hand through his blond hair and considered tearing it out.
Jenny returned with a wheelchair and helped Harry into it. “We’ve got a nice corner room for you, and the on call wizard is on his way. It’s family only in the delivery room, so…”
“I’ll wait here,” Hermione said. She smiled encouragingly at the pair of them, and waited till they were out of sight to chew her lip worriedly.
Draco followed Jenny as she wheeled Harry down the hall. “I saw on the schedule you were due in for a C-section next week.”
“Yes,” Draco said.
“I guess the babies didn’t want to wait,” she giggled.
Harry groaned and gave him a dirty look.
“Here we are,” she said, escorting them into the corner room. Draco stowed the bag near the window and helped Jenny get Harry into bed. She helped him out of his clothes, and Draco slipped the hospital gown over Harry’s body, watching helplessly as Harry’s face twisted in pain once more.
“Hello, hello!” a cheery voice boomed, startling them all. Draco turned to see a large man with a bushy black mustache enter the room. “I’m Healer Plath. How is the patient doing?”
Harry moaned again, and hissed something in Parseltongue that no one in the room understood, but that Draco suspected to be curse words.
“Are you okay?” Draco whispered to Harry, feeling useless in the face of his pain.
Harry shook his head, unable to talk for the intense horror ripping through his body. It was like being in a long, dark tunnel, with no light and no way out, only pain. Pain eating him alive.
Draco looked down at Harry’s tortured expression wishing there was something he could do; it didn’t seem right that people were going on about there business when the only man he’d ever really loved was suffering so much.
“So... I see you were on the schedule for a Cesarean next week,” the healer said in his overly loud voice. “Are you certain that’s what you want? Because there is a spell where we could give your partner female--”
“NO!” Harry and Draco said together again.
“Why do people keep asking that?” Draco demanded exasperatedly.
“Cesarean it is, then,” the healer said. He rattled off a list of things to Jenny and she scampered from the room. When she returned, she had several other professionals in tow and a cart full of surgical equipment.
The nearest assistant began hustling Draco to put hospital garb on over his own clothes. When the Mediwizard was satisfied that everyone was attired appropriately, and scrubbed up, he and Jenny put the surgical screen up, blocking Harry’s view of his own stomach. Plath was talking, instructing them on what he was going to do as he took his wand and held it up to Harry’s abdomen, applying the first of several anesthetic spells.
At last the knot of pain that had held Harry hostage began to ease. He could make out the room around him, and he could see Draco again. He knew somehow that Draco had never really left him, although for Harry, enduring the contractions was like being held underwater, so that he couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t see. He reached for Draco.
Draco took Harry’s hand, unsure where to look, and too late, he saw blood surge out of Harry as the mediwizard used his wand to make the incision. Draco tried to breathe, tried to look away for fear that he was going to be sick, but found that he was incapable of doing either. A moment later, the healer was pulling something small and squirmy out of Harry’s belly, and Draco found his breath again.
The baby cried, and Draco thought his heart might stop then and there. Tears formed in his eyes as he squeezed Harry’s hand tightly.
“How is she?” Harry asked frantically. “How is she?”
“She’s... perfect,” Draco whispered through his tears. The healer cut the umbilical cord, and handed the baby to Jenny, who promptly whisked the infant away for cleaning.
Plath’s hands dove back inside Harry’s body and came up once more with a wriggling mass of life. The second baby cried, and this time Draco laughed.
“What? What?” Harry asked, and Draco just shook his head. He looked down at Harry in wonder.
“She’s beautiful, too,” he murmured. “Just like you.”
He leaned down and hugged Harry tightly, his heart full to bursting as he listened to his daughters cry.
The mediwizard began cleaning Harry up and preparing him to be magically stitched up. Jenny returned and handed one baby girl each to Harry and to Draco.
Draco shook his head, still in awe at the experience.
“What are you thinking?” Harry asked.
“That I’ve gone mad,” Draco said.
“Why is that?”
“Because,” he sighed, “they were only just born, and already I can’t imagine my life without them.”
~*~
Link to all chapters
*Author's note: There will be one more chapter after this, and it will be written by dacro, since it was her fic to begin with. :)
*Dacro's note - Please leave comments for this chapter on Jada's original post.