Fic ... Maybe Baby - Part Eight (H/D, mpreg)
Thank you for the response to Part seven of this story. I’m really pleased people enjoyed it, especially Pansy.
This version of Pansy was very much inspired by iridescent_ink’s wonderful stories in which she has given us such brilliant Slytherin characters. I’ve often talked to her about Pansy and she knows my opinions on Slytherins. It wasn’t until I wrote Part seven that I finally got to understand what she has been trying to tell me for the last two years.
I’ve struggled a bit with Part 8. It was so clear in my mind yet so difficult to get down into words. I hope it has turned out okay.
Just one more part to go after this one.
Please remember that this is a mpreg story.
Part one ... Part two ... Part three ... Part four ... Part five ... Part six ... Part seven
Maybe Baby ... part 8
Harry stood for a moment just staring around the large walk-in cupboard in the bedroom. His hands pressed into the small of his back, trying to take some of the pressure that whipped through his lower spine these days, as he studied the many boxes piled on the shelves. Somewhere amongst those boxes was the one containing the Christmas decorations.
Eyes still focused on the boxes, Harry’s hand drifted to his stomach and he rubbed absently at it. “Which box do you think it’s in then? I thought we’d packed all the stuff away in a blue box, but there isn’t a blue one here. Do you think daddy’s hidden it somewhere else?”
He talked to Snitch almost constantly now, telling the baby what he was doing, how his day was going and about how he felt. It had started not long after the disastrous Halloween Ball when he’d finally stopped working and had become a bit of a recluse. Draco, of course, thought Harry was quite mad and was more than happy to tell him so. But then Harry had woken up one night to find Draco resting lightly against him, telling the baby about his day. Harry had drifted back to sleep listening to the soft sound of his husband’s voice. It happened almost every night now and he would sometimes pretend to be asleep just so he could listen.
“Ready to start looking?” Harry patted the lump and got a kick in response. “Ouch! I’m beginning to think I might have a star football player rather than a Seeker on my hands.”
Quickly Harry pulled a chair from the bedroom into the cupboard and climbed onto the seat. The chair rocked a little and he held onto the back to steady himself before straightening. “Now, where do we start?”
He had worked his way through half a dozen boxes when a soft cough brought him from his search. He turned, the chair wobbling, to find Draco standing by the cupboard door. He grinned. “Hello. Shouldn’t you have left by now?”
Draco took a step forward. “Harry, I want you to note that my voice is very quiet and calm. I am doing my best not to make you jump or do anything stupid.”
Harry blinked, wondering what on earth Draco was talking about. “And?”
“What are you doing?”
“Well, you said you were going to try and get a Christmas tree today, so I’m looking for the decorations.” He pointed over his shoulder at the boxes, steadying himself as the chair wobbled again.
Draco was in the room like a shot, his hands moving to Harry’s legs to steady him. “Get down! Now!”
“What?”
“Get down before you fall.” Somehow Draco manhandled Harry to the floor. “Of all the stupid things to do.” He dragged the chair back into the bedroom. “What if you’d fallen? What if the chair had collapsed?”
“I’m not that heavy.” Harry allowed himself to be pulled out of the cupboard.
Draco continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “If you want something that involved climbing then ask me to get it. Or use magic.” He folded his arms and glared at Harry. “But don’t go climbing on chairs.”
“I was okay. I just wanted the decorations.”
“Which I will find later and them we can put them up together.” With that Draco slammed the door shut and locked it with a spell.
Harry was just about to tell Draco to stop fussing when he finally looked properly at his husband’s face. All the colour had drained from it apart from two bright spots on Draco’s cheeks while his expression was a cross between anger and fear. This, Harry quickly decided, was one of those times he should just acquiesce to the other man and not argue.
He allowed Draco to lead him downstairs and into the sitting room. “I’m sorry. But I was okay. I didn’t spend years playing Seeker for nothing.”
Draco eyes narrowed. “You’re going to have a baby any time now, Harry. Your centre of gravity is all over the place and only last night you were telling me you didn’t feel steady on your feet anymore.” Then without another word, he dropped to his knees in front of Harry and placed both his hands on the other man’s belly. Leaning very close he spoke in a faux whisper. “Your daddy is so stupid sometimes.” He looked up, meeting Harry’s gaze before kissing the lump. “That’s because he’s a Gryffindor ... just you remember that when you come to be Sorted.”
---
An hour later Harry woke with a start, roused by the chime of the clock. It took him a moment to reorientate himself, by which time he was wide-awake and remembered what had happened. He’d sat down when Draco had gone out and had dozed off.
Rather awkwardly he hauled himself from the sofa to his feet. The baby shifted making him sway a little unsteadily. He rubbed at the lump as if it were some sort of magic lamp. “As much as I love you, Snitch, I can’t wait to have you out of there so I can have my body back.”
Stretching a cramped muscle in his leg, Harry crossed to the huge glass doors leading out into the garden. It had snowed the previous day and there had been a frost overnight, leaving the garden looking almost magical, as if it were some sort of ice palace. He watched as two sparrows alighted on the edge of the birdbath to stare forlornly at the frozen water. They hopped around for a moment and one even slid down onto the ice, pecking at the surface.
Finally Harry reached for the door and pulled it open. “Come on, let’s go and break the ice for them.”
He paused on the threshold, the cold air making him shiver, and debated whether to get a coat. He shrugged. Why bother, he wasn’t going to be long.
---
Ron Weasley had been struggling with his life for five weeks now. Five weeks in which Hermione had hardly spoken to him. Five weeks, in which she would look at him with those brown eyes of hers, her expression making him feel guilty. When she did speak it was to tell him he was a stupid prat and that until he apologised not only to Harry but also to Malfoy as well, he would be sleeping in the spare bedroom.
So, here he was, standing at the front of Harry and Malfoy’s new home trying to work up the courage to knock at the door and eat humble pie. If it had been the height of summer, he probably would have walked away, but the truth was it was freezing cold and the last thing he wanted was to have to traipse back down to the village. Damn Malfoy and his anti-Apparation wards.
Taking a deep breath, he finally knocked at the door while in his head he played over and over what he was going to say. When there was no reply, he knocked again. He knew Harry was at home, Hermione had checked earlier. He also knew that Malfoy wasn’t there, which suited him just fine.
Finally, on the verge of just giving up he took a few steps back along the path, but the thought of having to face Hermione made him decide to try one more time. Head down against the biting December wind, he trudged around the side of the house. Maybe Harry was asleep and hadn’t heard him knocking.
He found the French windows open and quickly stepped inside. “Harry? Harry, are you here?”
There was no reply and the room was chilly, as if the windows had been open for some time.
He almost missed the splash of colour on the far side of the garden. It looked like a pile of clothing. He frowned and squinted at it. “Harry?” With a growing sense of trepidation, he quickly slithered across the icy ground and dropped to his knees in the snow. His worst fears were realised.
The figure was lying on his front, as if he’d fallen forward. He looked awkward, the swollen lump crushed beneath him. But the thing that made Ron’s heart stop was the blue tinge to the man’s skin and lips.
“Harry, come on, mate.” Quickly Ron reached for Harry’s face only to find the skin was icy cold. It was then that Ron realised Harry’s clothes were soaked through.
Reaching quickly for his wand, Ron intoned a weightlessness spell and was able to pick up the dead weight and get Harry back into the house again. Carefully placing the unconscious man on the rug in front of the fire, Ron stared at him for a moment, his mind whirling. What the hell was he supposed to do? Quickly he started removing the sodden clothing.
Harry was soaked through to his bare skin, and when Ron finally removed the last item, there was a split second when he just had to look at Harry’s naked form. Of course he’d seen Harry undressed before, but never like this ... never with the smooth rounded bump which he knew was the baby.
Hesitating for a moment, he reached out and briefly touched the swollen belly and whispered, “I’m sorry,” before pulling off his own coat and laying it over Harry.
He needed to get help, but with the wards up around the house he couldn’t Apparate or Floo. Maybe he could fire-talk with Hermione and get some advice ... assuming she was still at home and Malfoy hadn’t warded that as well. But first, he had to get something to wrap Harry in to try and warm him up.
With that, he came back to his feet and raced up the stairs.
---
It had taken Draco a while to find the perfect tree. They had been either too big, or two small, or the shape not quite right, but this one was exactly what he was looking for. Leaning it against the wall, he opened the front door and stepped into the hall. Harry would love it, of that he was sure.
He was just putting down his armload of bags when footsteps came thundering down the staircase. He looked up, expecting to see Harry but was instead met by Ron Weasley who was carrying a bundle of bedding. When the man came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, Draco just stared at the last person he’d ever expected to see in his house.
“It’s Harry,” Ron panted as he pushed past and rushed into the sitting room.
“Harry?” Draco strode after him.
“I found him outside in the garden. He was unconscious.” Ron was already on the floor when Draco arrived and was quickly wrapping Harry in the blankets. “He’s freezing cold, so he must have been out there for a while. I haven’t been able to wake him up.”
For a moment Draco just stood there, his mind suddenly numb. Then he dropped to his knees torn between reaching for Harry and the fear that if he did, he might in some way hurt the man. “What happened?”
“I don’t know ... like I said he was in the garden. Look, we need to get help. You have to take down the wards so I can go and get Hermione.”
“Yes ... yes.” Draco reached for his wand and cast the spell before dropping it back to the floor. “We need to get him to St Mungo’s.”
“I don’t know if it’s safe to move him like that.” Ron reached out a hand and briefly touched Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll be straight back.” With a sharp crack, he disappeared.
Eyes wide with fear, Draco finally pulled Harry’s unresisting form gently into his arms and began drying his hair with the edge of the sheet.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Harry Potter ... don’t you dare!”
---
Part Nine
This version of Pansy was very much inspired by iridescent_ink’s wonderful stories in which she has given us such brilliant Slytherin characters. I’ve often talked to her about Pansy and she knows my opinions on Slytherins. It wasn’t until I wrote Part seven that I finally got to understand what she has been trying to tell me for the last two years.
I’ve struggled a bit with Part 8. It was so clear in my mind yet so difficult to get down into words. I hope it has turned out okay.
Just one more part to go after this one.
Please remember that this is a mpreg story.
Part one ... Part two ... Part three ... Part four ... Part five ... Part six ... Part seven
Maybe Baby ... part 8
Harry stood for a moment just staring around the large walk-in cupboard in the bedroom. His hands pressed into the small of his back, trying to take some of the pressure that whipped through his lower spine these days, as he studied the many boxes piled on the shelves. Somewhere amongst those boxes was the one containing the Christmas decorations.
Eyes still focused on the boxes, Harry’s hand drifted to his stomach and he rubbed absently at it. “Which box do you think it’s in then? I thought we’d packed all the stuff away in a blue box, but there isn’t a blue one here. Do you think daddy’s hidden it somewhere else?”
He talked to Snitch almost constantly now, telling the baby what he was doing, how his day was going and about how he felt. It had started not long after the disastrous Halloween Ball when he’d finally stopped working and had become a bit of a recluse. Draco, of course, thought Harry was quite mad and was more than happy to tell him so. But then Harry had woken up one night to find Draco resting lightly against him, telling the baby about his day. Harry had drifted back to sleep listening to the soft sound of his husband’s voice. It happened almost every night now and he would sometimes pretend to be asleep just so he could listen.
“Ready to start looking?” Harry patted the lump and got a kick in response. “Ouch! I’m beginning to think I might have a star football player rather than a Seeker on my hands.”
Quickly Harry pulled a chair from the bedroom into the cupboard and climbed onto the seat. The chair rocked a little and he held onto the back to steady himself before straightening. “Now, where do we start?”
He had worked his way through half a dozen boxes when a soft cough brought him from his search. He turned, the chair wobbling, to find Draco standing by the cupboard door. He grinned. “Hello. Shouldn’t you have left by now?”
Draco took a step forward. “Harry, I want you to note that my voice is very quiet and calm. I am doing my best not to make you jump or do anything stupid.”
Harry blinked, wondering what on earth Draco was talking about. “And?”
“What are you doing?”
“Well, you said you were going to try and get a Christmas tree today, so I’m looking for the decorations.” He pointed over his shoulder at the boxes, steadying himself as the chair wobbled again.
Draco was in the room like a shot, his hands moving to Harry’s legs to steady him. “Get down! Now!”
“What?”
“Get down before you fall.” Somehow Draco manhandled Harry to the floor. “Of all the stupid things to do.” He dragged the chair back into the bedroom. “What if you’d fallen? What if the chair had collapsed?”
“I’m not that heavy.” Harry allowed himself to be pulled out of the cupboard.
Draco continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “If you want something that involved climbing then ask me to get it. Or use magic.” He folded his arms and glared at Harry. “But don’t go climbing on chairs.”
“I was okay. I just wanted the decorations.”
“Which I will find later and them we can put them up together.” With that Draco slammed the door shut and locked it with a spell.
Harry was just about to tell Draco to stop fussing when he finally looked properly at his husband’s face. All the colour had drained from it apart from two bright spots on Draco’s cheeks while his expression was a cross between anger and fear. This, Harry quickly decided, was one of those times he should just acquiesce to the other man and not argue.
He allowed Draco to lead him downstairs and into the sitting room. “I’m sorry. But I was okay. I didn’t spend years playing Seeker for nothing.”
Draco eyes narrowed. “You’re going to have a baby any time now, Harry. Your centre of gravity is all over the place and only last night you were telling me you didn’t feel steady on your feet anymore.” Then without another word, he dropped to his knees in front of Harry and placed both his hands on the other man’s belly. Leaning very close he spoke in a faux whisper. “Your daddy is so stupid sometimes.” He looked up, meeting Harry’s gaze before kissing the lump. “That’s because he’s a Gryffindor ... just you remember that when you come to be Sorted.”
---
An hour later Harry woke with a start, roused by the chime of the clock. It took him a moment to reorientate himself, by which time he was wide-awake and remembered what had happened. He’d sat down when Draco had gone out and had dozed off.
Rather awkwardly he hauled himself from the sofa to his feet. The baby shifted making him sway a little unsteadily. He rubbed at the lump as if it were some sort of magic lamp. “As much as I love you, Snitch, I can’t wait to have you out of there so I can have my body back.”
Stretching a cramped muscle in his leg, Harry crossed to the huge glass doors leading out into the garden. It had snowed the previous day and there had been a frost overnight, leaving the garden looking almost magical, as if it were some sort of ice palace. He watched as two sparrows alighted on the edge of the birdbath to stare forlornly at the frozen water. They hopped around for a moment and one even slid down onto the ice, pecking at the surface.
Finally Harry reached for the door and pulled it open. “Come on, let’s go and break the ice for them.”
He paused on the threshold, the cold air making him shiver, and debated whether to get a coat. He shrugged. Why bother, he wasn’t going to be long.
---
Ron Weasley had been struggling with his life for five weeks now. Five weeks in which Hermione had hardly spoken to him. Five weeks, in which she would look at him with those brown eyes of hers, her expression making him feel guilty. When she did speak it was to tell him he was a stupid prat and that until he apologised not only to Harry but also to Malfoy as well, he would be sleeping in the spare bedroom.
So, here he was, standing at the front of Harry and Malfoy’s new home trying to work up the courage to knock at the door and eat humble pie. If it had been the height of summer, he probably would have walked away, but the truth was it was freezing cold and the last thing he wanted was to have to traipse back down to the village. Damn Malfoy and his anti-Apparation wards.
Taking a deep breath, he finally knocked at the door while in his head he played over and over what he was going to say. When there was no reply, he knocked again. He knew Harry was at home, Hermione had checked earlier. He also knew that Malfoy wasn’t there, which suited him just fine.
Finally, on the verge of just giving up he took a few steps back along the path, but the thought of having to face Hermione made him decide to try one more time. Head down against the biting December wind, he trudged around the side of the house. Maybe Harry was asleep and hadn’t heard him knocking.
He found the French windows open and quickly stepped inside. “Harry? Harry, are you here?”
There was no reply and the room was chilly, as if the windows had been open for some time.
He almost missed the splash of colour on the far side of the garden. It looked like a pile of clothing. He frowned and squinted at it. “Harry?” With a growing sense of trepidation, he quickly slithered across the icy ground and dropped to his knees in the snow. His worst fears were realised.
The figure was lying on his front, as if he’d fallen forward. He looked awkward, the swollen lump crushed beneath him. But the thing that made Ron’s heart stop was the blue tinge to the man’s skin and lips.
“Harry, come on, mate.” Quickly Ron reached for Harry’s face only to find the skin was icy cold. It was then that Ron realised Harry’s clothes were soaked through.
Reaching quickly for his wand, Ron intoned a weightlessness spell and was able to pick up the dead weight and get Harry back into the house again. Carefully placing the unconscious man on the rug in front of the fire, Ron stared at him for a moment, his mind whirling. What the hell was he supposed to do? Quickly he started removing the sodden clothing.
Harry was soaked through to his bare skin, and when Ron finally removed the last item, there was a split second when he just had to look at Harry’s naked form. Of course he’d seen Harry undressed before, but never like this ... never with the smooth rounded bump which he knew was the baby.
Hesitating for a moment, he reached out and briefly touched the swollen belly and whispered, “I’m sorry,” before pulling off his own coat and laying it over Harry.
He needed to get help, but with the wards up around the house he couldn’t Apparate or Floo. Maybe he could fire-talk with Hermione and get some advice ... assuming she was still at home and Malfoy hadn’t warded that as well. But first, he had to get something to wrap Harry in to try and warm him up.
With that, he came back to his feet and raced up the stairs.
---
It had taken Draco a while to find the perfect tree. They had been either too big, or two small, or the shape not quite right, but this one was exactly what he was looking for. Leaning it against the wall, he opened the front door and stepped into the hall. Harry would love it, of that he was sure.
He was just putting down his armload of bags when footsteps came thundering down the staircase. He looked up, expecting to see Harry but was instead met by Ron Weasley who was carrying a bundle of bedding. When the man came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, Draco just stared at the last person he’d ever expected to see in his house.
“It’s Harry,” Ron panted as he pushed past and rushed into the sitting room.
“Harry?” Draco strode after him.
“I found him outside in the garden. He was unconscious.” Ron was already on the floor when Draco arrived and was quickly wrapping Harry in the blankets. “He’s freezing cold, so he must have been out there for a while. I haven’t been able to wake him up.”
For a moment Draco just stood there, his mind suddenly numb. Then he dropped to his knees torn between reaching for Harry and the fear that if he did, he might in some way hurt the man. “What happened?”
“I don’t know ... like I said he was in the garden. Look, we need to get help. You have to take down the wards so I can go and get Hermione.”
“Yes ... yes.” Draco reached for his wand and cast the spell before dropping it back to the floor. “We need to get him to St Mungo’s.”
“I don’t know if it’s safe to move him like that.” Ron reached out a hand and briefly touched Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll be straight back.” With a sharp crack, he disappeared.
Eyes wide with fear, Draco finally pulled Harry’s unresisting form gently into his arms and began drying his hair with the edge of the sheet.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Harry Potter ... don’t you dare!”
---
Part Nine