FIC: Not So Anonymous After All (NC-17)

[mpreg_fest_mod]

Title: Not So Anonymous After All
Author: hpjk_addict
Prompt: Harry avoids relationships because he thinks the wizards he's dated in the past only care about being with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He wants a family of his own and doesn’t want to wait for Mr Right so he goes to a sperm bank to obtain semen for his future child. Little does Harry know that Draco Malfoy has been selling his pureblood sperm to the bank in order to help make ends meet since the Ministry seized all the Malfoy assets after the war. He selects Draco’s sample without realizing the identity of the donor.
Word Count: 26,500 words
Rating: NC-17
Contains: It's quite tame until the final pages. I saw no squicks or triggers to warn or watch for. But there are definitely spoilers as I was leaning heavily on the books.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Epilogue compliant?: Quite — though not when it comes to Harry and Draco :)
Who is pregnant?: Harry (I'm afraid I've noticed a major lack of pregnant!Harry)
Notes: This is the first time that I'm taking part in a fest or interpreting someone's prompt and I'm extremely nervous about the reaction of the person whose prompt I used. I hope the prompter won't be too disappointed.
Summary: Harry wants to have a family but his status attracts people who only want him for his name. After a long string of failed relationships he's desperate enough to carry a child himself and resorts to the services of a wizarding sperm bank, relying on its complete anonymity. However, he unwittingly becomes pregnant with Draco Malfoy's child and Draco finds out...



Part 1

*

Harry entered a rather cluttered drawing room, carrying a teapot, two cups, a milk jug and a platter of sandwiches on a large tray. Shaking his head with a look of fond exasperation on his face, Harry took out his wand and made the tray hover in the air, while he made room for it on a table covered with mountains of books, parchment and notes that completely obscured Hermione from view. In fact, the only thing that gave away her presence was the feverish scratching of the quill that disturbed an otherwise silent room. Harry sighed and put the tray down, squeezing it between the towers of books he had parted to accommodate it.

“Hugo and Rose are asleep,” he said softly.

But Hermione’s concentration had been so great, his voice still made her jump as though he’d shouted the words at the top of his voice right into her unsuspecting ear. She looked up from the report she had been scribbling with wild, dazed eyes, appearing surprised to find herself in the room with another human being.

Harry didn't like seeing her like that: her face was thin and haggard, there were dark circles under her eyes and she had a stupid bun at the nape of her neck, that she had taken to wearing to keep her bushy hair in place. But it just made her look at least ten years older than she actually was.

“W—what?”

“Hugo and Rose are asleep,” repeated Harry patiently, “and it's high time you had some rest too.”

“I can't, Harry!” cried Hermione, sounding close to hysterics. Harry was suddenly reminded of her younger self in their third year at Hogwarts – the girl who had bitten off more than she could possibly chew. Harry pondered the fact that some things really never changed.

“I have to finish this report by tomorrow or they'll eat me alive. You know they hate me!” wailed Hermione miserably. “I have to be prepared on every single point. I must have all the necessary figures and data at hand to prove my point or I won't have the guts to face them at all...”

“You won't have the strength to stand upright if you don't have a good night's sleep, that's for sure,” remarked Harry, sitting down into an armchair that he had moved towards the table with a wave of his wand. “And as for not having the guts to face them”—he snorted—“you have never been lost for words before. Not when you’re talking about something you believe in or feel particularly passionate about.”

Hermione gave him a grateful albeit watery smile.

“At least have some tea. Here, I made some sandwiches too,” Harry coaxed her as he moved the tray towards her. He was relieved when Hermione sighed and complied by tossing the report aside.

Harry, of course, knew why Hermione was on the point of a nervous breakdown, and he wished there was something he could do to help her. It so happened that Hermione was once again fighting to change something that had been deeply rooted within the pure-blood traditions of the wizarding community. Tomorrow, she would be addressing a roomful of pure-blood witches and wizards, whose families have been upholding one such tradition for many a century, and who considered her a Muggle-born upstart and a real nuisance they couldn't shut up no matter what. There were even those who went as far as to accuse her of making it her goal to try and uproot every single pure-blood tradition she came into contact with.

At the moment, for example, Hermione was trying to persuade the wizarding community to establish kindergartens and primary schools for young children from the wizarding families so that they could get their basic, non-magical education there – or even send them to Muggle kindergartens and primary schools so that they’d be raised alongside Muggle children and learn to treat them as equals from their early years. Naturally, the second part of her proposed bill caused much discontent and objections among the pure-blood population. They were especially indignant over a widely rumoured fact that Hermione intended for such attendance to be made mandatory.

Among Hermione's previous triumphs was the establishment of the Fair House-elf Treatment Committee a few years ago; it now closely monitored house-elves' physical and psychological states. It even sentenced those who mistreated house-elves within the walls of their households to a term in Azkaban, pure-blood or not. One of Hermione’s on-going campaigns was securing house-elves their days off and fair wages. As of yet, each household containing house-elves was at liberty to decide whether to pay their elves and give them holidays or not. But they were obliged to pay a house-elf maintenance tax, part of which went to cover the expenses at St. Mungo's Hospital, where there was now a special ward for the treatment of house-elves who suffered abuse at the hands of their owners.

“I just need a little more time,” she whispered over the brim of her cup in a voice so strained she sounded close on the verge of tears. Harry knew that she was talking to herself because she wasn't looking at him. “It drives me absolutely insane that I've become so utterly bad at coping with my work at the Ministry. I used to do everything on time, but now I'm always late and it's all because I have to take care of the children—”

Crack.

The cup Harry had been holding split in two and hit the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. Hermione gasped, looking up at him with a stricken expression and covering her mouth with her hands. Harry narrowed his eyes but was too angry to speak. His hands were shaking.

“Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I…”

There were tears in her eyes now, tears that spilled down her cheeks the very next moment. Harry nodded, collected the pieces of his cup with his wand, muttered Reparo and managed to put it back onto the saucer without breaking it again.

He knew that Hermione loved Rose and Hugo as much as any normal parent would love their children, but she did tend to resent the need to spend her time taking care of them whenever she was under pressure.

Harry, who had been yearning for a family of his own for the last ten years at least, could not hear her complaining without getting furious. If only she knew what it was like not to have children, when it was what you wanted more than anything, Harry thought bitterly, she would appreciate having them so much more!

Hermione, of course, knew how much Harry wanted to have children, and it was a sign of how stressed she was that she let something like that slip out in his presence. Harry was sure that her pity was the main reason why she would so often ask him round to babysit Hugo and Rose or put them to bed —like today— under the pretext that both she and Ron were too busy to possibly manage without his help. It was meant from the heart and out of desperation — because they didn't know what else they could do to make things right for their best friend — and Harry was too happy to feel offended at being treated like a sad charity case. Besides, they liked to pretend that it was Harry who was really doing them a huge favour.

Of course, there was also Teddy Lupin — his godson. But he lived with Andromeda Tonks and was officially under her care. Harry regularly took him for the weekend, which they loved to spend in Muggle London, doing all the fun things that Harry hadn't gotten to do as a child. Unfortunately, his relationship with Teddy's grandmother has never really recovered from their very first encounter, when Harry, for a split second, took her for her mad sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. Even now Harry could not get rid of the suspicion that Andromeda blamed him for the death of her husband, daughter and son-in-law, and didn't wish to be any more cordial to him than she had to be for Teddy's sake.

Earlier today, Hermione had dropped by his cubicle at the Auror Headquarters on her way to pick Rose and Hugo from the Muggle kindergarten they attended, looking harassed and irritated as she always did as of late. She had asked him to come round later, because she still had lots of work to do and Ron was stuck at the shop with George, getting everything ready for the grand unveiling of their newest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product tomorrow. Harry readily agreed. There were only so many cases he could work on at the same time before the fact of his loneliness caught up with him, making him feel awful and potentially reckless.

Spending time with Rose and Hugo after a gruelling day in the field or a boring one at his desk calmed him down or enlivened him, depending on the immediate need. Doing something as simple as preparing them supper, playing with them, making sure they brushed their teeth before going to bed, reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard to Hugo and entertaining Rose, who was growing up to be as inquisitive as her mother, with stories from work filled his life with meaning and warmth it missed otherwise. Besides, he missed talking about his work and he found the perfect audience in Rose.

The problem was that he couldn't talk about it with Ron anymore — not after a botched-up operation about five years ago that left him with a permanent injury in his knee and prevented him from being as quick and useful in the field as he used to be — though not for lack of trying — and caused Ron to quit being an Auror and join George’s shop instead. Ron never stopped blaming himself for what happened to Harry and it took around two years for him to be in the same room with Harry without going red and looking away in shame.

“Harry,” said Hermione softly, interrupting his train of thoughts, “how long has it been since you last dated anyone?”

“Not long enough for me to forget what happened each time I tried,” murmured Harry, curling his lips into a sneer. The bitterness in his voice made Hermione flinch. Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. He didn't want to upset her or make her feel guilty—it was hardly her fault that he couldn't find anyone decent enough to date; someone who wouldn't rush and tattle about him to the Daily Prophet at the very first opportunity they got. Harry gulped down the bile that rose up to his throat at the horrible memories.

“Not since...?” began Hermione.

Harry made a jerking motion with his head—then shuddered.

Antoine Perriere.

He was the worst of the kind, the final straw. Harry felt sick to the stomach just thinking about the bastard and what he had done to him. He was a real charmer, that one. They had been together for eight months. Harry hadn't thought that he could have been happier. He had been sure that after all the disappointments and betrayals that he had had to endure — after a long string of failed relationships — he had finally found his Mr. Right. Harry was actually considering bonding and adoption when he found out that the son of a bitch had published a book titled In Bed With The Chosen One. It provided a long and detailed account of their love affair and sex life that was no more truthful than — as it turned out later — his name and identity. Harry was beyond devastated, especially after the bastard's interview with Rita Skeeter came out. It was after that blow that he swore off relationships for good.

Hermione was looking at him with growing concern. Harry gave her a small smile that was meant to reassure. 'I'll be fine,' it said. 'Don't worry about me.' Hermione looked like she was about to say something else but in the end thought better of it. This time Harry smiled to himself. It was another sign of how exhausted she was that she didn't pursue the subject or try to convince him to give it another shot — without Ron having to tell her to let it go. Hermione merely nodded and leaned forward to squeeze his hand, and, with an air of someone facing an upcoming battle, picked up the report again.

Harry levitated the tray and went to the kitchen, wondering gloomily if that was to be his life. He loved Rose, Hugo and Teddy, but when all was said and done, they weren't his children and that was the fact — he just couldn't pretend otherwise. At the end of the day, he returned home to an empty house, where he could count only on old Kreacher to greet and to be happy to see him.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had discussed his options many times before. Wasn't there anyone who would not attempt to gain something through his association with the famous Harry Potter? Well, maybe there was. But Harry wasn't about to attempt to find that person. Not after the last debacle that brought him so much pain and humiliation. He'd had enough. He just didn't know whom to trust. And he didn't want to wait anymore. There were times when Harry was even considering seeing Muggles. But he didn't want to pretend and live a double life, forever suppressing and hiding his true identity. Not to mention that it wouldn't look too good if he broke the Statute of Secrecy in order to advance his love life. He was an Auror after all.

Harry didn't want to burden anyone with his desire for a family — unless, of course, they wanted the same. He still remembered Ginny's less-than-thrilled reaction many years ago, when he told her that he wanted to have a large family. It turned out that settling down with a brood wasn't exactly in her plans. Of course, that was right after the war and before Ginny had shoved him none too gently onto the journey of self-discovery, that led him to the realization that he was, in fact, more interested in pursuing romantic relationships with those of his own sex.

No, he didn't want to burden anyone. Harry had to do it alone. Of course, he wanted to have a family the normal way, but normal didn't seem to apply to him. So he had to consider alternative ways of creating a family for himself. He has — like adoption. In fact, he was expecting a letter from a wizarding orphanage, hoping that they would let him adopt a baby on his own.

Having washed the dishes (which he still preferred to do the Muggle way), Harry went upstairs to check if Rose and Hugo were asleep. He wasn't worried about Hugo, but Rose loved to sit up in bed with a book long past her bedtime. Then, once sure that all was well, he returned to the drawing room, kissed Hermione on the forehead (she only gave him an absent-minded smile and a pat on the arm — all without taking her eyes away from the parchment she was studying with a frown of concentration), took a pinch of Floo powder from the pot next to the fireplace and Flooed himself to Grimmauld Place in a warm whoosh of green flames.

“Master is home,” croaked Kreacher as the elf appeared with the barest of pops a split second later, his tiny arms crossed on his chest. “At last.”

Harry laughed.

Then he spotted an official-looking envelope lying on the kitchen table. He grabbed it, fumbled with the seal (his hands were suddenly shaking), unfolded the parchment and looked through the first paragraph, holding his breath. Three lines down, a lump formed in his throat and he slumped into a chair, shaking his head, fists clenched in fury.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received your letter and application form concerning the adoption of a child from St. Hilda's Home for Orphaned Children. However, having carefully considered the matter, we regret to inform you that we must reject your application on account of a number of points that unfortunately make you unsuitable for taking a child in your care.

We are much obliged to you for your ardent interest in the welfare of our wards and wish to thank you for your generous contributions in the past. We hope that our reply will not affect our future interactions in any way.

Our records show that you have previously applied for adoption to two other institutions. In order to avoid any further disappointments on your part should your circumstances remain unchanged, we wish to inform you that all the orphanages established by the wizarding community of Great Britain and Northern Ireland share the same database and that we carefully study all the records before making a final decision.

A child, especially one brought up in an institution, requires safe, stable and comfortable environment. Therefore, we insist on allowing adoption only to those applicants who have a life partner to share the responsibility of raising the child with.

Additionally, while we greatly admire your heroic past and your noble and important work as an Auror nowadays, we cannot hide our concern at the dangerous nature of your job and the consequences that it might have on your life and that of your child should you adopt.

And, lastly, we absolutely cannot discount the fact of your own disturbed childhood, your criminal record and other calamities that plagued your life as a child and a young man. We fear that they could have left a lasting effect on your mental state and cannot guarantee that the child you adopt will be safe in your care.

Sincerely yours,
Evangelina Blight
St. Hilda's Home for Orphaned Children

Knuckles white, Harry crumpled the parchment and threw it into the fire.

*

“Harry, are you sure about this?” asked Hermione, peering closely at him, her eyes full of sympathy and a desperate desire to help. Harry felt like hugging her. But he restricted his movements to a brisk nod.

Ron shook his head, looking green. “I don't know, mate. I mean, male pregnancy...it's not common… considered dangerous, you know.” He looked extremely troubled and kept throwing furtive glances at Harry. Once again, he refused to meet Harry’s eye. Harry knew that he still felt guilty about his and Ginny's failed relationship — especially about Ginny's decision not to pursue it any longer.

Harry had tried telling Ron again and again that it didn't matter because of his preferences, but Ron was convinced that if Ginny hadn't broken off their relationship in the first place, Harry wouldn't have gone off on a self-searching journey, during which he discovered that he wasn't quite straight. And if they'd stayed together, Harry would have had the family he had always wanted. Harry thought that Ron’s thinking was completely ridiculous and that the signs of their relationship going nowhere had been there all along — only Harry had been too busy and too happy at first to take notice.

Harry had asked Hermione to speak to Ron about his decision beforehand, so the first shock had worn off by now, but Ron still didn't look too happy with the idea. Now they were sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, which seemed like a fitting place, because it was always here where they planned momentous things. Harry knew that it would take a while to convince Ron to accept the fact that his best friend was going to conceive a child through artificial insemination, and braced himself for what was to be a long and difficult discussion. He could do it. He had prepared in advance too. He just had to remember his speech. How did it begin...?

Harry had really been counting on adoption (third time's the charm and all that), but after the letter that he received about a month ago from St. Hilda's Home, he had to face the fact that adoption — at least in the wizarding world and by legal means — wasn't an option.

Apparently, according to their logic, it was better for a child to grow up in an institution, not knowing what it was like to have a real home and a loving family, than with a single parent who would do everything in his power to make it feel loved and cherished and the happiest child in the world. Harry was sure that he had much to offer to any child of his but he wasn't about to settle for just about anyone in order to suit the stupid requirements of the orphanage. That was why he had decided to go with the only other option that required neither a life partner nor a permission: he was going to use a wizarding sperm bank to obtain semen from an anonymous donor for his future child and carry it himself.

It wasn't a rash or a light decision to make and it was as scary as hell. But he had long been contemplating the possibility. Harry had researched and studied the matter of male pregnancy extensively (or as extensively as he could study something so rare) and consulted one of the specialists in the field: his old schoolmate, Ernie Macmillan. Harry was ready to do it — if it meant that he would have a family of his own. He always wished for a big family and a someone special by his side to have this family with. Well, he had to start somewhere. So what if he started backwards? He had enough experience looking after children to be reasonably certain of his abilities to rear a child on his own. Of course, it took him a while to decide on doing something so drastic as carrying a baby himself, but the longer he waited, the more desperate he became. To the point when male pregnancy stopped being an entirely foreign concept but rather something that he regarded as a new adventure to pursue.

Harry took a deep breath.

“Ron, listen. I know that it's a lot to take in. I know that it's not what you would want for me. And I know that it's not all that common. But it's not unheard of either. I can supply you with all the facts to prove it.” Harry smiled ruefully. “Trust me, I've been doing nothing but studying and researching the matter ever since I decided on this course of action. I know exactly what I'm getting myself into, and I’m willing to take any risk, because — let's face it — this is my only chance to have a family of my own. I know that you don't like it but I will need my two best friends. I don't have anyone else. And there is no one I'd rather share this with. I need you to be by my side. But only if you can truly be there for me.”

Harry fell silent and hung his head. Ron hadn't looked at him once during his speech. Then —

“Er — how big will you get?”

Harry laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, Ron, is this the only thing you want to know?” she snapped.

“Well, as I understand from what I've read,” said Harry quickly, before they had a chance to start bickering, “there will be a certain degree of transformation visible on the outside — mainly in my abdominal region — but because it will be achieved through a special spell, I won't be as big as —“

“Me,” muttered Hermione darkly. It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes.

Harry gave her an apologetic grin.

“What will the spell do?” she asked.

“It will create an artificial womb that will allow me to carry the baby once I’m inseminated by the sperm of a donor from the wizarding sperm bank and —“

Ron turned an even nastier shade of green, now looking as though he was about to puke all over the kitchen table.

“Oh, get a grip, Ron!” hissed Hermione. “Stop being so childish, will you? This isn't about your sensibilities. Harry needs us and he needs us to act our age! If you can't even hear what he's got to say...”

“I didn't say that I won't be there for him, did I?” snapped Ron. “But I can't just sit here and pretend that I like it. I mean, come on, it sounds really dodgy.”

Harry shook his head.

“There's nothing dodgy about the spell, Ron,” he said gravely. “Male bodies aren't exactly built to carry children, you know. And this spell is the only known way that can help a wizard conceive, carry and bear a child. I'm not the first wizard to go through with it.”

“It's really dangerous,” repeated Ron, averting his gaze. “I don't want anything to happen to you, mate. That's all. I mean, a child is all very well, but I don't want to lose you because of it. You are more important. To me.”

Harry was deeply touched. However, he couldn't let his feelings deter him from his plan.

“Ron, you're not going to lose me,” he promised softly. “It's actually quite safe as long as you do it under proper conditions.”

“And what are they?” asked Ron defiantly.

“First of all,” said Harry patiently, “you must have powerful enough magic, and you must be closely and constantly monitored by a specialist at a proper mediwizarding facility. I've been undergoing all sorts of tests to make sure that I can go through the pregnancy. There’s actually a spell for determining if my magic is strong enough to do it. If they told me that it's not good in my case, I would never do it. Believe me. No matter how much I wanted that child. I will have biweekly appointments, monthly check-ups and the spell will have to be reapplied every trimester. There are also a number of potions that I'll have to take on a regular basis to keep things running smoothly. And, of course, I mustn't do anything dangerous or stress myself too much. And I mustn't worry.”

Hermione let out a cough that most certainly covered a snort.

“What? You don't think I can do it?” asked Harry with a challenge. “It'll take some getting used to, sure, but I reckon I can manage. There was something else... Ah! No more Firewhiskey for me on a Friday night. Sorry, mate.”

Ron gave a hollow sort of laugh.

“But, Harry, what about your work?” asked Hermione with a half-glance at Ron. “I know how much you've always wanted to be an Auror and how much you love being one. So what are you going do about it now? Surely, you can't run around catching criminals — not once you'll be carrying a baby.”

Harry snorted.

“I've been an Auror long enough to realize that being one didn't quite live up to my dreams,” he said, looking pointedly at Ron, who appeared to be quite intent on making a hole in the wooden table with his stare. “I mean, I love my work and all that, but I always knew that my decision to carry a child would affect it. And, really, I don't need to run around in order to catch criminals. I can restrict my dealings with them to my cubicle and solve cases at my desk. I don't always have to be in the field, you know. There are many excellently trained Aurors at the Auror Department. I've trained many of them myself. I'm sure they'll manage just fine in the field without me. I’ve got lots of paperwork to do as it is and there's one project I've never had enough time to work on that I'm going to busy myself with once I'm pregnant. Besides, because of the magical nature of my condition, my magical activity will have to be restricted to simple, basic spells, which will be of no use to me in the line of duty. Oh, yes, almost forgot. I won't be able to use any magical means of transportation either, so my movements will be limited too. Good thing I took my driving test though,” Harry added with a smirk.

Hermione was looking at him with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Harry! I'm so proud of you,” she whispered.

“Why? Don't tell me it's because I've finally learned to do my own research,” he joked.

Hermione shook her head, smiling feebly at him. “You are so brave to carry and bear a child, knowing that you will have to raise it on your own.”

“Well, I have you two to help me and I've had enough practice with Rose and Hugo, you know.”

Harry tried to keep the conversation light, but Hermione would have none of that.

“You know that's not what I mean.”

“I know.”

Hermione rose to her feet and Harry did the same. He knew that what she needed right now was a hug. So he hugged her tightly, tucking her head under his chin and exchanging a look with Ron over the top of her head.

“I wish you had someone special in your life,” mumbled Hermione. “Someone who would make you truly happy. Someone who would be a great parent to your future child.”

Harry kissed her on the top of her head with a half-smile.

“Maybe I will.”

Hermione looked up at him.

“Someday,” he added.

“But — say, what if something happens?” asked Ron anxiously. “I mean, what if there's an emergency — how will we know? Can you at least use the Floo to contact us?”

“I've thought about that too,” replied Harry, nodding. “The thing is, I might not be necessarily anywhere near a fireplace at the time.”

“So how then...?”

“I'm sure that we can use our old method of communication. Hermione can always enchant a couple more fake galleons, couldn't she?”

“It's the least I could do,” said Hermione, stepping back and looking at him with a mixture of awe and admiration. “You seem to have thought of everything, Harry.”

Harry was surprised that she had refrained from saying, ‘You've grown so much. It's like you don't even need us any more,’ in a motherly sort of way.

“I'm sure there are still plenty of things that I haven't taken into consideration,” replied Harry with a chuckle. “And that will take me completely by surprise as they come. But for now, I think I'm all set.”

They sat down at the table again. It seemed that the most difficult part was over; Ron appeared to be resigned — if not quite convinced — and subdued by Harry's meticulous preparations. Harry thought it safe to ask Kreacher to bring in some tea and cake.

“So what will you say at... at the headquarters?” asked Ron, stumbling slightly over his words. “Do they know?”

Harry shook his head.

“No one does.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I thought I would have to make a public statement at some point though.”

What Harry didn't say in Ron's presence was that he was going to lean back on his old Dark Magic injury as a reason for turning to desk job. Before now, Harry had tried to work as though he didn't have the injury at all, remembering battle-scarred Mad-Eye Moody and exerting himself to his full capacity. But now things were about to change and Harry was actually willing to go as far as to pretend that the old injury had gotten to him at last to cover up the truth. At least until he was ready for the wizarding community to know about his pregnancy.

Hermione was frowning at him. “Are you talking about going to the Daily Prophet?” she asked.

“That stinking old rag!” exclaimed Ron. “Harry, are you out of your bloody mind?”

“I don't want there to be any speculations or rumours, Ron. I'd rather they have my side of the story before any Rita Skeeter-penned articles appear and blow the whole thing out of proportion.”

“But how do you know that they won't twist your story? I mean, nothing had stopped them from doing it before.”

“Susan Bones works as a special correspondent at the Prophet now,” replied Harry promptly. “She's OK. She's got her own column there, Family Matters. I think it'll be a perfect place for my story and I'm sure I can trust her to present it in a proper light.”

Hermione nodded. “I forgot that Susan worked there. I must say that she's really good at what she does. Yes, I see your point, Harry. I think you'll be just fine giving her an interview.”

“I'm sorry, but am I the only one who still doesn't like this idea?” asked Ron.

“Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione.

Ron looked incredulously at Harry, who grinned back at him and shrugged his shoulders. Defeated, Ron shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Barmy. The both of you.”

Then Hermione asked a question that wiped away Harry's merriment and sobered him up at once.

“Harry, will you be able to learn the identity of the donor?”

Harry shook his head.

“No. He will remain completely anonymous. Neither my child nor I will ever know who he is. It will be my child. Mine, and mine alone.”

Harry was adamant on that point when he had been filling the application form during the preliminary meeting at the wizarding sperm bank a fortnight ago, and was rigorously questioned on each and every point during an interview by a kindly elderly witch afterwards.

“Don't worry, dear,” the witch added quickly at the look of alarm on his face, that appeared when she mentioned that he or his future child could opt to know the identity of the donor. “All our records are sealed unless requested otherwise, and we guarantee complete anonymity of the donor and the recipient alike. However, we do offer a choice for those who wish to know the identity of the donor. In that case, it will be noted down in your application form and will, therefore, effect the selection of the donor in question. Just like recipients, many donors prefer to remain unknown to any future offspring they might help conceive. That's a 'no' then, dear? Very well.”

Part 2

*

Draco Malfoy entered the library of Malfoy Manor, locked the door behind him with a powerful non-verbal spell he’d perfected after years of extensive use and walked briskly to the very back of the room. There, on the shelf behind a row of dusty, thick volumes no one ever read, and under several layers of concealment charms, he kept hidden an ancient book that belonged to many generations of the Malfoy family. The book had been created by one of his ancestors —one jealous and wicked Chantal Malfoy— with the intention of keeping track and learning the names of each new lover her unfaithful husband took, as well as every child he sired. It was for the purpose of taking revenge on and timely action against the mistresses and the children in question.

Later on, the book had been modified to simply denote the names of the people who entered the Malfoy family through marriage or conceived children — as long as they were not squibs. This unfortunate magical creation — which never failed to record a single name yet — had in recent years become the bane of Draco's existence. This was because his father, in his present fragile mental state, often took comfort in perusing its many pages, filled with numerous outstanding names and extensive biographical notes attached to their more or less extraordinary lives. To Lucius Malfoy, these pages brought back memories of fine, glorious days when the Malfoy name commanded awe and respect within the wizarding community.

Draco, who was unfortunate enough to be born at the decline of the family name and fortune, could not think without a shudder about what would happen if his father opened the book before Draco had a chance to delete the records that could appear there at any moment.

Shortly after the war and in a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief, all their assets were seized and their name and reputation were left in the dust. Ten years later, Draco still resented his father's lack of action. He did not even attempt to keep his family safe by leaving the country and lying low until everything calmed down, thus preserving what was left to be preserved: the last vestiges of dignity and his own sanity. In fact, Lucius Malfoy was so blinded by his faith in his family name, he had been fully counting on his extensive influence and that of his powerful friends at the Ministry of Magic to keep him safe, even after he'd been exposed as a Death Eater. He was utterly sure that he would be able to avoid punishment and retribution just as he had done before.

But the wizarding world was angry and devastated and not at all forgiving. They needed someone to pay for their pain and loss and the Malfoys became their scapegoat. That was why, while his ex-Death Eater cronies were fleeing the country, Lucius Malfoy was taken into custody after his contacts had failed him and the manor and their vaults were ransacked and emptied.

The manor itself could not be taken away from the Malfoy family until the last Malfoy stopped breathing, because of the strong charms and enchantments placed upon it at the time of its foundation — charms and Dark Magic curses that promised horrible consequences to those who would dare take the manor from its rightful owners. But it still meant that, though they managed to retain the house (albeit devoid of its many highly dangerous and valuable relics) in their possession, they were poorer than the Weasleys.

Much to his chagrin, Draco found that he would have to work hard to support his family; but as it turned out, venues for earning money were extremely limited for the son of a Death Eater who had been convicted of numerous crimes against both the Muggle and the wizarding world. The only thing that saved Lucius Malfoy from serving a life-long sentence in Azkaban were his fast-declining health and sanity. Because of that, he was allowed to live the remainder of his days in the manor, wandless, with all his gold taken away in payment for his irredeemable debt to society.

In the aftermath, Draco barely managed to find a way or two to help his family with its almost non-existent finances. One of these ways was to regularly sell his pure-blood sperm to the wizarding sperm bank, having by chance caught a tiny advertisement in the very corner of an advertising page in the Daily Prophet. It was degrading to the last degree but Draco had learned humility at the hands of the Dark Lord himself. He'd also promised during the war to do anything he could to save his family or at least to keep his mother and father from dying of starvation within the walls of Malfoy Manor.

It turned out that pure-blood sperm was in particular demand because of the notable shortage in pure-blood donors. And no wonder, thought Draco grimly; only a rare pure-blood would sink so low as to become a donor.

Of course, with the existence of countless methods to solve fertility and conception problems by magic, wizarding sperm banks weren't very popular among the wizarding population, especially among the pure-bloods, who frowned upon the idea and considered it too Muggle for their taste. On the other hand, many Muggle-borns and even half-bloods preferred to use it instead of relying on magic in such a delicate and potentially dangerous matter.

Draco demanded complete anonymity and was assured that no one would ever learn of his identity. Draco's lips curled. He could believe them on that score; they wouldn't want anyone to know that their donor was a Malfoy. Oh, the horror! The shame!

But the confounded book could give him away and create problems for him within his own family and he didn't need that on top of everything else. That was why Draco checked it on a regular basis and used a series of complicated enchantments to delete the new names he occasionally found winding their way across the page.

Draco took off the concealment enchantments one by one with the sweeping motions of his wand and dragged the heavy book to the desk in the cosy nook nearby. He put it down but didn't open. No, he needed a few moments to take a hold of himself.

He sat down and rubbed his face, steeling himself for what he had to do if there was a new entry waiting for him. It was a long and complicated process; he would need to gather all of his strength and concentration to be able to hoodwink an ancient magical book into believing that there were no new names for it to reveal. But today had been a very difficult day and it was only one o'clock in the afternoon. Draco hoped that his mother would be home soon. His father had been extremely difficult and she was the only one who could manage him these days and make him do her bidding.

Narcissa Malfoy rarely left her husband's side and seemed doomed to share his house-arrest for as long as he lived. But she was a patient and stoic woman and she never once complained. But today she had to leave in order to pawn some more of her jewels at Borgin and Burkes — jewels that hadn't been confiscated like the rest of their assets as they belonged to her prior to her marriage.

Draco's father hated when his mother left for even a short while and he was in the foulest of moods. Narcissa had a knack for calming and subduing Lucius with the right look, word, touch — and a spell or two to reinforce the effect. Draco, alas, wasn't quite as skilled in the casting of the necessary spells non-verbally. He could perform all kinds of spells with his wand on any day, but Lucius could not stand someone using magic in his presence.

So Draco was the one left to calm him down, which proved futile and only served to infuriate him further. However, as it happened, Narcissa was also the only one in their household nowadays who could still command respect when dealing with such characters as Mr. Borgin and receive from him the sum that she counted on at the outset.

Draco shook his head. There were times when his father was quite peaceful. But today was not such a day. He had finally managed to appease Lucius by settling him in the drawing room in his favourite armchair by the fire, along with a glass of elf-made wine and a thick folder of yellowed newspaper clippings that bore the only testimony to the fabled greatness of the Malfoy family at present. Lucius looked quite content when he left him, chuckling appreciatively and muttering to himself over the triumphs of his ancestors. Draco also left a house-elf to surreptitiously look after him. Just in case.

When Draco finally felt sufficiently calm and in possession of his spell-casting faculties, he reached for the book. However, just as he was on the point of opening it, he heard a loud pop and a house-elf appeared before him, wringing her hands in obvious distress. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Yes? What is it?" he snapped, making a brisk motion with his hand to show that the elf should quickly state its point and leave him to his affairs.

"Master, Draco," the elf squeaked in a tiny voice that shook with terror. "Tilly is very sorry, sir, but Master Lucius is having one of his fits—"

It hadn't occurred to Draco until that moment that something was up with his father because he had left a different elf to look after him than the one that stood in front of him now.

Draco leapt to his feet, forgetting about the book.

"How bad is it?" he asked, rushing towards the door.

"Bad, Master Draco. Bad," panted the elf, running to catch up with him. "Master Lucius is discovering Binky standing in the doorway and is starting to beat him with his cane, sir!"

Draco swore loudly. This wasn't bad — it was a complete disaster. And it was all his fault. He should never have left Lucius alone in the drawing room with only a house-elf to keep an eye on him.

He sprinted along the hall at a mad pace and down the stairs, leaping over the steps. He burst into the drawing room, breathing heavily, and froze in horror.

The tiny elf was sprawled on the floor. His father was leaning out of his armchair, pressing one of the elf's arms down with his foot and lashing him with his cane.

"Binky is sorry, Master. Binky is sorry..." sobbed the elf.

"Father, stop!" shouted Draco, getting further into the room, his hand clenched around his wand and glued to the side of his leg — out of sight.

"You!" Lucius Malfoy screeched as he spotted his son, turning now to brandish the cane at him. "How dare you set an elf to spy on me? How dare you? I am your father, show some respect!"

He stomped on the elf's arm. There was a sickening crack; the elf began to wail in pain. Draco's heart sank.

"Father, please, stop. Let Binky go," he said, trying in vain to stop his voice from shaking. "He needs help. Let the other elves take care of him. Tilly—"

But it was too late. Draco looked out of the window in time to see six people Apparating just outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. Draco knew that they represented Fair House-elf Treatment Commission — a fairly new division of Magical Law Enforcement Department. He knew that they kept tabs on all the house-elves in the country and monitored their physical and mental state through a tracking device that looked like a tiny round earring, which had been implanted into the ear of every house-elf during the last census.

They were running along the drive that led to the front doors and because this wasn't the first time such a squad visited the manor since the introduction of new house-elf-protection laws Draco knew that they were authorized to use any spell they considered necessary under the circumstances.

Draco needed to make his father look utterly calm and harmless. But how? He couldn't get any nearer to Lucius without catching a blow to the head because of the cane his father was threatening him with. He would just have to use one of the spells his mother used on Lucius to subdue him and he had to do it with his wand. But his panic — coupled with the elf's pain-filled wailing — was interfering with his thought process.

Narcissa had used different spells, each depending on the violence and the strength of the fit. Draco cursed himself for not spending more time learning them. Only he'd avoided them on purpose — because not learning them gave him a false sense of security.

Draco lost his head. They would be here any moment now. He would just have to use a spell that he knew and deal with the consequences later.

"Petrificus—"

"Noooo!" roared Lucius madly, flinging his cane right at him.

Draco leapt out of the way just in time. The cane smashed into the glass-fronted cabinet behind him with an ear-splitting crash, showering the floor with glass. Draco straightened up, holding his wand aloft. He could hear footsteps running. He had a split second to act.

"Father, I'm just trying to help," he tried saying soothingly. "Trust me. Just stay calm. Now Tilly—"

At that moment a six-strong Ministry squad burst into the room, their eyes and wands trained on Draco and Lucius.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy," said a cool voice, "please lower your wand." The speaker's name was Woodcock as attested the special badge he was wearing.

Draco didn't budge. His father's face had contorted into a ferocious snarl that, had they been alive, his predecessors would be shocked to witness on the representative of their noble house. Draco knew that the sight of so many wands would drive his father berserk. The next moment, Lucius reached for the poker that stood nearby.

"Incarcerous!" cried another member of the squad and thick ropes appeared out of nowhere, wrapping themselves tightly around Lucius, who began to hiss, spit and kick with all his might. The poker in his hand fell with a resounding clang onto the marble floor next to the fireplace.

"There's a special calming spell my mother uses," began Draco cautiously. "It is recommended in my father's case. It will subdue him without any consequences to his health. I can't remember the incantation but I can look it up and perform. It would be better if I do it. Father does not react well to wands. There is no need to charge him with anything."

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, please stay where you are and lower your wand," repeated Woodcock. "We have the situation under control. McLean, retrieve the elf," he added briskly, addressing a young woman with a ponytail who stood next to him.

McLean moved forward, aiming her wand at Lucius; she placed a Leg-Locker Curse on him before bending down and cautiously retrieving the hurt house-elf from beneath his feet. A mediwitch, who was always on the team in case of an emergency, conjured stretchers and rushed towards McLean and the elf. Carefully, they put him on the stretchers. Draco noticed that Binky had fainted. In the meantime, Lucius was frothing at the mouth with fury and indignation.

"How dare you barge into my house unannounced and use magic against me?" he snarled. "Who do you think you are? I am Lucius Malfoy, Lord of Malfoy Manor. I demand that you release me immediately and begone! Who gave you the authority to take charge of my property—"

Draco made a choking noise at the back of his throat, that could have been the beginning of a hysterical laughter — his father was so completely out of touch with reality these days — and took a step forward. He had just remembered the incantation and he was going to perform the spell, whether the squad wanted him to or not.

"Mr. Malfoy! Stand back and lower your wand. Now! This is your final warning."

"Listen to me!" cried Draco. "He's sick. He isn't in his right mind. He needs special treat—"

"Flipendo!" shouted the same man, who had cast a binding spell on his father, and Draco was knocked backwards. "Expelliarmus!" cried another one. Draco's wand flew out of his hand and into the hand of the latter wizard. Draco curled his hands into fists with impotent rage. Fools!

"Antonnelli, how is the elf?" Woodcock asked the mediwitch.

"His arm is broken, the skin on his back is severely damaged, and some of his ribs are fractured. There is also a bump on his forehead and some of his skin is missing from the left ear. The signal on his chip had streamed extreme distress..."

Woodcock nodded grimly.

"Mr. Lucius Malfoy," he said, addressing Lucius who continued to fight against the bonds like a man possessed, "you are hereby under arrest for attacking and severely mutilating a house-elf employed within your household. You will be immediately taken into custody and delivered to Azkaban—"

"Wait!" exclaimed Draco. "You can't do that. You can't take him away. He's ill. He's registered with the mental ward at St. Mungo's. Besides, he's under house-arrest as it is. He can't be moved."

That gave Woodcock a pause. "Peppercorn, check," he commanded. Another woman, this one stocky and in her mid-fifties with short, fluffy hair, took out her clipboard and consulted it. The wands of the other members of the team never left Draco and Lucius, except for the mediwitch, who was casting spells in order to prepare Binky for the transportation to St. Mungo's.

"Well?" demanded Woodcock.

"The information Mr. Draco Malfoy has provided is indeed correct. However, take a look at this," replied Peppercorn, showing him the clipboard. Woodcock lowered his wand and studied the clipboard. His eyebrows shot up. "Is that right?" he asked Peppercorn. "It must be," she said with a dubious look.

Woodcock addressed Draco. "You are aware that beating a house-elf within an inch of its life is a serious offence," he said. "In fact, your father has received countless warnings and there are eleven recorded visits to the manor on account of a distressed house-elf detected within your household. However, this time the severity of the house-elf's condition warrants us to make an arrest. It states here that considering your father's current non-transportable state we must take you in his stead."

Draco lifted his chin up and stared defiantly at the squad, mouth curved into a sneer — the only defence he had left. He had known in his heart that today his father had gone too far and that Draco would be the one left to pay for his transgression. After all, that was what he had been doing for the last ten years.

"Tilly," he said quickly as they were leading him away, "find Mother at once. Tell her what happened." Tilly was a smart elf. Draco knew that once the spells wore off she would use her elfish magic to keep his father in that armchair until his mother arrived.

Lucius was delirious, twisting his upper body like a wounded serpent (his legs still frozen under a spell) and screaming his head off. His neatly-arranged hair, which had turned grey in recent years, had come out of his ponytail, falling across his gaunt face. His eyes were filled with madness. He did not even notice Draco being taken off to Azkaban.

Draco wanted them to leave before Lucius started telling them that he would curse their families with plague or something equally fatal. Coming from the lips of a convicted Death Eater it wouldn't be considered an idle threat.

*

Draco was sentenced to three months in Azkaban. The only good thing that could be said about the wizarding prison these days was that it was no longer guarded by Dementors. Draco was grateful for that, because he didn't want to relive his worst memories over and over again for three whole months; nowadays, there were too many of them to plague him. However, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that the very essence of the Dementors had sipped into the walls of the place, because he found that he couldn't think of anything cheerful at all. Then again, the last ten years of his life could hardly be called cheerful. Perhaps, it was the heavy burden of these years that hung over him like a heavy cloud of gloom, thoroughly oppressing his mind.

His mother visited him as often as she could, but most of her time was taken up by her ailing husband. The sight of her face, though most welcome, could hardly alleviate Draco's depression, because he knew only too well what lay behind her courageous facade that she carefully applied like another layer of make-up in the morning and maintained throughout the day. It concealed misery and despair as deep and bottomless as his own. Narcissa Malfoy struggled as hard as she could to keep the tattered pieces of their lives together and not once had she showed a sign of giving up. Draco fiercely admired her for it and grew to love and appreciate her even more. He knew that his mother hoped against hope that one day the wizarding community would relent just enough to exonerate her only son by giving him an actual chance at a normal life within society.

"Mother," murmured Draco when she came to take him home. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, noticing in the process how hollow her cheeks had become. Narcissa looked at his shoulder-length, scraggly hair with shock and frowned at the short yet thick stubble that covered his chin and cheekbones as though she could hardly recognize him.

"I know. I badly need a shave and a haircut," Draco said with a half-smile. "I'm afraid I rather neglected my grooming habits while in here. Turns out prison does not inspire one to look his best. Oh, who knew."

His mother gave him a tight smile that never — not even for a second — relaxed at the corners, before her lips resumed their customary pursed position and her jaw clenched as though she was in pain that was chronic by now. Draco wondered if he would ever see her blue eyes sparkle again.

"How is Father?" he asked.

"He is in a good mood," replied his mother in a neutral tone of voice, relaying what his father had been doing almost mechanically. "I told him that I was bringing you home today. He seemed very pleased. He said that he was going to read a book in the meantime."

From the way she spoke about his father, Draco had an impression that they were discussing a younger brother of his who was giving his mother a lot of trouble and trying her patience on a regular basis.

Lucius was indeed in an uncommonly good mood when they arrived. Draco and Narcissa Apparated straight into the hallway onto a magnificent carpet that covered most of the stone floor, surrounded by the portraits, whose pale faces stared down their pointed noses at them with various degrees of disapproval. Giving each other a look of support, mother and son went through a heavy wooden door into the drawing room.

Draco was instantly startled to see his father standing upright, though leaning heavily on his cane. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw his father leaving his favourite armchair long enough to stand. What was more, Lucius was positively beaming at him, which, if anything, made him look even more deranged.

"Draco! Come, come. Come closer. I've been expecting you," he said with an eager gesture of his free arm. Draco looked sideways at his mother, who appeared to be just as nonplussed by her husband's unusual jubilant air as he was. However, she made a slight motion with her head, which meant that she wanted Draco to do what his father had told him to do. Draco gave her a barely noticeable nod and moved forward.

He would have much preferred to go to his room and have a bath first rather than deal with his father's strangely triumphant mood. But his father was looking so expectantly at him, so much like a child who wanted to show him his newest toy that he could do nothing but walk towards him with a false smile plastered across his face.

However, his fake smile slid off his face the moment he noticed an open book, that looked only too familiar, lying on top of a small round table in front of his father's armchair. No...

"Well, son. Why didn't you tell me?" his father asked before dissolving into a fit of half-wheezing, half-chuckling. "Wanted it to be a surprise, I daresay. Is that not so? Ah, well done, Draco. Well done, indeed! I knew you had it in you. Wonderful!"

"What do you mean?" asked Draco cautiously, coming to a halt in front of the table and lowering his eyes to the book.

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Lucius Malfoy, pointing excitedly at the name that was written in green ink in a complicated scrawl across the page; it reminded Draco of a vine that wanted to creep upwards and throttle him. It was intertwined with Draco's name and a single offshoot was winding its way further down the page from the point where their names interlinked. Draco staggered back. But that must mean... Impossible! It couldn't be... Harry Potter? What sort of joke was that?

"What is going on?" asked Narcissa sharply, joining them at the table.

"Ah! Narcissa, dear! Haven't you heard? Our son has aligned himself with Harry Potter!" Lucius declared it as though this was everything he had ever dreamed of. "Look! Look here if you don't believe me!" he said feverishly when Narcissa's face showed nothing but astonishment and disbelief, pointing at the names joined together with a shaking finger. "The book is never wrong, my dear, you know that."

Narcissa bent her head lower, squinting closely at the names and Draco briefly wondered if she had been overstraining her eyes again, poring over bills that never seemed to end, even though they had retrenched as much as they could without starving themselves to death.

"See!" cackled Lucius, the hand on his cane trembling with the effort it took him to keep himself standing. "And that is not all, dear. Look here. Do you see it? Yes? It means that they are expecting a child! Isn't this great news, love? I say, great news indeed! Another Malfoy!"

Draco wasn't completely sure he wasn't dreaming. He felt weak in the knees and had half a mind to summon his father's cane for support. Harry Potter! Of all the fucking wizards, it had to be Potter!

"But why didn't you say anything?" repeated Lucius, his pale grey eyes wide and enquiring like a child's. Draco didn't know what to say. But he knew that he couldn't tell the truth — at least, not to his father. He thought quickly about his options. They were rather limited. Though his mother didn't say another word, he could feel her eyes boring into him.

"I didn't know how you would take it," he stuttered at last, rubbing his forehead in distress.

Lucius clucked his tongue. "Nonsense! I am beyond ecstatic."

"Besides, we didn't know if it would work," continued Draco, wondering what he was getting himself into. "We wanted to wait and make sure, you know, so as not to raise your hopes…" he finished with a shrug.

"Of course, of course," murmured Lucius, appeased. "I understand. My dear," he said, extending his hand for Narcissa to take, "this alliance will bring us back on top. Mark my words!"

"Of course, my love," Narcissa replied calmly, caressing the back of his hand. "But, dear, you must take care of yourself. Why don't you have a bit of rest in the armchair? You've been standing long enough today. It's not good for you. I'm afraid you have greatly overexerted yourself over the news."

"Excellent news, Narcissa, darling. Excellent news!"

"Indeed," replied Narcissa through pursed lips. "Now, love, please..."

She guided him into the armchair and he meekly obeyed. Though he was sitting next to the fireplace, Narcissa placed a blanket over his legs and leaned the cane against the side of the mantelpiece.

Lucius was once again looking at Draco, who hated seeing his father being treated like a disabled child. His gaze was slightly unfocused. "I see you have decided to grow a beard," he said with a chuckle, as though he had no idea where Draco had spent the last three months. "Your grandfather Abraxas had a fine beard too."

Draco produced a smile for his father's sake and hoped that it didn't look as pained as it felt, stretched thin across his face. "Actually, Father, I'm not sure that I have enough patience to grow a beard and I am rather doubtful that it would look as fine on me."

"And what does Mr. Potter think? Does he approve?" Lucius asked eagerly. "You should ask him before getting rid of it, you know."

Draco inwardly groaned.

"My love," said Narcissa gently but firmly, "Draco needs to have a bath and I need to discuss dinner with Tilly. Do you think you could stay here on your own for a little while longer? I will be back in no time and then we will spend the rest of the evening together. We could play gobstones. You would like that, wouldn't you? Excellent. I'll bring your set with me."

She leaned forward, kissed Lucius on the cheek and marched out of the room. Draco stood staring at his father, as though struck with a Full Body-Bind Curse, now sheltered within an armchair, poring over the book and reverently tracing Draco and Potter's names with the tip of his finger. Draco was devastated to see him reduced to this childlike behaviour. His mind — it was completely damaged.

The process of deterioration started some time after the war, or at least that's when Draco and Narcissa began to take notice, as it started manifesting itself in little uncontrolled bursts of anger that turned more and more violent each time. However, Lucius had never been the same since his stint in Azkaban and the disgrace that it had brought upon him and his family. He fell in the eyes of the Dark Lord who, from then on, regarded him with derision and contempt as a failure, and took pleasure in torturing and humiliating him both in private and in front of the other Death Eaters, having relegated him to the lowest ranks. It was too much for Lucius to handle, to know that he was now regarded as scum by those who in better days would not have merited the honour to shine his shoes.

"Draco, are you coming?" asked his mother imperiously from the doorway.

Draco bowed his head.

"Yes, Mother."

He turned on his heels and reluctantly followed her into the hall. Narcissa took him to the study, locked the door and put a number of spells around the room before finally looking him in the eye.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "Why is Harry Potter's name in that book? Don't even try, Draco. Don't you even try giving me that cock-and-bull story that you gave your father," she warned him when he began to open his mouth. "Your father may be out of his mind but I am in full possession of my mental faculties. Out with it. What—have—you—done?"

Draco lowered his eyes and fumbled with the silver serpent-shaped fastenings on his travelling cloak that had seen better days. "I've been selling my sperm to a wizarding sperm bank," he mumbled so low Narcissa couldn't hear a word he said. She raised her eyebrows and looked severely at her son. "I'm afraid I haven't caught that. Do better next time, won't you, Draco?"

Draco felt two hot spots appear on his cheeks; he was sure that they were pink and shiny. However, he reminded himself that he had done nothing wrong or shameful. He had done what he could to help his family. There were worse things that a pure-blood wizard could do for the sake of his family. Of course, there was also the fact of talking about his sperm in front of his mother — he hadn't counted on that. But he wasn't an errant schoolboy anymore. He was a grown man and he had certainly learned to take responsibility for his actions in the intervening years.

Draco cleared his throat, raised his eyes to meet hers and spoke clearly this time, "I have been selling my sperm to a wizarding sperm bank."

Narcissa Malfoy looked too shocked to speak. She clutched her throat while her eyes grew extremely wide and showed more emotion than he had seen there in ten years at least.

"Draco!" she exclaimed at last, shaking her head. "Why would you do something like that? Why? It is such a Muggle sort of thing," she said in distaste. "I always disapproved of it. I would never have thought… I thought you got the gold from selling those potions you were brewing."

Draco snorted.

"Potions!" he said with derision. "They were giving me a pittance for all the trouble I went through to brew them. Hardly enough to cover the cost of the ingredients and nothing much left for you and Father." He looked defiantly — almost scornfully — at her. "I'm not ashamed of it. I did what I thought was right. And you will not shame me for doing the right thing for you and Father."

Narcissa's face softened and she touched his stubbled cheek as though she was truly surprised to see how much her son had grown and what sort of man he had become.

"No, I won't," she said quietly, "but I forbid you to do it again," she added firmly the next moment. "From now on you will cease every interaction with that place."

"But Mother—"

Narcissa placed a finger against his lips to shush him.

"It just so happens that you aren't the only one who has been keeping a terrible secret," she said and her lips actually twitched in what could only be called amusement.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"I'm afraid I have been doing something thoroughly unbefitting a Malfoy," confessed Narcissa. "Your father would be shocked. I am shocked! But I think I might have just found myself. I've been working!"

Draco didn't understand what she meant by that but he noticed that during that short speech, his mother was blooming like a flower.

"I don't understand. Working on what? Wait a minute! Mother, you haven't redecorated my room while I was away, have you?" he asked in indignation. "I'm not a child anymore, you know. I can redecorate my own room."

Narcissa shook her head.

"I would never presume to do something like that, dear," she said almost gravely but for a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Draco, you don't know this but as children my sisters and I used to make special dress robes and gowns for our dolls."

Draco raised his eyebrows even higher. He hadn't expected his mother to start talking about her childhood and he couldn't really see where this was going. However, he didn't interrupt her. It was obviously something important to her and he was pleased to see that it brought colour back to her face.

"After the search of the manor, as I was trying to assess what hadn't been taken away, I found an old box filled with dolls, clothes and my old sketches upstairs in the loft. It didn't occur to me right then but in the months that followed this box and the many happy memories it contained were my only solace and comfort. Your father's mental health was deteriorating at an alarming pace, and the life that we had built had by then fallen apart. I was afraid that any moment now the both of you would be taken off to Azkaban. So when I couldn't take it anymore — when I felt that I was at the end of my tether, I would go upstairs to the loft and sketch. I'm sure it was the only thing that kept my sanity intact back then. Eventually, I felt a keen need to share what I had been creating with others. I decided to be bold and modern and not give a toss about traditions."

Draco's mouth was hanging open by now. Narcissa shrugged. "I had nothing to lose. So I took some of my old gowns that I will probably have no occasion to wear again anyway and told Tilly to undo them and turn them into some of my better designs." Narcissa laughed at the dumbfounded look on Draco's face. "I called in a favour at Twilfitt and Tatting's and they put them on sale. I'm happy to say that they did very well. By the way, I've been setting up my own little shop in Diagon Alley while you were locked up. I even found a perfect salesperson — Astoria Greengrass. Do you remember her? A sweet girl. I once hoped that you would make a fine match."

"I didn't want to ruin her life," mumbled Draco. "But I don't see how you managed to do all that. I would have thought that they'd have driven you out of there as soon as they saw you or heard your name."

"Oh, that!" Narcissa made a playful motion with her hand. "I found that 'Cissy Black' doesn't repulse customers as much as 'Narcissa Malfoy' would. Often enough they don't even make the connection."

Draco didn't think that anything would ever shock him again. First Harry Potter carrying his child, now his own mother setting up a shop! Had the world gone crazy while he was wallowing in misery and self-pity in Azkaban?

Draco couldn't remember when he last saw his mother's animated face or heard her speak with so much enthusiasm about something that she truly wanted to do — something that wasn't conditioned by his or his father's needs. He took her hands in his and squeezed.

"I'm so happy for you," he said, kissing her on both cheeks.

"Now," said Narcissa Malfoy business-like, taking a step back and looking critically at her son, "what are you going to do about this situation with Potter? Your father can't know the truth or he'll have another fit and I shudder to think what that would do to him — or us."

"Then I won't tell him," said Draco with a long-suffering sigh. "I will just have to talk to Potter and convince him to play along. We'll go from there. We could always stage a break-up later on."

"Hmm..." said Narcissa thoughtfully, "and if he refuses to cooperate, remind him of what happened in the Forbidden Forest. That will do the trick, I'm sure."

Part 3

*

Harry realized that he was shaking with fury. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands into fists in order to calm himself down. He could not afford to worry or panic because it could destabilize the magical field that supported the baby’s artificial environment — and even lead to a miscarriage. If that happened, he would never be allowed to carry another child again. He couldn't let that happen. But ever since he received that cryptic missive from Malfoy, Harry could do nothing but worry about the fact that Malfoy had somehow managed to discover a secret Harry wasn't ready to share with the world yet. This was what it said:

Potter,

I know about your condition. I also happen to know how it came about. We need to talk. Meet me at Gargoyle's Breath, Knockturn Alley on Thursday at 14:00.

Draco Malfoy.

P.S. Don't bother hiding this letter or setting fire to it. It is spelled so that only you can see what's written here and will set itself on fire as soon as you have read it, anyway.

Harry yelped when the piece of parchment in his hands began to smoke and curl at the edges once he'd read the last word. In a split second, it burnt itself into a pile of ashes that then vanished, but the message itself appeared to be branded at the forefront of Harry's mind. The bastard!

For the first time in a long time, Harry started to hyperventilate.
Thankfully, his Auror training caught up with him in time to stop him from having a full-blown panic attack in his cubicle or pressing the fake galleon he carried in his pocket in case of emergencies to summon his friends. But he had been jittery ever since.

Harry was walking briskly along Knockturn Alley to their designated meeting place, fuming with anger, the hood of his cloak firmly in place so that it covered most of his face. He didn't want to be seen or recognized. But what the heck was Malfoy playing at?

Harry had heard all about his recent stint in Azkaban from Hermione. She was beyond furious and naturally wouldn't shut up about the poor house-elf, what she regarded as a thoroughly inadequate punishment for the mutilation of a living magical creature, and how all the Malfoys should be locked up and their house-elves released from service and placed in a special rehabilitation facility she was currently drafting a proposal for. Harry had also heard about the Malfoys' financial troubles and there had even been a recent rumour that Narcissa Malfoy was going into trade. Well, Harry didn't believe that last bit. And if Malfoy thought that he could raise his fortune at Harry's expense, then he was very much mistaken.

Gargoyle's Breath was the equivalent of Hog's Head in Hogsmeade in that it attracted a rough crowd and catered to a bunch of shady characters who preferred to conduct their shady affairs in a dingy, poorly-lit room over dust-covered bottles of out-of-date Firewhisky. Harry didn't frequent such places for his own enjoyment but he did pay occasional visits there in his line of duty.

He had second thoughts about not telling Ron and Hermione about Malfoy’s letter and that he was actually meeting him and on his own too. But Harry knew that they would both flip over the fact and he just couldn't deal with their extreme emotions on top of everything else at the moment. Of course, he could just ignore the letter and not show up at all, but what if Malfoy went to the Daily Prophet with the juicy piece of news in a last ditch effort to get his hands on some gold?

Harry entered the pub and spent a moment adjusting to the dimness and crowdedness of the place. It seemed to be a busy time and Harry wondered if that was why Malfoy had chosen it. Was he afraid that Harry would attack him or something? Harry finally spotted him sitting at the table at the far corner of the room — though not before Malfoy helpfully flipped back his hood for a mere second and Harry caught the familiar but unwelcome sight of his blond hair.

Taking another deep breath and telling himself to control his emotions for the baby's sake, Harry strode across the room to the table. Malfoy nodded in greeting and made a beckoning motion with his hand as though Harry needed his gracious permission to take a seat.

Harry didn't sit down but leaned over the table and hissed into Malfoy’s pale, pointed face, "I don't know how you found out, who told you or how many people you had to torture to get hold of this information, but if you're thinking for one moment that you'll get away with blackmailing me—"

"I'm not here to blackmail you, Potter," gritted out Malfoy. "I came here to talk. Just like I said in my letter. So sit down for fuck's sake and stop spitting in my face."

Harry was taken aback by Malfoy's vehemence. It seemed real. No, it was probably just an act. It's Malfoy, Harry reminded himself. You can't trust him. But he knew that it was unwise to cause a scene that would no doubt attract unwanted attention to the pair of them. Together, they were notorious enough even for such a dodgy place.

"The baby. Think about the baby," Harry intoned under his breath. "You must control your anger."

So he sat down and tried to relax. Malfoy nodded and cast a series of silencing and privacy spells around their table. Harry regarded him warily. He hadn't seen the man for about ten years and he didn't look too good. There were dark shadows under his eyes, he looked thin and haggard and his skin had a distinctly greyish tinge to it as it did back in their sixth year. Harry felt a pang of pity for him. He couldn't have had an easy time after the war and, having been pampered all his life, it must have been a hard and humiliating lesson to learn. Harry was surprised that he had survived the ordeal at all. Malfoy, however, seemed to interpret his look quite differently.

"What's the matter, Potter?" he asked with a sneer. "Don't trust my spell-casting skills? I'm sorry if they aren’t up to your high standards, famous Auror Harry Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. Seriously? After all this time, he still remembered their schoolboy rivalry and regarded him as his archrival? Well then, Harry wasn't about to tell Malfoy that he couldn't cast the necessary spells himself as they would draw on magic that was otherwise engaged in supporting his growing baby.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Harry asked instead. "If it's not money that you wish to extort from me for keeping your trap shut then what is it? What do you want from me? And while we're on the subject of illegal actions, maybe you'll tell me how you managed to obtain this information in the first place? I'm sure it wasn't legal. I was assured that my condition and my identity would remain anonymous for as long as I chose to conceal them. Even now the facilities I used for the purpose swear that they haven't told anyone and are ready to take all the necessary tests to prove it. So how...?"

Malfoy cleared his throat several times. It was as though a piece of what he wanted to say got stuck there. Harry waited patiently for him to speak.

"The child that you're carrying," Malfoy began at last and Harry hissed and looked around like a scalded cat, afraid to see all the eyes trained on him, "I'm... I'm its other father."

Harry stared at Malfoy, everyone else forgotten. What? Then he burst out laughing. Malfoy, for some reason, looked affronted.

"What kind of joke is that?" asked Harry when he had calmed himself down. "I mean, why would you even joke like that in the first place?"

"It's not a joke, Potter,” gritted out Malfoy. “Think! How would I know that you are with child otherwise? Contrary to what you think I didn't torture or blackmail anyone to find something like this out. How would I even know what to look for?"

Harry was momentarily distracted by the words 'with child' coming from Malfoy's lips to give proper consideration to the rest of his speech. They sounded delicate, almost tender. But he shook his head in the end. He didn't care to solve this mystery, that's for sure.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"There's a book in my family — an ancient magical object enchanted to show that a new Malfoy has been conceived and is on its way."

Harry's mouth fell open. A new Malfoy? No.

"It also shows the names of both parents, whether they know about it or not. Listen," said Malfoy urgently as he leaned forward, "I can show you the book if you don't believe me.”

Well, Harry didn't want to believe it. He was pregnant with Draco Malfoy's child! He didn't want to even think about the implications of that. Did he actually choose Malfoy's sperm to conceive a child? What were the chances of that? But, surely, it was impossible. Malfoy wouldn't do something so Muggle, would he?

'Oh, but what choice did he have when his family fell upon hard times and with no friend in sight?' asked a tiny, snide voice in his head that sounded awfully like Phineas Nigellus. 'You heard the rumours. They have nothing left but the house.'

Harry felt uncomfortable thinking about it. Though maybe not as uncomfortable as thinking about the fact that he unwittingly became pregnant with Draco Malfoy's child. He licked his lips and looked at Malfoy.

"So — er — what does this mean?" Harry asked awkwardly. "Why are you telling me this?" That was why he was so adamant about not knowing the name of the other father in the first place. He so didn't need to know that he managed to conceive the next Malfoy. Though, of course, it would definitely bear the name of Potter. “I wouldn't think that you would want to do anything with me or the child — unless, of course, you wish to use us in order to improve your family's standing in the eyes of the public—"

"Potter, don't flatter yourself,” interrupted Malfoy with a gurgling sound in his throat and a familiar sneer. “I have no intention of using you or your child in order to improve anything for the public's sake. I do, however, require you to make an appearance in private."

"I don't understand..."

Malfoy rubbed his forehead.

"My father is not... has not... been well. I knew that I had to be very careful when I became a donor because of the book and because my father loves nothing better than to snuggle up with it. I had to check it on a regular basis and delete any new entries as they appeared. But after my father had one of his violent fits, during which he attacked and brutally maimed our house-elf Binky, I was sent to Azkaban in his stead. When I came back, it turned out that your name appeared in the book, while I was gone, and my father saw it before I could get my hands on it."

Harry didn't know where this was going but he didn't interrupt. So it was true, he thought, Lucius Malfoy was off his rocker.

“Now he thinks that we are — well — romantically involved and I'm afraid he wants to meet you. I could not tell him the truth.” Malfoy gulped. “He is not... right in the head. It would kill him. Or us. I don't know.” Malfoy was talking to his hands now. “He is quite unpredictable these days, going from docile to volatile in no time. So... if you could come to the manor with me and pretend... just once... I would be... grateful.”

Harry didn't know what to say. The last time he was at Malfoy Manor... well, it wasn't exactly a fun-time experience and not something he would ever remember without bile rising up to his throat. Hermione was tortured there. Dobby received his fatal wound there. He and Malfoy had a scuffle there. A scuffle of paramount importance, as it turned out — the scuffle that, in a way, decided the outcome of the war. It was there that Harry disarmed Malfoy and became the master of the Elder Wand.

Harry looked at Malfoy, feeling pity and an overwhelming wish to help. He couldn't imagine what it cost Malfoy to talk about his father's health problems in front of him and, considering their history, ask him for help. Malfoy told him that he wasn't doing it for his own gain and Harry believed him. How much pride did he have to sacrifice just to ask him for such a distasteful favour? Harry could do it, couldn't he? 'Are you mad?' Ron's incredulous voice popped into his head. 'Harry, this is Malfoy!' screeched Hermione's. He shook them off.

“I'll do it,” he said.

He didn't expect Malfoy to be grateful. That would be beyond stupid. But he thought he might look pleased or at the very least relieved. Instead, Malfoy looked livid.

“I don't need your pity,” he hissed.

Harry bristled. “Well, what else do you want me to feel?” he asked. “Disgust? Loathing? Indifference? Well, I'm sorry, Malfoy! I'm sorry I have feelings any normal person would have under the circumstances and I'm sorry that I'm not afraid to express them.”

Malfoy sneered.

“Always wearing your heart on your sleeve, aren't you?”

“Yeah, that's me. Harry Potter, the boy-who-always-wears-his-heart-on-his-sleeve. Happy?”

Malfoy just sneered harder.

“I feel sorry for you and your family, OK?” continued Harry. “And I'm sorry that I didn't do anything to help.”

Malfoy snorted.

“Was there anything you could do to help?” he asked with an affected air of indifference that didn't quite mask his curiosity.

Harry had to think about it.

“Back then?” He shook his head. “No. I don't think so. Now?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I could give it a go.”

“Don't bother yourself, Potter,” Malfoy flung at him with supreme contempt. “I'm not a charity case for you to take on and champion now that you don't have the wizarding world to save.”

“Fine!”

Harry was breathing heavily. He was angry and his anger could at any moment get out from under his control and it was all Malfoy's fault. He took a deep breath. Then another. Then one more. Why was it so difficult? He hadn't had any trouble before. But Harry knew why. He just had to take one look at Malfoy's arrogant face to know why. What was the point of dragging him out here, anyway?

“You asked for my help,” Harry said, forcing himself to speak calmly. “I agreed to help you. Now you reject my offer because you took offence at my reaction, which is completely normal, by the way. So now what?”

He couldn't let his distress get to him and affect his magic. But did Malfoy care? Did he care that if his magic failed to support the artificial womb, he would lose the baby? Perhaps, something of what he was feeling and thinking showed on his face, because Malfoy stirred uncomfortably in the chair opposite him.

“What's wrong, Potter? You look peaky.”

“None of your business,” snapped Harry. He wasn't going to coddle Malfoy. “I bet you don't care that sitting here and squabbling with you isn't good for my magic or the child growing inside me that it supports.”

Malfoy bit his lower lip, looking contrite, but didn't say anything. Harry hadn't expected him to. He had wasted enough time on him as it was. He needed to get away from him and do something relaxing. Hermione had made a list of relaxing things for him to engage in but as it included listening to classical music he had so far ignored it. Maybe he should check it, after all? It was so long and boring it would put him to stupor right away.

“Do you accept my offer of help or not?” Harry asked challengingly, showing that he was about to stand up and leave.

Malfoy nodded. “Thanks,” he added ungraciously as an afterthought.

*

They arranged that Harry should come on Saturday. During a brief exchange that followed, Harry stunned Malfoy by telling him that he was going to travel by car (“A car? A Muggle car? But you're a wizard!”) from London all the way to Wiltshire. Harry explained that he couldn't use the usual magical means of transportation along with the majority of spells — apart from the simplest ones — at the moment because his magic was being used to support the pregnancy. Malfoy gave him a strange look that Harry couldn't make out and then said, “Then I'm coming with you.”

Harry spluttered, then tried to talk him out of it. “Really, Malfoy, that's hardly necessary. I can manage on my own just fine. I came here all by myself, didn't I?”

Malfoy wouldn't budge and Harry was rattled. “I don't need you to come with me out of pity or some sense of obligation that you think you should be feeling on my account,” he said in annoyance, “or because you think that you owe me. It's no big deal. And I'm not delicate or anything,” he pointed out warningly; it was a matter of principle. “You don't have to accompany me. I drive all the time these days.”

Harry sighed; it was like talking to someone deaf. In the end he told Malfoy to meet him at the square in front of Grimmauld Place, without actually giving him the number of the house. Surely, Malfoy didn't need to know that too!

Harry's car, though initially Muggle, was enchanted to do different tricks, like gliding and weaving smoothly through the traffic at what would have been very high speed if it wasn't accelerated by magic, completely unnoticed by Muggle motorists, avoiding collisions, skipping traffic lights and outstripping other cars — after he had let Mr. Weasley tinker with it to his heart's content. Harry had also let him enchant it to fly and install the Invisibility Booster, just in case, though Harry was reluctant to actually fly it, because he still vividly remembered what happened the last time he had flown an enchanted car of Mr Weasley’s.

Malfoy stared at the car as though it was a Blast-Ended Skrewt and Harry had to stifle a laugh at the half-appalled, half-disgusted glare on his face. But he couldn't stifle the joke that followed: “It won't burn, sting or bite,” he said, remembering — not without a shudder — the ugliest creatures he had ever seen. “Get in.”

Malfoy scowled. Then got in as elegantly as he could. Harry had to stifle another laugh at the thought that Malfoy had probably grown up travelling by carriages and found such means of transport way below him.

“Tilly prepared a lunch-basket,” he said haughtily, showing a bulging wicker basket in his hands. Harry snickered. “So did Kreacher. Put it at the back,” he said, pointing at the back seat, where another enormous basket was already sitting.

Harry noticed that Malfoy was studiously avoiding looking at his midriff, keeping his chin unnaturally high, even for a Malfoy. Harry preferred to use a variation of a Disillusionment Charm at work to hide his already visible pregnancy but it was Hermione who usually cast it on him before work and, in any case, there was no point in hiding it from Malfoy.

Harry started up the engine and they began to move through lukewarm morning traffic. It was a very awkward situation. Harry concentrated on the road but couldn't help throwing furtive glances at Malfoy, who was sitting as straight as though he had eaten a poker for breakfast. Harry could tell from what he could see of his face that he was obviously impressed by how swiftly and smoothly they moved — glided a few inches above the ground even.

Harry could also tell that he wanted to ask something, probably about the car, but apparently thought it beyond himself. Amused by his battle, Harry decided to take pity on the poor blighter and told him about the difference a bit of magic made. Malfoy nodded in satisfaction (“I knew that Muggles couldn't come up with something so sophisticated.”) and the conversation languished.

But not for long.

“So... why wizarding sperm bank?” Malfoy asked all of a sudden in a most natural tone of voice a few moments later.

Harry spluttered, embarrassed and indignant. “Malfoy! You can't ask something like that!” he protested.

“I thought I just did,” drawled Malfoy.

“Well — well — you shouldn't! That's none of your business, you know.”

“I beg to differ. Come on. Tell me. Don't be coy,” coaxed Malfoy. “I'm just baffled as to the reason why the Saviour of the Wizarding World, whose amorous exploits are legendary—" (Harry winced and gritted his teeth) "—had to resort to the assistance of an anonymous donor at a wizarding sperm bank in order to have a child. I find it hard to believe that there wasn't a single willing witch to carry one for you or a single wizard to provide you with one. I remember the time when your name and those of your many paramours didn't leave the pages of the Daily Prophet. So what went wrong? What changed?”

Harry clamped his mouth shut as though afraid that Malfoy would try to prise it open and forcefully drag the words out of him. There had never been as many 'paramours' as people claimed there to be. Most of the stories had been made up and sold to the paper by people who took offence at being rejected by the Saviour of the Wizarding World (Harry hated that title, thank you very much!) once he understood that they only pursued him just so they could boast about it to their friends and families and have their fifteen minutes of fame. Enraged, many of them resorted to what seemed to be a popular form of revenge against him — to have Rita Skeeter share their fraught-with-lies stories with the wizarding world.

“Potter,” said Malfoy with a sigh, as if Harry's silence had bored him out of his mind, “it will be a long ride. We might as well talk.”

“Sure, let's talk. But why does it have to be about me?”

“Because if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess,” pointed out Malfoy.

“Oh, great! So this is my fault now. Lovely.” Harry shook his head. “Unbelievable!” he muttered under his breath. “The nerve!” Then, casting a furious look at Malfoy, he was startled to see that his lips were twitching.

“Let me guess,” Malfoy said when he noticed that Harry was glaring at him, “you are afraid that I will tattle to the Daily Prophet about this. Is that it?”

Harry threw him a sharp look. How did he know what he had been thinking about? He wasn't using Legilimency on him, was he?

“Will you?” he asked instead. “I mean, looking back, it didn't really stop you before. I remember the time when you practically worked as their freelance reporter, getting the scoop on me every other day.”

Malfoy scowled.

“I'm sure I'm not the same schoolboy we both used to know,” he said with distaste. He probably didn't want to think back on his past choices and what they had ultimately led him to, thought Harry, regretting reminding him of it.

“I guess not,” he agreed quietly.

“I no longer wish to harm you or to land you in trouble to prove something. I think life has already set the record straight,” said Malfoy bitterly and turned away to stare out of the window with such determination Harry was surprised he hadn't made the glass explode.

Harry didn't say anything. His gut feeling and his Auror training were telling him that Malfoy was telling the truth, and Harry almost always went with what they told him. Besides, he hated to see people in pain or discomfort and do nothing about it. Malfoy was currently gripping the handle of the car door, looking like he was seriously contemplating jumping out of the passenger window at any moment. Harry shook his head and decided that he might as well tell Malfoy the truth. He definitely looked like he could do with a laugh. Harry could give him that. He could be selfless.

Hermione often said that she despaired at how little he thought of his own self; always putting other people's needs and comfort before his own and never wishing to trouble anyone with his own problems, dealing with them on his own and never letting anyone in — with the only exception of her and Ron. As it turned out, he wasn't all wrong about keeping people at an arm's length. There were precious few he could really trust. Harry had learned a long time ago that people who were interested in dating him wanted him to continue to be the hero and the saviour, but would drop him like a sprout of a Venomus Tentacula in the rare cases when he needed them to be there for him.

Harry shook his head and launched his story. After all, if any of it resurfaced in the paper again, he would know exactly where to look for the leak, and he knew enough nasty spells by now to make Malfoy very sorry indeed — once the baby was born, of course.

Despite the awkward beginning, the drive was not as bad as Harry had feared it would be, all things considered. In fact, it was even quite nice at times. He was surprised to find Malfoy not such a bad company — when he wasn't his usual arrogant, stuck-up self, that is. They even enjoyed a few laughs, remembering their younger selves back at Hogwarts; the surprised way Malfoy laughed told Harry that he hadn't done it in a long time.

They also had to decide on what exactly to tell Malfoy's father if he asked them how and when their 'romance' began. That proved difficult because their paths hadn't crossed in the last ten years. But, despite the fact that the chances of their meeting were very slim theoretically, they decided that a chance meeting in Diagon Alley should serve the purpose.

“Will your father buy it, though?” asked Harry, wondering just how sick was old Lucius.

“He's not in his — I mean, he's not all there. And he is enamoured with the idea that I managed to align myself with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Thinks our alliance will bring our family back on top.” Malfoy shook his head sadly. “He'll believe anything that we say. Mother knows the truth. She'll be playing along. I...”

Malfoy cleared his throat uncomfortably. Harry looked at him but he was once again staring straight ahead, his jaw working hard over what he was about to say next.

“Potter, I do appreciate what you're doing,” he said at last.

Harry nodded but didn't say anything; there was no point in embarrassing him any further. Malfoy was holding himself so awkwardly it was like he wasn't used to human interaction outside the walls of the Manor. Harry found himself trying to make him feel at ease by recounting funny or absurd cases he had to deal with as an Auror.

At long last, they were driving along a straight lane, surrounded by ancient trees that curved into a wide driveway with tall yew hedges on both sides. They went through a pair of wrought-iron gates that opened when Malfoy pointed his wand at them and muttered something complicated under his breath. The car trudged along the gravel path that crackled unpleasantly in the silence and finally brought them to a handsome manor house.

Harry parked the car at the foot of the front steps and got out. 'Well, this is weird...' he thought to himself. Malfoy climbed the stairs and Harry followed, trying hard not to think that, the last time he was here, Snatchers brought him in as a prisoner.

The front doors opened inwards of their own accord and they found themselves in a large, dimly lit but sumptuously decorated hallway. Harry gazed at the pale-faced portraits on the walls that looked down their pointed noses at him and noted how soft was the magnificent carpet, which covered most of the stone floor, beneath his feet.

“In here,” Malfoy said, leading them through a heavy wooden door into the next room.

Malfoy's parents were waiting for them in the drawing room. Harry had told himself not to stare no matter what met his eye. In truth, he didn't know what to expect and it didn't feel right to pry and ask Malfoy about it. He had an instant image of Gilderoy Lockhart in his mind, trying to force his autograph on him with a battered, peacock-feather quill and boasting that he could do joined-up writing now. Would Lucius Malfoy ask him to look at his collection of newspaper clippings about Voldemort and his rise to power? Or hand him 'Join the Death Eaters' leaflets? But then, his mind wasn't damaged by a spell, was it? Harry was relieved when his worries didn't come to pass.

Lucius Malfoy, with his grey hair tied in a ponytail, was sitting in an armchair by the fire, a blanket wrapped around his legs. He looked serene and benevolent, like he had never appeared when he was in his right mind, not a trace of smugness or arrogance on his face. Narcissa Malfoy, blond hair done upwards, was standing at his side like a statue in a floor-length silver dress, holding his hand with a fiercely protective look on her face. Harry thought that she looked like a dragon guarding her eggs.

Lucius smiled when they walked further into the room, his expression somewhat vague. Narcissa merely nodded.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor,” she said curtly in an icy tone of voice. Harry noticed that she barely moved her lips and wondered if she was training to become a ventriloquist.

“Mr. Potter!” exclaimed her husband jovially. “Welcome! Welcome!” Harry would have never believed that he would be welcomed with so much good nature and enthusiasm by Lucius Malfoy of all people. His life was very strange sometimes.

“How very fine it is of Draco to have finally brought you here,” he said. “I only wish that he wouldn't have thought it necessary to keep you away from us for such a long time. Narcissa and I are so happy. So utterly happy for you two!”

Harry felt deeply uncomfortable. He nodded his head, mumbling “Thanks” and noting that Mrs. Malfoy looked anything but happy. Malfoy moved to stand closer to him so that their shoulders and elbows brushed and Lucius beamed at them.

“Excellent! Excellent!”

“I believe you must be tired after the journey,” said Narcissa Malfoy coldly and Harry got an impression that she disapproved of their travelling arrangements. “Tilly has laid the table with refreshments in the dining room.” She made an imperial motion with her hand in the direction of another set of doors Harry hadn't noticed before. “Draco, why don't you take our guest there? Father and I will join you shortly.”

Draco nodded and put his hand on the small of Harry's back, making him jump and stare at him wide-eyed.

“Shall we, Harry?” murmured Draco in a low, intimate croon that sent undesirable shivers down Harry's spine. Malfoy was giving him a meaningful look, eyebrows raised, as he steered him sideways. Harry took a deep breath and nodded — somewhat belatedly.

He realized that they hadn't discussed this part of their charade. It made sense, of course, to attempt to show their intimacy through touches and looks, but Harry hadn't really counted on that. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched him with the intention of being intimate with him and he had to remind himself now, very strictly, that Malfoy's only intention was to keep his father blissfully unaware that he and Harry barely knew each other and had only just learned to stand each others guts.

Harry couldn't remember being in a more surreal or uncomfortable situation than when he was sharing a meal with the Malfoys some time later, talking about his and Malfoy's child and their fake future plans. He was alarmed when Malfoy Senior, having enquired about their living arrangements once the child was born, insisted that they should move to Malfoy Manor.

“London is no place for a child to be raised,” he said, dolefully shaking his head, when Harry described his current whereabouts. “But I can assure you that you will want for nothing here,” he said with an eager nod, his eyes shining at the prospect. “I daresay we have enough room for as many children as you wish to have in future—" (Harry's eyes widened) "—and the grounds are quite extensive and obscured from sight if the child proves to be keen on flying.” He looked meaningfully at the both of them. “Besides, Tilly is an excellent nurse and I dare you to find a better house-elf for the job.”

Lucius looked so hopeful Harry almost hated himself for telling him that they had no plans to move to the manor, but he could not let him reside under any more false notions; there was no way he was moving there under false pretence, even for a short while. Lucius looked heartbroken. Harry lowered his eyes and stared at the plate before him. Why should he care about what Lucius thought, anyway? He didn't care much about the people he helped torture and kill under Voldemort's regime of terror. But he was helpless and childish now and Harry could never be cruel to someone like that.

“But, London! This is not a proper place for a child to grow! A savage place. Perfectly savage. Do you not agree, Narcissa, darling?”

Narcissa murmured something that could have been an agreement or a soothing nonsense to calm her husband down. Harry didn't know because he couldn't look either in the face.

“Father,” Malfoy said, and Harry was startled when Malfoy’s hand covered his; “Harry and I would prefer to establish our own household, but we mean to find a house in the country. Not a manor, of course. But, perhaps, a nicely-sized cottage...”

“An excellent idea, Draco!” exclaimed Lucius.

Harry nodded. He had been indeed contemplating finding a house in the country or even building one himself and it was funny that Malfoy should say that. Harry was remaining at Grimmauld Place out of love and loyalty to Sirius, even though the latter hated the place. It simply seemed like the only connection left for Harry to cling on to. Kreacher made it as welcome, warm and comfortable as Harry could have wished for himself, never having too high standards of living conditions in the first place. For him, anything that wasn't a cupboard under the stairs was a huge improvement. But for the baby... He had to think of the baby now, and he thought that it would be really nice to try and find a fine house somewhere with lots of trees and maybe even a brook, somewhere on the edge of the forest... or in the valley, with the view of the mountains...

“Harry?”

Harry looked up at the sound of Malfoy's soft voice right next to his ear. He had to admit that he did a good job acting the part. Harry noticed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were looking at him as though they had asked him a question and were waiting for him to reply. What had he missed?

“Yes?” he asked, turning to Malfoy for some clarification.

“Father needs to rest for a bit. However, he wishes us to remain a while longer. Would you like to have a tour of the manor in the meantime?” he asked.

“I'd like that,” said Harry, thinking it rude to refuse and to point out that it was getting late and that he had a long ride back home. But his heart clenched every time he looked at Lucius's childishly excited face. Harry could never have imagined that he would feel so much pity for someone he once loathed and despised — or go out of his way to please him for the sake of his son who, by the way, was already standing up from the chair, holding out his hand and apparently expecting Harry to take it. Harry refrained from rolling his eyes.

He thanked Lucius and Narcissa for their hospitality and stood up, staring pointedly at Malfoy's hand. It fell limply to Malfoy's side. Harry was about to smile at this small victory when Malfoy grabbed his wrist instead and tugged him along. “Come on,” he mumbled, not meeting his eye.

Harry expected the manor to be as pompous as its inhabitants. But he found it a very nice house with a welcoming atmosphere and free of any ostentatious displays of its owners' pure-bloodedness. He liked its spacious, well-tended rooms, which didn't have that air of neglect about them that some of the rooms at Grimmauld Place still possessed, despite Kreacher's vigorous scrubbing and cleaning. Instead, they gave an impression of warmth and comfort, with its carpeted floors, rich draperies of soft hues, deep armchairs with fluffy pillows, shining glass-fronted cabinets with fancy china, mahogany bookcases and marble mantelpieces (some with friendly fires roaring in their grates).

Harry followed Malfoy along wide halls of the manor that were lined with lovely paintings of nature rather than snooty portraits of his ancestors, and through open galleries and floor-length glass doors that led into the grounds. They spent some time roaming the grounds too, walking among meticulously-sheared hedges, then took one of the many alleys, spanned by a series of archways made up of interwoven boughs and vines, that led them back to the front of the house. Harry caught glimpses of white stone statues and at least one silent fountain, and Malfoy told him with a proud note in his voice that they used to have peacocks strutting about and even a pair of winged horses. “I would have liked to see that,” murmured Harry. Malfoy gave him a small smile, looking pleased.

It was getting dark, and what Harry took to be small lanterns began to light up the paths and shine here and there. Then, at a closer inspection, he realized what they truly were and his jaw dropped.

“Fairies?” he asked. “Real, live fairies?”

Malfoy shrugged.

“They've always liked it here,” he said simply.

Harry shook his head in amazement and was even surprised to find that he was reluctant to leave the place. He could even imagine coming here with the baby, running around its maze-like grounds, playing hide-and-seek, chasing fairies... Of course, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy weren't the kind of grandparents that he had in mind when he was dreaming of having a large family, but then again, he never expected to carry Draco Malfoy's child either.

It took a moment or two for Harry to remember that this was all just for show and that neither he nor his child would set foot here ever again. For some reason, this thought made him feel strangely hollow inside.

They returned to the house and proceeded back to the drawing room, where a table was now laid with tea, sandwiches, cakes and a bowl of fruit. Harry thought that he might as well have some tea with cake before going back home. He was quite hungry after their extended walk and so was the baby.

Half an hour later Harry stood up, fully intending to take his leave and never come back. Narcissa and Draco stood up too. Narcissa looked like she couldn't wait for him to leave, but Draco (Harry wondered at what point he started thinking of him as Draco) looked worried.

“It's late. I shall come with you,” he said, glancing at the dark window, looking for all intents and purposes as if it were his fault that it was so dark outside.

Harry was about to protest that he would manage just fine when Lucius spoke up, “But why should anyone be going anywhere tonight?” he asked in utter confusion. “I'm sure we have enough room to accommodate Mr. Potter for the night. Frankly, I'm surprised at you, Draco,” he admonished his son. “I would assume that now that we know the truth, you would not scruple to press Mr. Potter to stay the night.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Lucius had sounded quite normal just now but he was wearing the same childish expression, it was as though he was waiting on a treat, which he fully expected to get, his face brimming with eagerness and excitement. Harry wondered if it was all an act or just a lucid phase. Draco, after all, was quite good at playacting. He must have inherited it from someone.

In the meantime, Narcissa and Draco were having an entirely non-verbal conversation, exchanging glances that they seemed to have no trouble interpreting. The next moment, Draco turned to Harry, looking like he was bracing himself for something unpleasant, and Harry knew what was to follow.

“Father is right, Harry,” Draco said in the same soft-spoken voice he seemed to adopt when playing a loving partner. “It has been a long day. I don't think it is wise for you to travel all the way back to London so late and in your present con—”

Harry's nostrils flared. Present condition! “There's nothing wrong with my present condition, Draco,” he gritted out. “You know perfectly well that I am fully capable of driving back home.”

Draco gave him a dazzling smile, that made Harry's breath hitch.

“Of course, you are, Harry,” said Draco soothingly. “But is there any reason that you should?” he added, lowering his voice to the same intimate croon as before.

Bastard. Harry took a deep breath. He wanted to throttle Malfoy, who was now smirking smugly at him, but Harry couldn't stand the pathetic look on Lucius’s face and, glancing at Narcissa, he was sure that she would find a very painful way to torture and kill him if he so much as upset her husband. Harry sighed and agreed. However, he regretted his decision as soon as he learned that he and Draco would be sharing a room — and a bed.

“Well, what did you expect?” hissed Draco quietly, tugging him out of the room, away from beaming Lucius and narrow-eyed Narcissa. “Do you think he would suggest that we should sleep in separate rooms until the wedding night, what with the child on the way?”

Harry had to agree that it would have been stupid, but that didn't mean that he had to like the idea of sharing a bed with Malfoy.

Malfoy's room was large and done in different shades of green. Harry noticed that the pattern on olive-green walls was that of tiny snakes forming different shapes, among which crowns were the most prominent. He never for one moment doubted that Draco had been raised as a little pampered prince. There was an enormous bed in the middle of the room, covered with a moss-coloured, velvety bedspread, its wrought-iron headboard stacked with pillows. Harry also noticed that the windowsill was wide enough to serve as a sofa; there was a thick light green coverlet on top of it and an abundance of cushions. Harry eyed it with interest. It would probably be a strain on his back but he could manage; it was just for one night. Malfoy intercepted his look and shook his head.

“No one is sleeping there,” he said with distaste. “We'll be sharing a bed. It's no big deal.”

Harry begged to differ; he hadn't shared a bed with anyone in a very long time and it was a big deal for him, even if it was in a purely non-sexual way.

“I swear, Potter,” Malfoy added dramatically, actually batting his eyelashes at him, “your virtue is safe with me.”

Harry scowled and snapped, “I'm not worried about my virtue.”

“No, of course not. How silly of me. I mean, you are pregnant, after all...”

“I'm so happy this is a source of amusement to you!”

Malfoy sniggered. “Anyway,” he said, “we'll be sleeping in bed, together, because I'm pretty sure that Father entrusted one of the elves with the task of spying on us and reporting back to him.”

Harry frowned. “He seemed quite normal to me,” he remarked cautiously. There had always been rumours that Lucius Malfoy had faked his condition in order to avoid spending the rest of his life in Azkaban. “Well, apart from the fact that he's over the moon at the fact that we're together... having a baby...”

Malfoy snorted and shook his head.

“I guess that should tell you just how not normal he is.”

“I guess...”

“Which side do you prefer to sleep on?” Malfoy asked brusquely.

Harry flushed and shrugged.

In the end, he lay down as far away from Malfoy as he could without actually falling off the bed. Malfoy shook his head and muttered, “Potter, you're an idiot.” It sounded almost lovingly.

I am an idiot, thought Harry.

When he opened his eyes the next morning, he found himself nose to nose with Malfoy. He had a very nice dream. Harry couldn't remember what it was about but it made him feel really good — peaceful and happy. Still, when he saw Malfoy lying on his side, supporting himself on an elbow and staring at him, his first instinct was to bolt out of bed and put as much distance between them as he could. But that would only make the smug bastard gloat, thought Harry. So he remained where he was, reluctantly blinking the sleep and the pleasure it had brought away.

“Have you been staring at me all night?” he asked, feeling a blush flooding his cheeks as he tried not to squirm at the intense look on Malfoy's face.

“No.”

“Good. It would have been totally creepy. What?” he asked when he noticed that Malfoy's gaze had travelled from his face to his abdomen, where a rather prominent bump was visible from under the covers. Malfoy appeared to be mesmerized by what he saw and Harry's blush intensified.

“How does it work?” asked Malfoy curiously, slowly moving his hand — as though in a trance — so that it hovered above the bump.

Harry briefly explained about the spell that had been cast on him for the purpose of creating an artificial, friendly environment for the foetus to form and to grow in, and how most of his magic was now channelled to support it.

“Can — can I touch it?” asked Malfoy hesitantly, his eyes never leaving the bump.

Harry blinked. “I suppose...”

He held his breath, watching nervously as Malfoy slowly and carefully put his hand on top of his protruding belly.

Harry gasped.

The baby had stirred and come to life beneath Malfoy’s palm. It shifted. Malfoy's eyes widened and his hand began to tremble. He looked up at Harry, visibly trying to compose himself, schooling his features into a mask of indifference. It didn't work. Malfoy looked stunned and there were two pink spots on his pale face.

“Does—” he cleared his throat several times, “does this happen every time?”

Harry shook his head.

“It doesn't happen when mediwizards do that. It only ever happens when I do it. It probably recognized you... your magical signature or something...” Harry cleared his throat too.

Malfoy stared at him in awe and wonder. Harry gave him a small smile and put his hand on top of his. Malfoy lowered his gaze back to the baby bump. The next moment, the baby shifted again – as though greeting them both. Harry and Draco looked at each other and grinned.

Part 4

*

Harry hadn't told Ron and Hermione where he was going, hoping that they would be too busy while visiting Mr. and Mrs. Weasley over the weekend to drop by his house to check up on him as they often did. But when he returned home on Sunday afternoon in a mellow kind of mood, having rather enjoyed his ride back home with Draco Malfoy of all people, he was greeted by a scene greatly reminiscent of the one that took place many years ago at the Burrow, when Ron, Fred and George flew Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia to rescue Harry from the Dursleys.

Hermione, with her hands on her hips and her bushy hair flying out of her bun, shouted at him for at least five minutes (“Harry, where—have—you—been? We've been worried sick! No note! Car gone! We didn't know what to think. But did you care?”) before Ron managed to put out the fire of her fury and made her sit down in order to give Harry a much needed break. Harry had briefly contemplated casting Aguamenti at Hermione but was relieved that it didn't come to that.

Hermione continued to glare at him, though she remained entirely silent, not taking into account her flaring nostrils that continued to do the talking for her. Well, not for long, thought Harry grimly. He took a deep breath and, bracing himself for an explosion that he knew would inevitably follow, told them about Malfoy's letter, their meeting at Gargoyle's Breath, his subsequent visit to Malfoy Manor, the night that he spent there and — most importantly — the baby's reaction to Malfoy's touch. He omitted just one tiny detail — that he had spent the night in Malfoy's bed — and made sure to call him by his last name in front of them. It was funny how one's attitude changed after having shared a bed. He couldn't stop referring to him as 'Draco' in his head.

His friends reactions were quite predictable: Ron was revolted, Hermione horrified. Both shouted out in shock. Hermione actually spent several minutes trying to come up with something that she could form into a coherent sentence.

“But you're not going to meet him again, are you?” she asked at last, apparently having overcome her painful internal battle. Merlin knew what it cost her. “Harry?”

Harry looked away. He still regretted not inviting Draco in once he parked his car at the square in front of Grimmauld Place. Instead of working up the courage to do so, after exchanging an awkward goodbye, he watched Draco Disapparate a few paces away, leaving him with a sense of loss and disorientation. It still lingered on.

Harry strongly suspected that the moment Draco had touched his belly and the baby reacted to his touch, they had formed the kind of bond that he vaguely remembered reading about in one of the male pregnancy leaflets. He had paid no attention to such details back then, thinking that he would never have to deal with such an issue, all things considered, but he thought that he should probably read up on that bond-forming thing now that he had experienced it. It left him with a deep-seated yearning for Draco's presence and he wondered if it was actually his child's doing. Well, how crazy was that? Harry wondered if there was a way to stop it. Maybe a spell or a potion? Did he even want to make it stop? Or did he want to meet Draco again?

Ron was clearly thinking along the same lines, though with completely different sentiments attached. “Harry, mate?” he said as the silence stretched on. “Blimey, don't tell me that you're actually considering keeping in touch with that Death Eater scumbag! I thought you didn't want to know the identity of the other father.”

“But I do know it now, don't I, Ron? And I can't pretend that this”—Harry pointed at his belly—“didn't happen. The baby recognized him. I can't forget that.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, about to speak. Harry knew that she had probably come up with some solid counter-argument to his little speech, but he felt that he was approaching a dangerous level of agitation and distress and plainly told them so, not ashamed to use his pregnancy as an excuse to get out of such a disagreeable conversation. Hermione's mouth snapped shut at once, and her narrow-eyed look was instantly replaced by a look of deepest concern. Ron, looking sorry, proceeded to apologize. Harry gave them a wan smile and assured them that it was fine and that he could understand their feelings on the matter.

Harry knew that there were still a lot of things they wanted to discuss but, of course, they would not attempt it now. He probably looked the epitome of a distraught pregnant man (if there even was such a thing), because Hermione, now alarmed, insisted on his going upstairs to rest, while Kreacher, who appeared at that moment in the drawing room, insisted on his going downstairs to the kitchen to have his dinner first. Harry didn't argue with either.

As he expected, Ron and Hermione didn't attempt to broach the subject again during the meal that followed, preferring to discuss other things, but Harry knew that he hadn't heard the end of it.

Sure enough, a few days later, they once again descended upon him, Hermione with a particularly steely look in her eyes.

“So, did he contact you again?” she asked briskly, interrupting a short preliminary chitchat introduced by Ron.

Harry shook his head. He had hoped that Draco would but he knew better than to confess as much aloud.

“I think... I think I would like to know him better,” he said instead, much to Hermione's dismay and Ron's disgusted astonishment.

“That stinking bag of dragon dung? Oh, come on, Harry! Do you even remember who we're talking about? Draco-bleeding-Malfoy!”

Harry sighed and put on a tight smile.

“Ron, I know exactly who we're talking about. But I think it's time to let go of the past and face the fact that things have changed. I believe that he's changed — and it's about time someone gave him a chance.”

Ron spluttered and waved his long arms in protest. “But why you?”

“Because whether you like it or not, Ron, he is the father of my child, and my child happens to know it and like it!” Harry snarled.

Ron shook his head, speechless.

“But he hasn't contacted you again,” repeated Hermione as though that settled the matter.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head and looking down at his hands. He wouldn't look at them now, because the sight of Hermione's satisfied face and Ron's jubilant one made him sick.

In truth, Harry was ashamed of how much the thought of Draco's not contacting him again upset him. To be fair to Draco, he had never promised that he would. It had been clear from the outset that Harry's invitation to Malfoy Manor was a one-time thing and not a permanent arrangement. So why did he attempt to convince himself otherwise? And why did it matter if they never saw each other again?

I've been alone for far too long, thought Harry bitterly, and that's all there is to it. It seemed that his extreme loneliness and his desperate need for human touch and someone other than friends in his life had finally caught up with him. And he did spend a surprisingly good time with Malfoy – Draco – especially on their way back to Grimmauld Place. It was like they had reached some unspoken agreement to get along after having shared the experience of feeling their child shifting and kicking beneath their joined hands.

“Harry, what about your interview with Susan Bones?” asked Hermione gently, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“I haven't contacted her yet,” he admitted.

Hermione looked like she was about to go off on another tirade. “Harry James Potter—“

“But I will!”

Ron sniggered. Harry grabbed a cushion, that came from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and threw it at Ron. The cushion shrank to the size of a muffin an inch from Ron's comically startled face and forced itself into his mouth, effectively shutting him up. For a while Ron was too busy as he struggled to push it down his throat.

Not trusting him to do it on his own, Hermione made Harry write and send the letter to Susan under her watchful eye. Harry felt like he was back at Hogwarts, completing a belated piece of homework.

Susan's reply came back swiftly and they agreed to meet a few days later. Harry was nervous about the interview. He was somewhat used by now to giving press conferences and interviews on certain particularly publicized cases, but he had an almost inherent distaste for spilling his guts and talking about his private affairs to strangers. Not knowing what to expect, Harry prepared for a Rita Skeeter type of experience with her ever-present acid green Quick Quotes Quill. But Susan's technique was fundamentally different; she was friendly and considerate; she seemed to know what she was doing and not only managed to make Harry feel quite at his ease, but also managed to make him open up — at least for the most part.

Harry had decided before the interview to keep the nature of his pregnancy to himself and to present the story in such a way as though he had finally found someone special he wanted to have children and spend the rest of his life with.

Susan looked plumper and much more matronly than he remembered; she wore her thick red hair in a crown braid, and the expression on her pink-cheeked face was kind and cheerful.

“Well, we're reaching the end of our interview, Harry,” she said with another bright smile of hers about an hour and a half later, riffling through the sheets of parchment that covered the table in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, where Harry had arranged for the interview to take place.

Harry sighed in relief, which made her giggle. They had already covered the basic points of his condition and Susan told him that she was planning to add a piece with an expert’s opinion on male pregnancy in order to shed more light on the topic, which many in the wizarding world still found obscure and regarded with fear and distrust.

“But I do have a couple more questions to ask you, if you don't mind.” Harry didn't. “Good. First of all, I'm sure my readers would want to know why you've decided to have a baby now, when, one could say, you are on the very peak of your Auror career. I've heard that you’re slated to become the next Head of the Auror Department. Is there any truth to such rumours?”

“Well, if there is, then I can still make it work,” replied Harry with a shrug. “I don't need to work in the field to become the Head of our department and I can solve cases from home as well as from the office. Actually, now that I've had to spend so much time at my desk, I've been doing some work on a project that will hopefully help revolutionize our department. But back to your original point — I have to say that it has been a long time in coming. I have always wanted to have a family and now seemed like the perfect timing. I love my job but I believe that my main priority will always be my family.”

Susan beamed at him amid scribbling down his words.

“And the final question: will we get to meet or, at the very least, know the name of your special someone?”

Harry coloured slightly. He cleared his throat. “Well — er — maybe during the next interview...?”

Susan laughed.

“Thank you, Harry. It was a pleasure to see you again and to talk to you. I think I've got enough stuff for two page-spreads. Do you wish me to include a photo of you in the interview?” she asked as she began to pack her things. “I'm quite good with the camera if you don't want to pose for our staff photographer...”

Harry shook his head.

“I don't think that'll be necessary. People know how I look.” Unfortunately, he thought to himself. “But I could send you one of the photos I had to take for a case a few months ago. They aren't moving, because we had to infiltrate a Muggle establishment, but I think one of them could go well with the piece. I'll send you several to choose from.”

“That's decided then,” said Susan jovially. “I'll keep in touch.”

The interview came out a week later and caused the wizarding community to go into a real frenzy. Harry had almost forgotten what that was like. He had to put up strong wards around the house to stop hordes of owls from penetrating through the doors, walls, windows and chimneys. Kreacher was beside himself with fury and whacked a first dozen or so owls, that brazenly made their way through an open upstairs window, with a broom he was using at the time to mop the floor.

Everybody seemed shocked by the fact that Harry Potter was carrying a child — himself — and they all were dying to know the mysterious identity of his imaginary 'special someone'. There had been so much open staring and whispering, just like in the old days, that Harry had to take a few days off work until the turmoil subsided and he could walk through the Ministry of Magic without causing everyone and everything around him to freeze.

It was probably a good thing too, because it forced him to admit that he needed to take a break and spend more time at home, simply resting. He was definitely beginning to feel the side-effects of his condition, that directly effected his efficiency at work. For one thing, the pregnancy’s constant demand on his magic was taking its toll on his body and mind alike, draining him of energy and blocking his ability to concentrate on the simplest of tasks. For another, Harry was growing quite big and, though he had been assured that he wouldn't become 'very big', having always been on the skinny side, he found that he still was much bigger than he felt comfortable with.

Harry had never expected it to bother him (he had never been vain and never really had a high opinion of his looks), but it certainly did bother him now, making him moody and irritable whenever he couldn't do something because of a considerable addition to his body, or whenever he caught the sight of himself in the mirror. Besides, he just hated to see people staring and pointing at him (now that he stopped concealing his condition by magic), and it was better to avoid any additional stress by removing himself from its source altogether.

Due to the fact that it was magically achieved, male pregnancy was different from female pregnancy in many ways — but the major difference was that Harry would not have to actually give birth to the child. Harry sometimes wondered if he would have agreed to conceive a child in the first place if he knew that he would have to go through actual labour. But with male pregnancy, from what Harry could tell from pictures and diagrams on the subject, it was like carrying an elliptic sphere within an artificially formed environment that imitated a womb, in which a child would form and grow for the next nine months.

The time of birth was calculated and fixed upon from the moment of conception, and when it was time for it to arrive, 'the egg' (as Harry fondly referred to it) would be detached from the artificial womb, unsealed by an incision, and the baby would be extracted from within as though from an egg, while the remnants of the magical environment would be cleared away by the necessary spells.

Harry would have to remain at the facility for several days to make sure that no residue of foreign magic remained inside of his body and that the baby was fine. Then, Harry would finally take it home. Harry sighed. He was beyond happy to have the baby and he hadn't changed his mind about that, but his determination to raise the child alone had been greatly weakened by his interaction with Draco and the taste, however intangible, of a possibility that it provided — that of not having to do it on his own.

*

About a week after the interview came out, Harry was in his room, half-heartedly leafing through a catalogue he was supposed to be ordering baby stuff from — with an actual pout on his face. He would not have lived it down if anyone saw him like that. He should have done it a long time ago but still hadn’t gotten around to it, mainly because he didn't want to do it alone — one more thing he hadn't counted on when he decided to have a baby through a donor at a wizarding sperm bank.

He was just thinking about how long he would be able to keep up the charade of being in a relationship with someone, wondering whether he would have to announce that they had broken up, or ask Draco to pose as his boyfriend as a return favour, when Kreacher appeared in the middle of his room and announced that Master Draco was outside the house. Harry dropped the catalogue as though it had bitten him and sat up in bed, where he'd been resting after dinner. It didn't take much to tire him these days.

He got up — though neither as quickly nor as nimbly as he would have wished to — and moved to the window from which he could see the square in the middle of Grimmauld Place. Draco Malfoy was indeed milling about in the street, looking suspiciously at the numbers of the houses before him. Harry smiled. “Took you long enough...”

He asked Kreacher to let Malfoy in and take him into the drawing room. Harry himself stayed at the window long enough to watch Malfoy's face transform into a look of surprise when a gleaming wooden door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen. Once the house of number twelve fully appeared before him, the front door opened and Draco stepped inside. Harry went downstairs, entered the drawing-room and found Draco pacing back and forth.

“What's wrong?” he asked with a frown. “Has something happened? Do you require my presence at the Manor again?” As soon as the words had left his mouth, Harry scolded himself for sounding so hopeful.

Draco stopped his pacing and looked at Harry in a startled sort of way. One would think he is surprised to see me in my own house, thought Harry. But before he could say anything aloud, Draco made a jerky motion with his head; it was as though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to nod or to shake it.

“Father has been asking about you,” he replied softly, “but that's not why I'm here.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at Draco — he could feel his heartbeat accelerate as he waited. Draco hesitated. Harry forced himself to remain still and silent, clenching his hands into fists in order not to show his impatience.

“I know that we both intended to remain anonymous,” said Draco at long last, “but now that we both know — it changes everything. I've been thinking about what happened when I — when the baby moved...”

He was looking at Harry with a fierce expression in his grey eyes. Harry stared back, holding his breath.

“I understand that you've probably made other plans and arrangements but I want you to know that I want to be a part of... I mean... I want to be there for you and the child. I know that I don't have much to offer at present but I've been making enquiries and I think I may have a chance at securing a position as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts.” Harry nodded in silence, letting him babble. “They’re looking for someone with an expertise in rare Dark Magic artifacts and I think I might be of use. It was in the Daily Prophet. Maybe you've seen it. They've discovered a cave somewhere in France, full of cursed objects, and, as I know French too...” he trailed off and shook his head, his gaze now fixed on Harry's large belly. “In any case, I want you to know that I'm willing to do anything to—”

Oomph!

Later, Harry always claimed that it was the baby that pushed him forward and made him press his lips against Draco's. Surely, he would never have done something like that all on his own? Draco was momentarily stunned into stillness but came back to life almost at once and eagerly returned the kiss.

What happened next was an intense succession of pleasurable sensations that filled Harry's mouth, shut off his brain and went straight to his groin. He might have wound his arms around Draco's neck. Draco might have wrapped his arms around him. Harry could never tell afterwards. But one thing was certain: the baby was happily cheering them on.

They finally broke apart, breathing heavily, both wearing slightly vacant looks and silly grins. Somewhere at the back of his mind, it occurred to Harry that the fact that Draco had expressed a desire to be a part of his and their baby's life did not in any way indicate his interest in pursuing an intimate relationship with Harry. The thought that he forced Draco into a kiss against his will was very sobering. Harry’s face burnt with shame and he looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that Draco was frowning.

“What's the matter?” he asked sharply. “Having second thoughts already?”

“I'm sorry,” Harry mumbled, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “I didn't mean to jump you like that. I'm sure that's probably not what you meant when you said what you said and I shouldn't have done that. Listen – ” Harry took a deep breath and finally looked at Draco, flinching at the furious look on his face. “I don't want you to think that you're obliged to indulge me in any way. This”—Harry touched his lips that still tingled—“is not a condition to being in the baby’s life. I had no right to do it and I'm sorry that I've assumed that you would be interested...”

Draco's face relaxed. “Do you actually hear me complaining?” he asked.

Harry paused to consider his question — then shook his head.

“So what seems to be the problem?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I really shouldn't have done it without making sure that you were fine with it first. I'm sorry...”

“Well, you've already apologized for that,” drawled Draco. “Even though no apologies are needed. I didn't mind the kiss and I didn't feel forced, and I can assure you that I wouldn't have gone with it if I didn't want to — just so you’d grant me access to the child.”

“Good.” Harry smiled in relief. “As long as we're clear on that.” Draco nodded. “I don't want you to think that you owe me anything, or that I'm expecting something from you by way of — I don't know — payment or something...”

Draco's lips twitched. “I shall keep that in mind. Anything else?”

“Er...” Harry bit his lower lip. At that moment Draco stepped closer, leaned forward and initiated the second kiss. Harry gasped and Draco plunged his inquisitive tongue inside.

“Does this answer your question?” he murmured against Harry's lips once they broke apart. Harry shivered when Draco trailed his tongue along his jawline.

“I think so,” he whispered, leaning into him. He gulped. It was all happening too quickly — they should probably talk about it. Harry tried hard not to melt but it was difficult when Draco was peppering his face with feather-like kisses. He never wanted him to stop. His eyes fell shut. “You should probably know that I haven't been with anyone in a very long time,” he blurted out.

“Then I'll be very gentle with you,” murmured Draco, his lips twitching. “But there's really no rush. We will take it as slow as you want.”

Harry opened his eyes and nodded. Of course, there wasn't! Why would he even bring it up now? They had only just had their first kiss and here he was already talking about sex...

“Right. So... do you want to go to Diagon Alley to shop for baby stuff?” he asked. Draco's eyes widened and Harry was pleased to note that he was no longer the only one who was unsettled by what was going on. “I have a long list of things I'll need. I wanted to get them through mail order but never got around to it...so...”

“What? Now?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not? You said you wanted to be part of our life, didn't you?”

“Yes, but—”

“So what's the problem?”

Draco regarded him gravely, all signs of flirtation gone. “You do realize that if we step out together, shopping for baby stuff of all things, everyone will automatically assume that we are an item and that I'm that 'special someone' you spoke of in the interview?”

“Does that bother you?” asked Harry.

Draco shook his head. Harry grinned. “Then quit stalling!”

“But are you sure about this? Have you thought it through?” asked Draco.

Harry decided to be completely honest with him. “I've done nothing but think about it — you — me — the baby — ever since our trip back to London.”

Draco's pale cheeks turned pink and his eyes gleamed.

“Me too,” he confessed.

“Good.” Harry grinned. “Let's go then! We have lots of stuff to buy, not to mention witches and wizards to shock!”

Draco shook his head but followed Harry out of the room. It was hard not to follow him, considering that Harry grabbed his wrist and dragged him along. Before leaving the house, Harry called Kreacher and asked him to make dinner for two. Then, turning to Draco, he inquired, “You will stay, won't you? We have things to discuss and plans to make.” Draco nodded.

Their appearance together, hand in hand and so soon after the interview, that was still fresh in everyone's mind, caused a major uproar — leaving no one in any doubt that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were together. Harry enjoyed repelling questions that began to pour from all sides but let Draco fend for himself too. Harry was sure that Draco would have all kinds of sarcastic and snarky comments to give and wasn't disappointed; Draco was particularly acid and inventive when asked about his Death Eater past, his father's crimes and if he wasn't afraid that his future child would inherit his inclinations towards the Dark side.

“You're giddy,” remarked Draco as Harry strutted along the cobbled street, open-mouthed stares bouncing off him like they were nothing. “And you're glowing.”

“Must be the baby,” said Harry and yelped when Draco drew him to himself and began to ravish his mouth in full view. Harry was only dimly aware of the flashes of cameras going off all around them.

“I think that's enough shopping for today,” he mumbled when he had the use of his mouth again.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “But we haven't bought anything yet,” he pointed out.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, finding it hard to focus on the words when all he could see was Draco's lips.

“I guess it's not a good day for shopping after all,” he said.

“Oh?” Draco smirked. “So what is it a good day for, then?”

“To know each other better,” replied Harry promptly. “Come on.”

He was glad that he was driving an enchanted car (which seemed to know where it was going just fine) or he would have never gotten them safely back to Grimmauld Place in his current state of badly wanting Draco.

“Masters Harry and Draco are back so soon?” croaked Kreacher in displeasure when they stumbled through the door, snogging each other senseless. “Kreacher is not prepared dinner yet.”

“Don't worry, Kreacher,” gasped Harry, untangling himself from Draco's embrace long enough to see where they were going. “Masters Harry and Draco will be quite busy for some time. We'll come downstairs when we're ready!”

Harry pulled Draco upstairs.

If he wasn't in such a frenzy to feel Draco inside of him, he would probably give him credit for his cautious and attentive manner. But, by the time they had reached his bedroom, Harry was past any rational thought. He was only vaguely aware of Draco carefully guiding him towards the bed in order to prevent him from falling and hurting himself. However, Harry did pay more attention when Draco stalled his frantic attempts to undress.

“What...?” he asked, dazed, his breathing loud and heavy. “I haven't had sex in a long time but I'm pretty sure that undressing is still an important part of the process.”

“Let me,” said Draco softly but firmly.

“Oh,” Harry's breath hitched and the blush that had coloured his face reached as far as his hairline. “OK.”

The thought that Draco would actually undress him rather than just see him naked seemed to excite and fluster Harry to an equal degree, but his arousal gave him no room for hesitation or embarrassment.

Draco proceeded to take his time — which was quite unfortunate in Harry's present state — and not so much undressed but unwrapped Harry as though he was a precious gift, carefully and slowly, not touching or even brushing his skin. Perhaps, it was a good thing. Harry's heart was beating so fast he felt dizzy, while his whole body was vibrating with tremors of anticipation, his cock straining painfully against his pants.

“Can you leave the 'taking your time' part for now?” he gritted out when he thought he could no longer bear what must have been deliberate torture, his hands balled into fists. “I swear I won't last much longer if you keep going like that.”

Draco just smirked and continued to slowly take off his clothes with such a hot look on his face Harry's eyes began to water.

“Draco, please...” he pleaded in a hoarse whisper. “Please, please, please — just fuck me already.” Harry wriggled his hips, not caring how needy he looked and sounded at that moment.

This, at last, seemed to affect Draco like a spell. His pupils dilated and his breath quickened. He sucked in a breath and with two quick motions of his wand divested both Harry and himself of the rest of their clothing.

Cool air hit Harry's skin and his eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at the sight of Draco's naked body. He was pale and skinny but Harry thought that he had never seen anyone more delectable. It had been too long...

He could feel his cock straining for release but his pregnant belly, which now seemed to him too huge, completely obscured the view. In any case, Harry's present needy state did not allow him to experience any embarrassment on account of his shape.

Draco didn't seem to mind. In fact, his eyes appeared to be drawn to Harry's protruding abdomen, stretched tightly around their child. From what Harry could make out of his expression, Draco was hungrily feasting on the sight before him. Harry drew in a shuddering breath and slightly lifted himself up, spurring Draco into action.

Draco quickly put a pillow under Harry's hips and hoisted his legs up, resting them on his shoulders. Then he leaned forward and positioned his cock at Harry's quivering entrance. Harry began to hyperventilate when Draco used a lubrication spell on him. He was afraid that he would come any moment now just thinking about Draco's cock moving inside of him. So when Draco breached his opening and began his slow penetration, Harry's body began to thrash as though he was in convulsions.

“Don't—you—fucking—coddle—me,” he hissed furiously. “We can take it nice and slow next time. Now I just need you to fuck me.”

Draco snarled and pressed him into the bed. “Don't order me around,” he said and drove into Harry in one swift motion. Harry saw stars. Draco angled himself so that with his next thrust he hit Harry's prostate. It was all that it took. Harry screamed and came. “Oh, fuck...” he whispered as Draco continued to pound into him.

In the post-coital haze of bliss, Harry hid his flaming face in the crook of Draco's neck in utter humiliation. “It's the pregnancy thing,” he muttered. “Of course, it is,” replied Draco soothingly, cupping Harry's buttocks with one hand and dipping a teasing finger of the other into his semen-covered cleft. Harry groaned as his body began to tremble again.

Later that day, after another bout of sex, during which Harry proved to Draco that he wouldn't always come the moment Draco's cock hit his prostate, they shared a meal and then enjoyed some relaxing time in the drawing room, just sitting on a couch, wrapped in each others arms, sharing lazy kisses and prolonging the moment of their parting.

Harry was most reluctant to bid Draco goodbye, but he knew that Ron and Hermione would swoop down on him as soon as they learned about their little escapade in Diagon Alley—he had no doubt that their sensational appearance there earlier today would warrant a special issue of the Evening Prophet—and he wanted to talk to them alone first. He would rather avoid an altercation that, he was sure, would be an inevitable outcome.

Harry knew that they wouldn't be happy with such a dramatic development of his and Draco's relationship and would most probably be greatly offended by the fact that he had completely ignored their opinion when he made up his mind about Draco's presence in his life. Harry also knew that he and Draco had a lot to talk about and a great deal of adjustments to make in their lives. But that could wait. At least till tomorrow.

All in all, Harry expected that the next week or so would be rife with turmoil. But he also knew that he finally had a chance at having a real family and he would not give it up just because everybody else thought that Draco Malfoy was the least likely candidate for the part.

Not breaking their kiss, Harry took Draco's hand and put it on his belly. The familiar jolt of joyful recognition coming from their child was all that mattered.


The End





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