FIC: Baby It’s You

[mpreg_fest_mod]

Title: Baby It’s You
Author/Artist: firethesound
Prompt: PROMPT #5
Word Count/Art Medium: 24k
Rating: NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): [Infidelity. (not H/D) Swearing. Very slight dub-con due to shagging under the influence. Rimming. Non-explicit Harry/OMC]
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?: Not even a little.
Who is pregnant?: [Harry]
Notes: Inspired in equal parts by 0idontknow0’s prompt, “You Ruined Everything” by Jonathan Coulton, and “Baby It’s You” by the Beatles. There are a lot of people to whom I owe a great deal of thanks on this one. To R, for listening to me bitch; to K, for reassuring me that my first draft wasn’t complete shit; to E, for the inspirational cock-antics; to Z, for the wonderful beta on this and for graciously not saying a word that it’s about 15k longer than I said it would be; to the mods, for running this awesome fest; and last but not least, to 0idontknow0, for leaving such a fun prompt. Hope you enjoy this.
Summary: Harry sometimes wished that his life wasn’t quite so prone to turmoil. Some days it felt like he couldn’t even take a piss without throwing his entire future off-course. Or, you know, have a drunken shag in a public toilet. It’s more the principle of the thing, really.








This is it

Even though they’d planned for this and he’d been taking potions for two months now, Harry could hardly believe that today was finally here. He turned sideways to the bathroom mirror and rubbed a hand over his flat stomach. He couldn’t quite believe that after tonight, with luck, there could be a baby in there.

He let his hand drift lower, pressing over his half-hard cock. God, he couldn’t wait for Matthew to get home. His shift at St Mungo’s should be over soon. Harry planned for them to have a romantic dinner, and then head straight for the bedroom and not leave until morning. Harry moved his hand back up, pressing over his stomach again as he glanced at the clock.

Twenty minutes.

Harry reached for his wand and ran through the diagnostic spells that Matthew had performed on him just that morning. Slightly elevated body temperature: check. Increase in his magical aura: check. With his cock hard and aching at just the thought of sex, Harry didn’t really need to check for elevated hormone levels, but he performed the spell anyhow: check.

Told you so, his cock informed him with a twitch.

“Down, boy,” Harry muttered. “Nineteen minutes.”

He padded out of the bathroom and mentally revised his plans. Sex first, then the romantic dinner. And then loads more sex. Matthew had warned him how out-of-control his libido would become during the small window of time when his body was ready to conceive, but Harry hadn’t quite believed him about just how bad it would be until now. His cock throbbed again, and Harry pressed a palm to it. He was glad he’d chosen to make a hearty beef and vegetable stew for dinner, something that wouldn’t turn to shit if they ended up leaving it under a warming charm for a while. A long while. God, at this rate Matthew would be lucky if he made it all the way out of the Floo before Harry jumped him, never mind had a chance to eat dinner.

“Seventeen minutes,” Harry said to himself. “Come on, Potter, you can wait.”

Twelve of those minutes dragged by. Harry was rapidly wearing a threadbare path on the living room rug with all his pacing when the Floo flared and Matthew stepped out in a flurry of lime green Healer’s robes, and Harry’s heart thudded against his ribs exactly as it had the first time he’d caught sight of him striding down a St Mungo’s corridor, all flawless skin and sparkling blue eyes, tousled auburn curls, and straight white teeth in an easy smile.

“Oh thank god, you got out early,” Harry said, starting for him.

“I could only get away for a minute, but I knew you’d be anxious if I sent an owl,” Matthew told him, stepping back out of Harry’s reach. “I got pulled onto an urgent case, so I’m afraid I won’t be home for good until later.”

“Later,” Harry echoed. His voice sounded strangled and desperate even to his own ears. “How much later?”

“Not long,” Matthew told him. “A few hours, at least.” He let his gaze sweep down Harry from head to toe. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ll die if I don’t get a shag,” Harry said, reaching for him again. “Can’t you spare just a couple of minutes? We can be quick.”

Matthew pushed his hands away. “Can’t. Like I said, it’s an urgent case. Sorry.” He didn’t look all that sorry. He looked amused. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice going soft and low. “You’re just gagging for it. For my cock in you.” He trailed a finger lightly along the line of Harry’s jaw, and Harry shivered, swaying closer. “I have to say, I rather like the idea of you here, waiting for me. Thinking of me and counting the minutes until I come back to fuck you like the needy little bitch you are.”

Normally it made Harry a little uncomfortable when Matthew talked to him like that, but tonight those words went straight to his cock. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, please. I need it.”

Matthew’s blue eyes darkened at that as a pleased smile tugged at his mouth. He liked a bit of dominance in the bedroom and Harry didn’t play along with him very often. But god, tonight Harry would go along with anything if it’d get him a shag.

“Such a good little slut,” Matthew murmured. “It’s just a few hours. Surely you can hold out until then.”

He turned to go, and Harry caught him by the sleeve. “Wait, please. Just—”

“Harry, I have to go,” Matthew told him and gave him a little shove toward the sofa. “Wait for me. I want you to wait for me right here, like a good boy,” he said in that lofty tone that he probably thought was sexy and dominating, but really mostly just made Harry want to roll his eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He vanished in a flare of green flame, leaving Harry feeling so desperately aroused that he wanted to cry. Instead he yanked at his flies and pushed his trousers and pants down to his thighs, took himself in hand, and tossed one off right there in the middle of their living room. He came in an embarrassingly short amount of time and instantly felt calmer, more in control. He knew it wouldn’t last, but for now it felt bearable. He Vanished the come from his hand, but didn’t bother with where some of it had dripped onto Matthew’s stupidly expensive Persian rug. Harry had never liked that rug, anyhow.

Harry did up his clothing, aimed a warming charm at the pot of stew sitting on the stovetop, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Sitting here ‘like a good boy’ and waiting for Matthew to return wasn’t even an option. If he had to do that, he’d go mad. What he needed was a distraction. Something to keep his mind out of his pants. After only a moment’s thought, he tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and dropped to his knees.

“Hey, Ron?” he called out. “Fancy a pint at the Leaky?”


****


One hour and two pints later, Harry sighed. “Ron, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I know you don’t,” Ron said, leaning across the table and lowering his voice to something soft and urgent. “But you’re my best mate, Harry. And I need to say it one more time before you tie yourself to this git forever.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We’re already living together—”

“But a baby’s different,” Ron cut in. “Having a child with him will tie you to him for the rest of your life. I hate the way he treats you, always trying to get one up on you. Leaving you alone when you’re…” He gestured vaguely at Harry and blushed faintly.

“I told you, an urgent case came up,” Harry sighed.

“But not urgent enough that he was able to pop home and tell you about it himself?” Ron shot back. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a case. He just wanted you all desperate and worked up. It seems like the sort of stupid power game he’d want to play.”

“And I’ve told you, he’s not like that,” Harry said, exasperated. He’d had this same tired conversation with his friends at least a dozen times over the course of Harry’s relationship with Matthew. At least Hermione had eventually given up on complaining about Matthew to Harry, leaving off with one last ‘You know I’ll always be here if you need me,’ in a deeply resigned sort of tone that left the when blatantly implied, though Harry was sure she still complained to Ron. Ron, on the other hand, was like a Crup with a bone. “I don’t know what you’ve got against him, but I love him, Ron. And I want to have a family with him.”

“I think you want a family, period,” Ron said, his tone calm and reasonable, and Harry imagined that these were Hermione’s words parroted back in Ron’s voice. “You’re turning thirty this year and I know that’s putting a sort of pressure on you, especially since everyone around you has children already. And Matthew just happens to be here.”

Harry drew in a slow, calming breath. “You’ll want to apologize for that. Right now.”

Ron sighed. “I’ve said my piece. You know how I feel.” He drained the last of his pint, then collected his and Harry’s empty glasses and headed back to the bar.

Harry slid his fingers up under his glasses to rub at his eyes. Ron was wrong. Harry really did love Matthew. He was smart, and funny, and they got along tremendously. And yes, it was true that sometimes Matthew pushed too hard at him, but Harry understood that. It couldn’t be easy dating the Boy Who Lived, and this was just Matthew’s way of reassuring himself and not allowing himself to be overshadowed by Harry’s fame. And sure, it annoyed Harry sometimes, but all couples had their flaws. Right? And wasn’t this one small enough in the grand scheme of things?

He grudgingly admitted that Ron might possibly have something of a point about the rest of it. Harry had desperately wanted to become a father since the end of the war, once Voldemort was gone and Harry knew he’d have a future. His own parents had had him young. They’d just been twenty when Harry was born, and if they’d lived he’d have been nearly ready for Hogwarts by the time they were thirty. Harry’s thirtieth birthday was coming up in just a few months, and sometimes each of those past ten years felt like a wasted opportunity. A year he could have spent being a father, and hadn’t. That yearning only intensified with each new birth announcement from his friends. The Weasleys alone were procreating at a mildly alarming, but not entirely unexpected, rate. Hermione had just had Hugo earlier that year. And when Ginny had announced that she and Neville were expecting their first, it had spurred Harry into action.

He’d been nervous about broaching the idea to Matthew. They’d been dating for less than a year at that point and had only just moved in together. But he’d been incredibly receptive to the idea once Harry had assured him that he would be the one to carry their child. He’d given Harry a physical exam right then and there and written out a prescription (dating a Healer certainly had its advantages) and Harry had started his regimen of fertility potions the very next day.

Ron’s return to the table broke Harry out of his thoughts. He slid a fresh pint across the tabletop to Harry.

“So,” he said after taking a sip from his own pint. “What do you think about the Cannons’ chances against the Magpies next weekend?”

That was probably as close to an apology as Ron was willing to give him, and for a long moment Harry just stared at him as he debated whether or not to accept it. On the one hand, fuck Ron and his poor opinion of Matthew. He of all people should understand the difficulties Matthew faced with constantly feeling overshadowed by Harry’s status as the Chosen One. But on the other hand, if he didn’t let it go, the argument would escalate and Harry would probably end up storming out, and the thought of sitting at home by himself just waiting made his skin itch.

Harry sighed. “On a scale of one to ten, they’re probably fucked. The Magpies are going to slaughter them.” He took a sip of his pint.

Even from across the table, Harry could see the tense set of Ron’s shoulders ease. “Yeah, but are you taking into consideration their new Keeper? I hear that they’re going to put Wright in the next game. That’s bound to make a difference.”

Harry wasn’t sure that replacing the entire team would make a difference. “Sometimes I think your mother dropped you on your head as a child.”

“My mum would never. It was Fred,” Ron said. “Or maybe George. And don’t change the subject.”

Harry hid a smile in his pint glass. “Well if you’d like to talk about the many and varied ways your beloved Cannons are about to get their collective arse handed to them, far be it from me to try to dissuade you.”


****


When Harry stood up from the table an hour later, the room wobbled around him.

“Whoa,” Ron said, reaching out and catching his elbow to steady him. “Careful, mate.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said as the room settled down somewhat. He tried a step and it spun again. Harry wobbled alarmingly where he stood, and was glad that Ron didn’t let him go. “Pints’re hitting me harder than I thought.”

Ron frowned at him, then glanced to where Harry’s third glass sat on the table with just a couple of inches drunk from it. Harry had been nursing it for almost an hour. “Are you sure? Usually you hold your liquor better than this.”

“Stressful week, I guess. And I didn’t eat before I came out,” Harry said. “You can let go of me, unless you’d like to walk me to the toilet and hold my prick for me while I piss.”

Harry’s stupid cock throbbed at the thought of someone’s hand other than his own on it. He’d been in such a state all evening that he hadn’t even realized he’d grown hard. Again. He’d have to have another wank before he’d be able to get anything out of his bladder. Just another hour and he could go home to Matthew. Unless the case he was on ran late… No. Harry didn’t want to think about that. One hour, and Matthew would be there. He had to be.

“Mate?” Ron asked, and Harry glanced at him to find him frowning. “I asked if you wanted to just call it a night.”

“No, I’m fine,” Harry said, flapping a hand at Ron and regretting it when his balance nearly deserted him again. “Really.”

Ron let his hand fall away. “All right,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Harry turned away. Walking across the room took more effort than it should have. The laughter and chatter of the pub’s patrons sounded far too loud and it made Harry’s head spin. He bumped against the back of someone’s chair, and then a table, and hated the way people stared at him. He kept his head down and was grateful to reach the narrow hallway at the back of the room, and he trailed one hand along the wall for balance as he made his way back to the gents.

He reached for the door, and when his fingers brushed the knob, it swung open. Startled, Harry jumped back and his balance failed him entirely. The man who’d been exiting lunged forward and managed to steady him before he went down, and Harry found himself wrapped in a pair of strong arms with his nose pressed to a soft wool jumper. He inhaled, smelling the spicy scent of cologne and a trace of acrid Floo powder layered beneath the smell of soap and skin and warmth. It made Harry’s mouth water.

He managed to get his feet under him again with the other man’s help, and was surprised when he looked up to find that he’d just been saved from falling onto his arse by Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy frowned at him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Potter,” he said disapprovingly, the explosive P and crisply enunciated T taking Harry back to Hogwarts for a split second. “Are you drunk?”

Harry swallowed, unable to meet Malfoy’s eyes; his own gaze was caught on Mafoy’s mouth, pinned to the sweet curve of his bottom lip. “I’m not sure,” he said faintly. One of Malfoy’s hands lingered on Harry’s elbow, and between the heat of Malfoy’s palm burning through the thin cotton fabric of his shirt and his mouth, still pursed into a small and very kissable frown, Harry could barely concentrate enough to speak. He wanted, god, how he wanted.

Malfoy’s frown deepened. “You’re not sure?” he repeated, and his gaze slid down Harry’s body.

Distracted as he was, Harry still didn’t miss the slight hitch in Malfoy’s breath or the way his eyes lingered for a split second at Harry’s groin. Harry glanced down at how his erection strained against the fly of his trousers – there was no way Malfoy could possibly have missed it, even in the dim light of the hallway – then looked back up to find that Malfoy had gone pink-cheeked. He opened his mouth, and the tip of his tongue darted out to swipe at his lower lip, and Harry’s arousal exploded into something feverish and irrepressible.

“Potter…” Malfoy began.

Whatever else he was about to say was lost when Harry shoved him, hard. Malfoy stumbled back into the toilet and Harry pushed in after him. He slammed the door shut, locked it with an off-handed Colloportus, then turned back to where Malfoy was gaping at him. Harry didn’t really mind that; Malfoy’s open mouth just made it that much easier to kiss him.

“Mmph!” said Malfoy as Harry shoved him back against the tile wall, his mouth never leaving Malfoy’s.

He pushed at Harry, but Harry held on tight. God, he needed this. He needed Malfoy. He tried to slide his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth, but Malfoy kept his lips clamped together and he turned his head away, breaking the kiss.

“Potter,” he said, still trying to push Harry away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Harry said and leaned in again to nip at Malfoy’s mouth. It felt almost like Imperius, how much he wanted this. How much he had to have this. He didn’t even try to shake it off. “God, Malfoy. You smell…” He bent his head and dragged the tip of his nose along Malfoy’s throat, inhaling deeply, warmth and sweat and Floo powder and that fucking cologne. “You smell so fucking good.” Malfoy’s pulse thudded against Harry’s lips when he pressed his mouth there a moment later.

“You’re drunk,” Malfoy said, but he’d stopped trying to get away. His eyes were wide and he held himself rigidly, his back pressed against the wall. “You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Harry kissed Malfoy’s neck again and again. “I want you. I want you so much.” He bit down and Malfoy’s breath caught.

For a few wonderful seconds, Malfoy put his arms around Harry and tilted his head to the side to give Harry better access to his neck. His breath came in unsteady gasps as Harry did his best to suck a bruise onto Malfoy’s skin. When Harry leaned back for a moment to survey the purple-red welt, Malfoy tried to push Harry away again. “Look, we can’t—”

“Shut up,” Harry told him. “You clearly want this. I want this too, okay? I want you. So just shut up and do it.” He couldn’t stop looking at Malfoy’s neck.

Malfoy groaned, low and deep in his throat, and before Harry could say anything else, Malfoy kissed him hard. His tongue pushed at Harry’s lips until he opened his mouth to him. Malfoy wasn’t gentle about it; he used his teeth far too much, but Harry loved it because Malfoy was finally kissing him back, and he was Malfoy and Harry hadn’t thought for an instant he’d be gentle about it. Harry pushed his knee between Malfoy’s legs and pressed his erection against Malfoy’s hip. Part of him was distantly embarrassed by the needy sound he made at that, but mostly he didn’t care because it just felt so fucking good to finally get this, to have someone in his arms, to be kissed and held and touched. Malfoy shifted, twisting slightly until he lined up their hips, and Harry felt the hard length of Malfoy’s cock rub against his.

“Oh fuck, Malfoy,” Harry said, his fingers curling into the soft wool of Malfoy’s jumper. “Fuck.”

“Tell me you want this,” Malfoy panted as Harry mouthed at his neck. “I need to know you want this, that you’re not just… That you’re okay with this. That you want me.”

“Fuck me,” Harry said. He needed it. His arousal had heated into something unbearable, and it made him feel trembling and desperate. He clutched at Malfoy, pulling him closer. He needed to have Malfoy inside him. “I want you, I want you to fuck me. God, Malfoy, please. I want this, I want—”

Malfoy caught Harry’s mouth in a sloppy kiss, cutting off Harry’s rambling reassurances. He pulled Harry’s fingers free of his clothing and nudged him back far enough to get at Harry’s trousers and unfasten them. Harry rocked his hips forward as Malfoy reached inside, curling one hand around his erection and stroking. Harry whimpered, and Malfoy laughed softly, breathless and delighted.

“Merlin, you’re eager. Are you always like this when you drink?”

Harry shook his head and pressed his hips forward, urging Malfoy to stroke him harder. “No. Never. It’s just…” The potions, right. He should say— But Malfoy’s thumb brushed over the head of his cock just then and he moaned, every thought flying out of his head other than how bloody good it felt to have Malfoy touching him like that. “You’re…” He leaned in to suck at his neck and caught another whiff of Malfoy’s cologne. “God, you smell good.”

Malfoy laughed again. “I’ll have to remember to use this soap more often, then.” He tangled the fingers of his free hand in Harry’s hair and yanked his head back to kiss him properly as he let go of Harry’s cock to take care of his own trousers.

Harry tried to help. But his hands felt clumsy and numb and his hurried fumbling mostly just got in Malfoy’s way. He really wished he were sober right now, but Malfoy didn’t seem to mind overly much; he just kept kissing Harry, and eventually they got his trousers and pants down. Harry grabbed Malfoy’s cock and gave it a tug. Malfoy groaned into his mouth, and Harry squeezed harder as he gave it another tug. Fuck, Harry loved how Mafoy’s cock felt in his hand, hard and hot and wonderfully thick. He couldn’t wait to have it inside him, stretching him wide. Harry wanted to feel it sliding into his body, wanted to feel how it would throb when Malfoy came deep inside him.

“Stop, stop. I’m close. I want to come inside you,” Malfoy said like he’d read Harry’s mind.

“I want that too,” Harry said as Malfoy spun him around, his hands warm and strong on Harry’s hips, keeping him steady. Malfoy coming inside him sounded like the best idea in the world. Harry spread his hands on the wall, the tile cool and smooth beneath his palms. He arched his back and Malfoy groped his arse, his fingers kneading the cheeks, spreading him open, exposing his hole. Malfoy went still for a moment, and Harry wriggled impatiently. “Are you going to stare at it or fuck it?”

Malfoy laughed and gave his arse a light smack. “Have you got lube?”

Harry shook his head. “No, you?”

He heard Malfoy sigh. “No. I hate the conjured stuff. It’s always too sticky.” He murmured the incantation. “We’ll have to plan better next time.”

There wouldn’t be a next time. There shouldn’t even be a this time, Harry thought with a brief flash of guilt. He remembered Matthew, and the potion, and then Malfoy pushed a cool, slick finger into his arse and everything else dropped away as the desperate need to get fucked right the fuck now came rushing back.

Malfoy prepared him carefully, nibbling at his neck as he worked his finger in and out of Harry’s body, easing him open. Harry whimpered as Malfoy added a second finger, and Malfoy murmured constant reassurances in his ear, telling him how hot and tight he was, how good he felt, how beautiful he looked. Harry lost himself to Malfoy’s words, letting go of what little control over himself he still had, and thrust mindlessly back against Malfoy’s hand.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Malfoy murmured to him. “So eager for me. So… Merlin, Potter, I never thought…”

Malfoy twisted his fingers, pushed deeper, and Harry nearly came undone when Malfoy’s fingertips rubbed over his prostate.

“Oh fuck,” Harry gasped. “There, right there.” He arched his back and spread his legs wider, as far as he could get with his trousers round his ankles.

“There we are,” Malfoy said, his voice smug. But not smug in the way that made Harry want to punch him; this was a different sort of smug, like Malfoy was deeply satisfied and it made Harry want to keep right on pleasing him. Though at this point, Harry would do pretty much anything, as long as it kept Malfoy’s clever fingers right where they were.

He’d forgotten how good it felt to be fingered like this; Matthew always rushed it, eager to get to the main event. But Malfoy took his time, telling Harry all the while how much he loved it, and how much he loved Harry’s reactions. And Malfoy was bloody good at it. He knew just how hard to stroke, how fast and how deep. It was incredible, but Harry couldn’t help but want more.

“Please,” he begged when Malfoy tried to add a third finger. He was already so close and he squirmed away from Malfoy’s hand. “No more. I need you in me now.”

The fingers withdrew and Harry felt the tip of Malfoy’s cock nudge at his entrance, and that was it. He came hard, gasping out Malfoy’s name and squeezing his eyes shut as his orgasm ripped through him and everything else fell away.

Long and blissful seconds later, Harry drifted back to himself and found that Malfoy had saved him from falling over for the second time that evening. Even now, Harry’s knees were still quivery and threatened to give out, but Malfoy’s arms wrapped securely around his waist, holding him close and secure until he could stand on his own.

“Well,” Malfoy said as Harry steadied himself. He began to draw back. “That was short-lived.” He sounded disappointed.

“Get inside me,” Harry told him. He felt empty without Malfoy’s fingers in him, empty and aching, and even though he’d just come, he wanted Malfoy’s cock inside him more than he’d wanted anything in as long as he could remember. “I can come again.”

There was a long beat of silence, then Malfoy chuckled, his breath warm against the back of Harry’s neck, and his fingers tightened around Harry’s hips as he pressed in close again. “Hm,” he said, rocking forward. The head of his cock slid along the cleft of Harry’s arse. “Are you sure you’re not a horny drunk? Because you rather seem like it to me.”

“No, it’s…” Right, the potions. He needed to tell Malfoy about—

Malfoy rocked his hips forward again and this time the head of his cock caught briefly against the loosened rim of Harry’s hole.

“Yes,” Harry hissed. “Fuck, yes. Do that again.”

“I think I can manage something better,” Malfoy murmured in Harry’s ear. He lined up his cock and slowly pressed forward. “Is this what you want, Potter?”

Harry whimpered as he felt the tip of Malfoy’s cock breach him. “Oh god, yes.”

“Potter,” Malfoy groaned. He pressed forward another inch and stopped, his fingers tightening on Harry’s hips, his breath coming in gasps. “You have no idea, no idea, how brilliant you feel around me.” He dragged in a deep breath and slid inside the slightest bit deeper. “So hot and tight. Merlin, you’re bloody perfect.”

He pressed forward again, moving in short, shallow little thrusts, gently working his way deeper and deeper into Harry’s body a fraction at a time until – finally – he was fully seated. Harry whined deep in his throat and shifted helplessly, held in place by Malfoy’s hands, unable to do anything but arch his back and spread his legs, silently urging Malfoy more and deeper. He felt dizzy and almost frantic now that he had Malfoy inside him like this. And even though he’d only just come, his erection hadn’t softened a bit. The feel of Malfoy’s cock inside Harry, the stretch and burn and that wonderful fullness sent his arousal spiraling to an entirely new level that only grew when Malfoy finally began to move. It spiked higher and higher with every thrust. Everything else faded away, the dingy room around them, the muted clamor of the pub, everything except the way Malfoy’s cock felt moving in and out of him, and the rising need to come again.

“Look at us,” Malfoy whispered in his ear. “Merlin.”

“Mm,” Harry said, his eyes still closed.

“Come on, Harry,” Malfoy urged, his voice rising to a low murmur that sent a tingle of pleasure shivering down Harry’s spine. “Look at how we are together. We’re fucking gorgeous.”

Harry let his eyes blink open and turned his head to look at the water-spotted mirror above the sink. And fuck, Malfoy was right. They were gorgeous together. Malfoy fucked him with slow, rolling thrusts, the muscles of his arse clenching and unclenching at the apex of each stroke. His hands clutched at Harry’s hips, his fingers digging in so hard that his fingertips had gone white as he pulled Harry back against him with each stroke. Harry looked at his own body, his arms braced against the wall, fingers splayed across the tile, the muscles of his shoulders tense as he held himself steady. The flushed length of his cock bobbed with each push Draco made into his body, the tip wet and still smeared with come from his last orgasm. Harry met his own gaze in the mirror, green eyes glassy and dazed, his lips parted, a blotchy pink flush on his cheeks and sweeping down his neck.

“Beautiful,” Malfoy murmured and leaned close to nip at his ear. “Fucking beautiful.”

Harry looked in the mirror, at the way Malfoy was watching him, his grey eyes lust-dark and possessive, like he wanted to own every inch of Harry. As if right now, at this moment, Harry was the only thing in the entire world that Malfoy cared about. Harry shivered.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” Malfoy said. He pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the back of Harry’s neck. “I’ve wanted you like this for years.”

Harry blinked at him in the mirror. “You wanted to fuck me in a toilet?”

Malfoy snorted. “Not quite.” He went still, his cock pushed as deep as he could get into Harry’s body. Harry could feel it throb inside him with every beat of Malfoy’s heart. He was closer to the edge than Harry had realized. “Potter,” he said gently, his voice oddly hesitant. In that moment he seemed very different from the Malfoy that Harry thought he knew. “You should know that I’m not the sort of person to have anonymous one-offs with strange men in the toilets of pubs.”

“I’m not a strange man. And this isn’t anonymous,” Harry said with a frown. He tried to push back against Malfoy to get him to move again, but Malfoy tightened his grip on Harry’s hips and held him still.

Malfoy brushed a gentle kiss along the curve where Harry’s shoulder met his neck, and Harry could feel his smirk. “You know what I mean.”

“But,” said Harry, trying to shift back again. He made a soft sound, half frustrated and half desperate, when Malfoy wouldn’t let him. “You’re doing it with me.”

“Yes, well. You always had to be an exception.” Malfoy slowly drew out and thrust back in, then went still again. “Is this… something you do often? With other men, I mean?”

Harry shook his head and arched his back, forcing Malfoy’s cock deeper. “No, never.”

Malfoy kissed his neck again and slid one hand from his hip to Harry’s stomach, his palm warm through the thin cotton of Harry’s shirt. Harry groaned and reached down to cover Malfoy’s hand with his own, holding it more firmly against him.

He met Malfoy’s eyes in the mirror. “Come inside me. I want to feel you to come in me.”

“Merlin,” Malfoy gasped, and finally began to fuck him again. “Tell me. Tell me how you want me to fill you up.”

“I want you to fill me up,” Harry repeated.

“Come on, Potter. You can do better than that,” Malfoy taunted. He sounded breathless.

“I need this. I need you,” Harry said, looking in the mirror again so he could see how Malfoy’s eyes fluttered shut at those words. Malfoy tipped his head back, his collar shifting just enough to reveal the lovebite Harry had put on his neck. “I want to feel you come, how your cock will throb deep inside me. I want to feel your come leaking out of me after, running down my thighs. I want— Come on, Malfoy, fuck me hard. I want to feel it when you’re done, every time I move I want to feel what you’ve done to me.”

“Yes,” Malfoy hissed, thrusting harder, his eyes still shut. The sharp slap of skin against skin echoed obscenely in the small room. “Yes, yes. Fuck, Potter.”

“I want you, I want you so much,” Harry said, and watched as Malfoy came undone.

His head dropped back and his thrusts went jerky and irregular as his orgasm hit, his face screwed up like his pleasure was almost painful. He grunted, and that low soft sound pushed Harry closer to his own climax because it wasn’t the sort of sound Harry had ever imagined Malfoy making, even in his wildest fantasies. He was always so composed, always holding himself a little bit aloof from the world around him, always so bloody dignified. And this one small sound from him as he came was so at odds with everything else Harry knew about him, deliciously vulgar simply because it was Malfoy who made it, and the knowledge that Harry had been the one to force it from him set his blood alight. He’d always loved to make Malfoy’s control slip.

Harry reached down and grasped his cock, wanking himself with long, firm strokes. He felt Malfoy begin to withdraw, and clamped his free hand over where Malfoy’s fingers still gripped his hipbone.

“Don’t,” he gasped. “Don’t go.”

Malfoy pushed back in. “I was going to suck you,” he said.

The thought of Malfoy on his knees certainly had its appeal, and Harry’s strokes faltered as he imagined thrusting his cock into the wet heat of Malfoy’s mouth as Malfoy looked up at him with those piercing grey eyes of his and swallowed around Harry’s length. But no. “I want to feel you in me when I come.”

“All right,” Malfoy murmured, mouthing his way up Harry’s neck. He kept kissing Harry like that, like having his cock inside Harry wasn’t enough for him. Like he needed more. He nipped at Harry’s earlobe and whispered, “But here, allow me…”

He pushed Harry’s hand aside and took over, his fingers warm and strong as he slid his fist up and down Harry’s cock, gently squeezing the head between his thumb and forefinger at the end of each stroke. Fuck, but Malfoy was good at this, every bit as good as he was at fingering Harry’s arse, and it was only a matter of seconds before Harry’s climax hit. Malfoy’s warm breath tickled his ear in a soft gasp as every muscle in Harry’s body pulled taut. It went on and on, and then the moment broke in a sharp rush of pleasure, leaving Harry wonderfully drowsy from the force of it. He barely noticed Malfoy pulling out.

Getting thoroughly fucked seemed to have satisfied the potion’s urges, for now at least. And without his body already craving his next orgasm, Harry was able to sink into the brilliant warmth of his afterglow. He felt wonderful, all warm and loose and relaxed. He cleaned himself up with a quick spell, and he and Malfoy both quickly did up their clothing, and Malfoy turned to the sink to wash his hands while Harry slumped against the wall, feeling better than he had all evening. Without the potion’s urges cluttering up his thoughts, Harry felt clear-headed for the first time in hours.

“I’m surprised,” Malfoy commented as he turned off the tap and dried his hands. “I would have thought news of your break-up would be splashed all across the front page of the Prophet.”

Harry froze. “Er,” he said. “That’s, um…”

That hazy sort of bliss that comes in the wake of a truly brilliant orgasm was fading fast, drowned out by a hot rush of shame and guilt at what he’d just done. How easily he’d forgotten all about Matthew. He’d practically attacked Malfoy, never mind that Malfoy had been more than willing, but this wasn’t Harry. This wasn’t the sort of thing he did. Fuck, he never should have left his house. He should have just sucked it up and waited for Matthew to come home from work instead of running off impulsively, like he always fucking did, because nothing good ever came of it, and here he’d just fucked up everything.

Malfoy’s mouth pursed in a small frown. “Potter?” he asked, his expression shifting quickly from confusion to mild alarm. “Oh Merlin, it only just happened, didn’t it? And this was some… some sort of rebound thing. I didn’t even think…”

“There hasn’t been a break-up,” Harry forced out. “Matthew and I, we’re still together.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then Malfoy drew in a deep breath as his expression slid into the carefully neutral one he wore around the Ministry.

“I see,” he said, his voice cold. “And I assume he’s unaware of this?” He flicked one hand vaguely between them.

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. Someone who hadn’t known Malfoy for years probably wouldn’t be able to tell that he was hurt, but Harry could see it in the stiff set of his shoulders and the flatness of his gaze. “Yes,” he said.

“Right,” Malfoy said, nodding to himself. “Of course. Well, I suppose that’s that, then.” He paused and aimed a sneer at Harry. “Thanks for the fuck, Potter.”

He turned to go and Harry reached out to stop him. “Wait,” he said. He had to explain. Maybe Malfoy would understand if he knew that Harry hadn’t been in control of himself. Malfoy had been nothing but polite to him in the years since Hogwarts; in the last few months, they’d even struck up a tenuous acquaintanceship, and Harry found himself reluctant to let that go. “It’s not what you think. I mean, it’s complicated…”

“Not the way I see it,” Malfoy said, shaking his arm free of Harry’s grasp. “It’s quite simple, isn’t it?”

“Malfoy…”

“Don’t,” Malfoy snapped. He undid the spell locking the door. “Just don’t. We’ve nothing to say to each other. Ever again, as far as I’m concerned. Go home to your boyfriend.”

He stormed out, leaving Harry feeling deeply guilty and oddly bereft. As Malfoy had said, that was that, then. Harry knew how Malfoy could hold a grudge. If he decided that he never wanted to speak to Harry again, then he wouldn’t. And what was more, Harry couldn’t really blame him.

Except, Harry realized in a sudden and nauseating jolt, they might very well have to speak again. He pressed a hand over his stomach. Matthew had warned him that the odds of conceiving on the first try were enormously low. But then, Harry had always been very good at defying the odds, hadn’t he?

“Oh fuck,” he said as the full weight of how royally he’d just fucked up sank in. “Fuck.”

In the absence of his frantic need for a good hard fuck, the whole encounter with Malfoy felt like a half-remembered dream, hazy and not quite real. He remembered overwhelming lust and how bloody good it had felt when Malfoy touched him, and two of the most mind-shatteringly brilliant orgasms he’d ever had in his life, but beyond that he couldn’t remember thinking much of anything, not about Matthew, and certainly not about the possibility of a baby. He vaguely remembered thinking of the potion and trying to tell Malfoy about it, but how had he managed to not remember what it was for? ‘I want you to come inside me,’ he’d said, and somehow completely didn’t bring that together with the fact that he was on a fertility potion. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed back his panic.

God, he was such a terrible person. He felt like crying. Instead, he drew in one big deep breath, then another, and then another. He opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror.

Well. It was too late to do anything about it. He’d just go home and wait. It would take almost a week before he could test for pregnancy, and there was a good chance that nothing had come of this. Or he could just go home and fuck Matthew, and then even if there was a baby…

Even as the idea occurred to him, Harry dismissed it. He couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to any of them. He’d fucked up, and now he’d just have to deal with the consequences when they came. If they came.

Still reeling, Harry left the gents and made his way back to his table. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, but Harry hadn’t expected him to linger. He stumbled back across the bar and grabbed Ron by the arm.

“Ron,” he said desperately. “I need to go home.”

To his credit, Ron didn’t ask any questions. He just put his arm around Harry to hold him steady and helped him to the Floo.

As they stepped out into Harry’s living room, a fresh surge of panic welled up in him. Matthew would be home soon, expecting to make love. To make a baby. And Harry just couldn’t face him, not after what he’d done. “I can’t,” he said. “I don’t want to be here. I can’t do this. Take me home with you?”

Five minutes later, Harry was sitting on Ron’s sofa, with one of Mrs Weasley’s knitted blankets wrapped around his shoulders and a warm mug of tea clutched in both hands. The Sobering Solution he’d taken almost immediately after stepping out of the Floo had cleared the alcohol from his system, but Harry still felt dizzy and sick. He’d taken it without protest when Ron had offered it to him, and that was when Ron had gone from mildly concerned to deeply worried; Harry hated to take potions and normally fought tooth and nail to avoid them. Ron sat on the coffee table in front of him, his knees brushing Harry’s. Hermione hated when he did that, but she was already in bed.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Ron asked gently.

Harry shook his head and took another gulp of tea, scalding the tip of his tongue.

Ron sighed. “Was it Malfoy? I saw him come out just before you did, and he looked angrier than I’ve seen him since Hermione tried to knock his teeth down his throat back in third year. You didn’t fight with him, did you?”

A sharp laugh burst out of Harry before he could stop it. “I wish we’d fought,” he said. “No, it wasn’t… Oh god, Ron, I really fucked up.”

Ron just watched him solemnly, waiting patiently for Harry to continue.

Harry sucked in a deep breath and tugged the afghan tighter around his shoulders. “I had sex with Malfoy,” he said in a rush. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was just so desperate and he was there and it just… happened.” He shivered and gulped down another swallow of his tea. “But yeah, that’s… that’s why. He thought I’d broken up with Matthew and when he found out I hadn’t…” He remembered the possessive way Malfoy had looked at him as they’d fucked. How he’d admitted to wanting Harry for years. Years, he’d said. “I think he has feelings for me, and he must’ve thought I felt something for him too.”

Malfoy never speaking to him again was an amazingly restrained reaction; Harry deserved to be hexed senseless.

For a long moment, Ron said nothing. Then he sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Bloody hell, Harry. I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

Harry had hoped Ron would say something nice and comforting. Maybe like reassuring Harry that he hadn’t just completely fucked up his life. “Oh,” he said, toying idly with a loose strand of yarn from the blanket.

“What’re you going to do?” Ron asked after a moment.

Harry shrugged. “That’s sort of the problem, isn’t it? I don’t have a fucking clue how to fix this. Malfoy hates me again, Matthew’s going to lose his shit when he finds out I cheated on him, and I might be…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility of it.

Ron shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

The floor creaked overhead and Ron smoothly shifted from the coffee table to the sofa. A few moments later, Hermione came downstairs in a fluffy blue bathrobe. She blinked in the lamplight and frowned as she glanced from Ron to Harry and back again.

“It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night,” she said. Her gaze slid back to Harry. “Is something wrong?”

“You tell her,” Harry said. “I can’t say it again.” He took another gulp of tea.

Ron heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Harry had sex with Malfoy.”

Hermione’s eyebrows leapt nearly to her hairline as she gaped at him. “What?”

“I don’t even know what happened,” Harry said miserably. “Matthew had to work late and the potions I’m on had me so worked up that… Well, Malfoy was at the pub, and it just… happened.”

Hermione turned on Harry. “You went to a pub? Were you drinking?”

“Er,” said Harry. “That’s generally what one does at a pub, yes.”

Hermione’s mouth had tightened into a firm line that made Harry think of a disapproving Molly Weasley, a comparison Harry would rather die than make within earshot of her. Or Ron either, for that matter. No bloke wants to think he’s married a younger version of his mum. “You were drinking,” she said, her tone flat and accusatory, which Harry found a bit unnecessary, considering he’d just told her he had been.

“Er,” Harry said. “Yes?”

“You were drinking while on fertility potions. While you reached the part of your cycle on them when they were active.”

“Er,” said Harry again. “Yes?” He glanced over at Ron, and Ron shrugged.

“Do you honestly have no idea what I’m talking about? Your Healer should have been over this with you,” Hermione told him. “About how fertility potions share several key ingredients with lust potions that activate when the potion reaches its peak potency, to ensure that you have sex when your chances of conception are highest. Adding alcohol to it when you were in that state would only have made it worse, and you don’t exactly have the best tolerance for alcohol as it is.”

Well. That explained quite a bit. “Oh,” Harry said quietly. “He didn’t exactly mention that.”

The corners of Hermione’s mouth tugged down. “Please tell me that you went to an actual Healer for this. Harry, please tell me that Matthew didn’t prescribe your potion.”

“Matthew’s a perfectly good Healer,” Harry said, dodging the question even though he knew Hermione would see right through it.

“He’s also your boyfriend!” Hermione burst out. “Do you have any idea how many regulations he’s breaking by treating you?”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. He pulled his feet up onto the sofa cushion and tucked the blanket closer around himself. “We agreed I’d get a different Healer for the pregnancy. We just wanted to start right away and it was easier for him to write me the prescription.”

“And then he didn’t bother to tell you about the side effects,” Ron said.

“Please,” Harry sighed. “That’s over and done with, and I’ll definitely be having words with him about it, but can we please not talk about it right now? I’ve got bigger problems, haven’t I?”

Hermione came over and sat down on the arm of the sofa near Harry and put her arm around him, and Harry leaned into the touch. For the first time he felt like maybe things would be all right. No matter what he did, they’d always be here for him.

“You mean that you might be having Malfoy’s baby,” she said softly.

“Yeah. I’m so afraid I’ve conceived. I mean, I know the odds aren’t great, but…” Harry trailed off and forced a laugh. “When’s that ever stopped me before, right?”

Hermione frowned. “The odds aren’t great?” she repeated, drawing away to look him in the eye.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. About five percent, I think Matthew said.”

Hermione’s frown deepened. “Aren’t you taking Fertility Philtre?”

Harry blinked at her. “Erm.”

She sighed. “It’s the most common fertility potion, I’m sure that’s what he would have started you on. Sparkly purple and tastes like grape-flavored sawdust?”

Just the mention of the taste had Harry shuddering. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Harry,” she said carefully. “The chances of you conceiving during your first cycle on that particular potion are eighty-five percent, and nearly one-hundred on your second. That’s the reason it’s the most common, because it’s so effective.”

Harry’s mouth twitched into a smile before he realized she wasn’t joking. The smile faded fast. “No,” he said, and his voice sounded high and desperate even to his own ears. “That’s not what Matthew said. He said it was very small. Only five percent, and that I shouldn’t get my hopes up. You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not,” Hermione said solemnly. “It’s the same one Ginny was on. I helped her research it when her Healer prescribed it for her. You know she and Neville had a little bit of trouble with… Right. But I’m not mistaken.” Her gaze slid to Ron. “Why didn’t you warn him of it? You knew Ginny was taking—”

“I knew she was taking it but I didn’t know any of the details and I’d like to keep it that way,” Ron said, raising his hands helplessly. “She’s my little sister. I can’t listen to her talk about sex.”

“But why would…” Harry began, then trailed off. Of course, he realized with a jolt. “He didn’t want me to be disappointed.”

“What?” said Ron.

“Matthew,” Harry sighed. “He must have known that if he told me we’d have an eighty-five percent chance on our first try, I’d be disappointed if it didn’t happen. So he told me the chances were lower to save me from that.”

“And you’re not upset that he lied to you?” Ron demanded with a frown.

“Of course I’m bloody upset that he lied to me,” Harry said. He hated when Matthew tried to protect him like this, as if with everything else he’d been through in his life a little bit of disappointment would mean anything to Harry. “But I understand why he did it.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged that look over the top of his head, equal parts pitying and disappointed and resigned, and entirely irritating. Harry jerked away from Hermione and stood up. He couldn’t stand to listen to their opinions on his relationship now, not on top of everything else that had happened tonight.

“I’m very tired,” he said before either of them could get a word out, and exhaled huffily as his friends exchanged another look.

“You’re welcome to stay here, if you’d like,” Ron offered.

Harry realized he was still clutching the afghan around his shoulders like a bizarre knitted cloak, and he bundled it up in his arms as he debated whether he should stay here or if he should go home. “If you don’t mind,” he said at last.

“Of course we don’t,” Hermione assured, standing up and taking the blanket from Harry. She refolded it quickly and dropped it onto the sofa. “I’ll just send Matthew an owl, letting him know not to worry.”

“Thank you,” he said. He knew he should probably send the owl himself, but even that seemed like too much right now.

Hermione smiled at him, then pulled him into a hug. “It’ll be all right. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

Ron shrugged and gave Harry a lopsided grin. “We’ve certainly been through worse.”

Harry laughed helplessly as he hugged Hermione back. “Thanks.”

They bid each other goodnight, and Harry went up to the guest room, pausing in the hall to ease open the door to the nursery and peek in. Hugo was young enough that he still slept in a bassinet in Ron and Hermione’s room, but Rose was tucked snugly into her bed, safe behind a gently-glowing Guardrail Spell, with her tousled copper locks spread over the pillow and one tiny hand curled into a loose fist beneath the sweet curve of her plump little cheek. As always happened when he saw his goddaughter, the pang of longing that struck Harry was so intense that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. But this time it had an edge to it, a sharp fissure of mingled excitement and dread. His hand had drifted up to settle against his stomach as he watched Rose, and he snatched it away as soon as he realized what he’d done. He shut the door to Rose’s room and hurried down the hall to the guest room where he quickly undressed and got into bed.

Harry tugged the blankets tighter around his shoulders and sighed as he snuggled down against the pillows. Though Ron and Hermione’s guest bed was comfortable, to Harry it just didn’t feel right. It felt too cold, too empty, and the room was far too quiet without Matthew snoring beside him. The snoring had driven him half-mad when they’d first begun sleeping together; now Harry wondered when exactly it had become something he liked enough to miss. He wondered if it’d be something he’d miss for the rest of his life. Whether Matthew would leave him over this.

Harry slid his hand down to press his palm over his stomach. “Please let this be okay,” he breathed. “Please, please, please.”

He didn’t want to have a child with Malfoy, but if there was a baby, Harry knew that keeping it wouldn’t even be a question. Any child of Harry’s would be loved and wanted simply because it was his.

But it would be Malfoy’s too. And Malfoy would…

Well. Harry had no idea what Malfoy would do, beyond the initial screaming and hexing and throwing of breakables. Malfoy’s temper was a bloody legend around the Ministry, these days. He’d be livid that Harry had done this to him, and fuck, Harry would deserve every bit of his ire. But beyond that…

Harry rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut. It was done now, and couldn’t be helped. Right now he needed to get to sleep, and he’d face it all with a clear head in the morning.

But thoughts of Matthew and Malfoy and what if continued to rattle around in Harry’s mind no matter how he tried to shut them out, and it was a long time before he was able to drift into sleep.


****


Harry shambled down into the kitchen the following morning feeling faintly hungover, even though the Sobering Solution he’d taken last night should have negated any aftereffects of his drinking. It had taken ages to fall asleep last night, and when he finally had he hadn’t slept well. His eyes felt dry and gritty, and his head ached fiercely. He hoped the nausea rolling through his stomach, at least, might be settled with a cup of tea.

He found Ron and Hermione sitting at the kitchen table, and Hermione rose to her feet when she caught sight of him and went to where the kettle sat warming on the stovetop. Rose fussed, reaching one small hand toward her mother’s retreating back, but was easily distracted when Ron brought her high chair next to him with a swish of his wand and fed her a bit of jam-smeared toast.

“Morning, Harry. Breakfast?” Hermione asked as she poured steaming water into a mug.

The lingering scent of frying sausages made his stomach turn over. “No thanks, just some tea would be nice.” He sat down at the table next to Ron, who had gone back to leafing through the Sunday edition of the Prophet, and a terrible idea occurred to him.

“I’m, er… I’m not in there, am I?” he asked as casually as he could.

“No,” said Ron, flipping a page. “It was the first thing I checked for.”

Harry slumped in his seat. “Thank god.” He didn’t know what he’d do if Malfoy had gone and blabbed to the papers. Probably just stay with Ron and Hermione for the rest of his life, because he didn’t think he’d be able to show his face in public after that.

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed, setting down a mug of tea in front of Harry, steaming hot and opaque with milk, just as he liked it. “It’s not as if he’s fourteen anymore. He has grown up, you know.”

“He’s really angry with me,” Harry said at the same time Ron stated, “But he’s still a git.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched the Business and Finance section of the Prophet from Ron, but didn’t manage more than skimming the headlines before Hugo began to cry. Hermione cancelled the Monitoring Charm that amplified his cries and left the room to get him. Rose began to fuss again, and Ron quieted her with another bit of toast. Harry watched as Rose squashed the toast in her fist, strawberry jam oozing between her small fingers. She giggled to herself, then held her hand over the floor. Without looking up from the paper, Ron flicked his wand and the toast Vanished a split second before Rose opened her fingers. She blinked at her empty hand, baffled, then stuck her sticky fingers into her mouth.

“Cannons lost yesterday,” Ron said with a grimace, and Harry couldn’t help but be impressed that Ron still had it in him to be disappointed by them at this point.

Rose removed her fingers from her mouth and stared at Ron with wide blue eyes as she babbled something that Harry couldn’t even hope to decipher.

But Ron nodded sagely to her. “My thoughts exactly,” he said. “But don’t worry, next weekend they’re playing the Magpies. I think we’ll do much better, then.”

He reached out and ruffled her hair, and Rose shrieked something that sounded somewhat like “Magpies!” but Harry couldn’t quite tell for sure. He hoped the ability to speak toddler was something that every parent developed.

Harry hid a smile behind a sip of tea, and listened with half an ear as Ron read off more of the Quidditch scores to a happily-chattering Rose. Hermione returned with Hugo in her arms and settled back down at the table with him, and somehow managed to balance him, the newspaper, and her cup of tea in a way that made it all look effortless. That pang of longing struck him again, and this time Harry let it sweep through him.

He wanted this, the comfortable way Hermione sat with Hugo, how Ron casually read off Quidditch scores to Rose even though she was far too young to understand them. He wanted comfortable, relaxed mornings like this one. He wanted the way Hugo snuggled against Hermione, warm and sleepy and safe, and the way Rose looked up at Ron like he’d hung the moon and stars. Harry wanted bedtime and bathtime and someone who loved him for no other reason than he loved them back. He knew better than to think it was all sunshine and smiles like this morning. There were times when managing a toddler and an infant devolved into barely-controlled chaos, when both Ron and Hermione were at their wits end. But the rest of the time would make up for that, he knew, and Harry wanted.

And most of all, he wanted someone to share it with. He wanted a partner to stand beside him every step of the way. To help him and support him, and whom he could help and support in turn, and to share in every wonderful moment of their baby’s childhood. He thought he’d found that already.

His hand had gone to his stomach again, and Harry jerked it away and pressed it to his knee. He tried not to think about how a baby now meant losing Matthew. As he’d tried to fall asleep last night, Harry hadn’t had any idea what to do, but now he made up his mind. His encounter with Malfoy had been a mistake, one that Harry didn’t even remember in any great detail. He hadn’t meant to do it, he certainly hadn’t wanted to do it, and if Malfoy wasn’t going to say anything about it, then Harry wasn’t going to either. As far as Matthew was concerned, Harry had gone out last night and had a couple of drinks that reacted badly with the potion, and then he’d come back here with Ron to sleep it off. And if turned out there was a baby….well. Harry would deal with telling Matthew about that when it happened. If it happened.

He took another gulp of tea and set the mug aside as he rose to his feet. “I think I need to go home now,” he said. “Matthew should be up by now.”

It took him less than ten minutes to get cleaned up and dressed and say goodbye to everyone, and then he no longer had any excuse to linger. Harry felt queasy with apprehension as he stepped out of the Floo and into his living room.

“Harry?” Matthew called, and rapid footsteps came up the hall.

Harry’s headache suddenly intensified, and he gritted his teeth against it as Matthew appeared in the doorway. “Morning,” he said, and hoped he didn’t sound as miserable and guilty as he felt.

“Where have you been?” Matthew demanded, coming to a stop just in front of Harry.

“Didn’t Hermione owl you?” Harry asked with a frown. “She said she was going to.”

“She did owl me,” Matthew said. He folded his arms tightly across his chest. “And she told me that you went out drinking with Ron last night.”

Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Did you really expect me to just sit here like a good boy, waiting for you to come back home?”

“I expected you to use a little common sense, but clearly that was expecting too much. What were you even thinking, going out to a pub when your potions were active?” Matthew said. “One of Fertility Philtre’s main ingredients is ashwinder eggs and when it’s mixed with alcohol—”

“Yes, well, I had to find that out the hard way, didn’t I?” Harry interrupted. “My Healer didn’t bother to tell me that little detail.”

“Pardon me if I thought it would be obvious that you shouldn’t be drinking if you’re trying to have a baby!” Matthew’s voice was rising.

And Harry didn’t try to keep his voice down either. “Well you weren’t around so I wasn’t trying, was I?”

Matthew huffed, like he thought Harry was the one being an idiot. “I told you, I got called in on an urgent case.”

“Not so urgent that you couldn’t pop home and tell me about it,” Harry said, then realized he’d just parroted Ron’s words from last night. He wanted to knock his head against the wall.

“What, you think I was lying to you?” Matthew demanded. “Merlin, Harry. The Mediwizards were prepping the patient for surgery. I had a couple of minutes to spare and thought you’d appreciate being told in person rather than me sending off an owl.”

Matthew looked equal parts outraged and hurt by Harry’s implicit accusation, and abruptly Harry felt guilty. But not so guilty that the urge to apologize quite overcame his anger. Or his headache.

He pressed his hand to his forehead, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and middle fingers. “Please, can we not do this right now? I’ve got a headache the size of a Hungarian Horntail.”

Matthew exhaled sharply. “If you’d just take a bloody dose of Headache Tonic—”

“I don’t need a bloody dose of Headache Tonic,” Harry interrupted, and his head throbbed fiercely in disagreement. “What I need is to sleep for a while.”

For a long moment Harry thought Matthew would keep arguing, and good god Harry didn’t think he could take another argument about this right now. Then Matthew stepped aside and gestured to the hallway in a parody of gallantry. Harry brushed by him and stalked off to their bedroom where he stripped down to his pants and crawled into bed. The cool cotton sheets felt wonderful against his bare skin, and he settled in with a sigh.

Sleep didn’t come, but after a while his headache began to dull. The room was quiet and dim, with only a faint trace of sunlight seeping in from behind the drawn curtains, and just cool enough for Harry to need a sheet for warmth. The rumpled bedcovers smelled like Matthew, a warm and comforting smell that always made Harry’s mouth water a little. He closed his eyes and breathed deep.

The door eased open, and Harry kept very still as slow footsteps crossed the room and came to a stop just beside the bed. After a moment, Matthew sighed, and the mattress dipped as he sat down. Gently, he tucked a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Harry rolled over onto his back, the sheets rustling quietly. “I’m sorry too,” he said.

Matthew gave him a small smile and brushed Harry’s hair back from his forehead. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I wasn’t asleep.” He reached out and slid his hand over Matthew’s knee. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have gone out last night.”

“You didn’t know,” Matthew sighed, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair again. “I didn’t even think to tell you, and I should have. And… I shouldn’t have teased you last night. It was just that, well, the idea of you waiting for me, so worked up and ready for me to come back. The Saviour, waiting for me. Can you blame me for that?”

Harry sat up with a small sigh. “All that Saviour business was ages ago. I’d rather you just wanted Harry to be waiting for you.”

“But that’s who you are,” Matthew said with a fond smile. “That part of you won’t go away just because you never acknowledge it. I don’t understand why you’re so determined to pretend you were never the Boy Who Lived. You’ve done such incredible things in your life. You should be proud.”

Spoken exactly like someone who’d been far away from England during the war. Harry let it go. He didn’t want to have another argument about that right now, not on top of everything else. His headache had finally begun to fade and he felt pretty sure that another shouting match would bring it screaming back.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to try to sleep a little more,” he said, settling back down against the pillows.

Matthew nodded. “All right. I’ve got a few errands to run today, so I’ll be gone until after lunch. Since I’ll be down in Diagon Alley, would you like me to stop at the apothecary and get the next course of potions for you?”

Harry had no idea whether they were safe to keep taking if he was already pregnant, and it wasn’t as if he could just ask. “Er, no thanks,” he said. “I think I’d like to take a while to enjoy not having to drink that crap every morning.”

Laughing, Matthew gave Harry’s knee a pat, squeezing gently. “I’d wondered how long it’d take you to get fed up with taking them.”

“Right,” Harry said, forcing a smile.

Matthew gave Harry’s knee another pat before he stood. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, and turned over so he didn’t have to watch Matthew leave the room.


****


Harry carefully pricked his finger and, even more carefully, squeezed three drops of blood into the vial. They swirled down through the murky liquid inside, dissipating quickly. He stuck his stinging finger into his mouth and sucked gently at it as he pressed a stopper into the vial and gave it a brisk shake. He set it back down on the edge of the bathroom sink and sat down on the edge of the bathtub to wait the recommended three minutes for his result.

He barely needed thirty seconds. The potion quickly turned a pale shade of lavender, and Harry dropped his face into his hands. He didn’t need to watch it to know that it would gradually deepen to a rich shade of plum. The other three vials lined up on the countertop had done the exact same thing and Harry had no reason to believe that the fourth would do anything different.

Four positive results from four different potions purchased from four different apothecaries. He hadn’t quite believed the first one, but all four of them couldn’t be wrong.

“Fuck,” he mumbled into his palms.

He was going to have to tell Matthew.

He was going to have to tell Malfoy.

“Fuck,” Harry said again.

Then he dropped his hands away from his face and heaved a sigh as he stood up. He Vanished the vials with a wave of his wand and turned to leave. But as he reached for the door, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked shell-shocked, his expression blank and his face pale. Harry blinked and stared for a few long seconds, because it didn’t seem possible for his face to look so expressionless when his mind was spinning about a thousand miles an hour.

Shaking his head, Harry turned away from the mirror and went into the bedroom. He had a little while before Matthew’s shift ended. It’d be just enough time for Harry to pack his things. He didn’t own much, just his clothes and maybe a half a trunk’s worth of odds and ends. Before moving in here, Harry had lived at Grimmauld Place with all of its heavy antique furniture that he didn’t hate nearly enough to make any of it worth replacing. Matthew had been living in this flat for a few years at that point and had already furnished it with his own things, and at the time it seemed like the best thing for Harry to just move in here with him. At the time, he’d been pleased by how seamlessly he’d slotted himself into Matthew’s life. He’d taken over half the closet and part of the living room bookshelf, stashed away the rest of his things wherever he’d found a bit of space for them, and that had been that. No fuss, no bother, just… easy.

But now, looking around after he’d packed, Harry wondered how he could possibly have thought that was the way things were supposed to be. Two people living together shouldn’t be seamless. It shouldn’t be easy. It should be like two balls of string unspooling and tangling together. Like two vines twining around each other as they grew. Not this, where other than his empty half of the closet, it looked like nothing in the bedroom had changed at all. Shouldn’t he leave holes in Matthew’s life if he left? A small part of Harry wondered if maybe this wasn’t meant to be after all.

Shaking off those thoughts, Harry took his trunk into the living room, where he packed up the knitted throw blanket Mrs. Weasley had made for him, and the small stack of books from his part of the bookshelf: a few of his old Hogwarts textbooks, a few of the more outrageous of Harry’s unauthorized biographies that he and Ron liked to read aloud from sometimes when they got pissed together, and the photo album Hagrid had given him years ago.

Harry lingered over that for a minute, and as he looked down at a photo of his parents, arm in arm and laughing, it finally struck him that he was going to be a parent himself. That this was really happening. He closed the album and dropped it on top of the stack of books and splayed a hand over his stomach, smoothing his t-shirt down. Right now, at this very minute, there was a tiny life growing inside him. His son or daughter. It seemed entirely unreal. Harry didn’t look any different, or feel any different. Shouldn’t something be different, now that his life had changed so fundamentally?

He’d think about that later. Right now he had to figure out what the fuck he was going to tell Matthew. Somehow, he didn’t think that blurting out, “I cheated on you and now I’m pregnant with Draco Malfoy’s baby,” would go over terribly well. And though it wouldn’t matter if he dressed it up in prettier words or worked his way around to it by inches, Matthew was going to be livid. But Harry still clung to the faint hope that maybe they could work things out. The chances of that happening were small enough that he hadn’t hesitated before packing his things, but it could still happen, and trying to break the news as gently as possible was pretty much the only thing he could do at this point.

The clock struck six. Matthew would be home at any minute. Harry shut the trunk and cast a shrinking spell on it, then tucked it safely into his pocket. God, he could feel a headache coming on. Even though he hated taking potions for anything, Harry decided that he’d had more than enough for one day, and this conversation was going to be hard enough to handle without his head pounding away on top of it. He went into the kitchen where he knew Matthew kept a supply of potions on the top shelf of the cabinet above the sink. Harry couldn’t quite see up that high, and had to stretch up on his toes to reach them. One by one, he took the vials down, sparing only a cursory glance at each label before he set it aside and reached for the next one.

Sobering Solution, Hangover Potion, Decongestant, Anti-Nausea Tonic, and—

His search for something to relieve his headache was entirely forgotten as Harry’s fingers tightened around the vial in his hand and he stared at the label. A Contraceptive Potion. And it was more than half gone. Maybe it was old, Harry thought. Maybe it was left over from a previous relationship. But no, its expiration date was far enough in the future to confirm that this was a more recent purchase.

But why would they need…?

“Five percent, my arse,” Harry said as the pieces clicked together. “That bastard.”

And he hadn’t even bothered to hide it. Just stashed it away with the rest of the potions. Not that he had any reason to believe Harry would go poking around through there, not when Matthew had to fight him tooth and nail just to get Harry to take a dose of Pepper-Up when he had a cold. But still. The fact that Matthew hadn’t even bothered to cover his trail just added insult to injury.

“That bastard,” Harry said again as the china rattled in the cabinets.

He took a few long moments to wrestle his anger and his magic back under control, then left the rest of the potions sitting on the counter, because he wasn’t sure that he could restrain himself from smashing them across the kitchen floor if he picked them up, and went to go sit in the living room to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long. Barely five minutes had passed when the Floo flared and Matthew emerged in a flash of bright green flame and a swirl of even brighter green Healer’s robes. He stopped short when he saw Harry sitting on the sofa.

“Hey,” he said, frowning. Harry usually spent Thursday evenings with Ron, and Matthew looked surprised to see him home. “What are you doing here?”

“Sit down,” Harry said, pleased with how calm and reasonable he sounded. “We need to talk.”

“Merlin, Harry, can it wait?” Matthew grumbled. “You wouldn’t believe the shit day I’ve had.”

Harry was pretty sure that Matthew wouldn’t believe how much worse his day was about to get. “No, sorry. We need to talk right now.”

Matthew heaved a put-upon sigh as he plopped down onto the sofa beside Harry. “What’s this about, then?”

Harry unclenched his fist and reached out, delicately setting the Contraceptive Potion on the coffee table. “Would you care to explain that?”

Matthew stared at it for a long moment. “Why were you looking through the potions?”

“I had a headache. Please answer my question.”

“It’s old,” Matthew said easily. “From my last relationship. I’d forgot it was even up there.” He gave Harry a reassuring smile.

Harry just stared back. “The expiration date is recent.”

Several long seconds of silence ticked past, and Harry wondered whether Matthew would try to explain it away again.

Then Matthew sighed and shook his head. “Harry…” in that tone that meant he thought Harry was being ridiculous about something.

“I just don’t understand,” he said. “Why would you do that when we were going to try to have a baby?”

“Harry…” Matthew began again.

“Just tell me!”

“Because I don’t want a child,” Matthew said tersely, looking away. “I never have.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected to hear, but that certainly wasn’t it. He blinked. “But you said…”

“I know what I said. And I know how important it is to you. What was I supposed to say?” His gaze flicked back to Harry before darting away again.

“You were supposed to tell me the truth! You weren’t supposed to lie to me,” Harry burst out. He surged to his feet. “My god, Matthew, this should be obvious. If you really don’t want children, you should have just told me that rather than sneaking around behind my back.”

“And what would that have done?” Matthew shot back, standing up to face Harry. “I know how important having a family is to you. If I’d said I didn’t want children, you’d have left me. I did what I had to do to keep you.”

“Well I’m afraid your plan had one great big flaw in it,” Harry said. “You should have been dosing me with the contraceptive.”

Matthew went very still. “What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re… what?”

Harry’s hand twitched toward his belly and he curled his hands into fists at his sides. “You’re a Healer. Surely you know what that means.”

Matthew’s eyes caught the arrested movement. His mouth drew down at the corners. “Who was he?”

Saying Malfoy’s name would only be throwing gasoline on the fire. “It doesn’t matter.”

The frown twisted into a sneer. “Of course it bloody well matters.”

“It doesn’t,” Harry said. “I was half out of my mind at that point and barely knew what I was doing. So no, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.”

“This isn’t…” Matthew began, then winced. “I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this, but this doesn’t have to be the end.”

“It doesn’t?” Harry repeated. He’d been so sure that Matthew would toss him out on his ear. And for one brief and shining moment Harry forgot all about the lying and his own mistake and the fact that Matthew didn’t want children. This didn’t have to be the end. His heart soared.

And then fell abruptly when Matthew went on, “You said it it didn’t matter. So get rid of it.”

“I can’t,” Harry said, and this time he didn’t stop his hand from splaying protectively over his stomach. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“I’m not going to raise another man’s child.”

Of course he wouldn’t, not when he didn’t even want one of his own. “I didn’t think you would,” Harry said. He slipped his hand into his pocket and touched the smooth top of his spelled trunk. “I’ve already packed my things.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Then Matthew looked away. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” Harry said.

“Then I guess this is it.”

And it was, wasn’t it? A whole year, gone. Tossed away. Just like that. Harry walked to the Floo and scooped up Floo powder from the little glass jar that sat on the mantle. It was technically his, Harry realized. He’d broken Matthew’s the first week they lived together and then bought this as a replacement. But taking it now would seem petty, and really this whole break up was much calmer than he thought it would be and he was reluctant to do anything that spoil that. The jar would stay here, and a part of him wondered whether Matthew would even notice.

Harry hesitated in front of the Floo, powder cupped in one hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, and couldn’t quite bring himself to turn around. “For what it’s worth.”

“Not much, as it turns out,” Matthew said, his voice tight. “Goodbye, Harry.”

Harry threw his handful of powder into the flames.

When he stepped out of the Floo at Ron and Hermione’s, he found Hermione alone on sofa, curled up with a book. She sat up when she saw him, her brown eyes growing soft with concern.

“I broke up with Matthew,” Harry said. “And I’m having Malfoy’s baby.”

Even as he said it, none of it felt real. He’d just broken off his longest relationship ever, with a man he’d been sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He was pregnant with Malfoy’s child, permanently tying himself to a man he’d only just stopped hating in the last few years. Bloody hell, how was this his life?

Hermione patted the sofa cushion next to her, and Harry went. He let her put her arm around him and stroke his hair and murmur how everything was going to be all right. And for a while, he could almost believe her.

He was having a baby. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Did how it had happened really matter, compared to the fact that he was going to be a father? That he’d finally have a child who would love him unconditionally, and whom Harry would love every bit as much in return? Wasn’t that enough to balance out everything else?

Harry had no idea. He hoped that everything would seem better in the morning.


****


Harry left Ron and Hermione’s just after breakfast and went straight to Grimmauld Place. These days Harry mostly did volunteer work and made the occasional public appearance in support of various charity organizations. The advantage of not having a “real job,” as Ron phrased it, was that it only took a few minutes by Floo call to beg off from his obligations for the rest of the week and he didn’t have a boss to ask why. Harry didn’t think he could face talking to anyone else just yet. He didn’t think he’d be able to pretend that everything was fine.

That taken care of, he took a minute to make himself a cup of tea before he began the task of unpacking his things.

Settling back into his former home didn’t take nearly as long as Harry had hoped. Before he’d moved in with Matthew, Harry had arranged for a couple of the freed house-elves at Hogwarts to come by and do a bit of light housekeeping for him every so often. Looking around now, he couldn’t find even the smallest trace of dust on the furniture, and Harry made a mental note to give the elves a bonus for such a thorough job. He had a couple of Hermione’s more… what was the word Mrs. Weasley had used? Yes, her more whimsical knitting projects stashed away that he thought Clunky and Babbles would appreciate. Harry couldn’t wait to see their reactions. Most of the freed elves totally lost it when confronted with a Hermione Granger Original.

As he worked, Harry debated between the hat that was so large it could cover his whole head from crown to shoulders or the pair of mittens that weren’t deep enough for his fingers, though Hermione had looked so proud as she’d presented them to him that he didn’t have the heart to tell her that, nor the fact that she’d accidentally knit him two left-hand ones.

With his trunk unpacked and his clothes put away and his belongings organized, he no longer had anything to use as an excuse to keep him from writing to Malfoy. For a few very long and tempting minutes, Harry considered not telling him at all. What good would it do? Malfoy was already angry with him. Telling him about the baby would only make a bad situation worse. And Malfoy hated Harry now. Why would he want anything to do with Harry’s child, a child that Harry had forced him into having whether Malfoy wanted it or not?

Because no matter how it got here, it was Malfoy’s child too. And Harry had witnessed firsthand how fiercely loyal Malfoys were to their family. There was a chance that Malfoy would take up his share of the responsibility for the baby simply because it was of his blood. And Harry wanted his child to have as much family and as many people to love him or her as there could possibly be.

Well. Harry would give him the chance. It was up to Malfoy what he did with it.

It took him most of the afternoon to draft a letter he was satisfied with. He stuck to the bare facts, explaining as briefly as possible about the fertility potions and Matthew, and why he’d acted as he had at the pub. That he’d broken things off with Matthew and would be raising the baby by himself, but wanted Malfoy to be part of his or her life. He apologized for the awkward position he’d put Malfoy in, but not for the baby. Now that it was here and growing inside him, he couldn’t possibly be sorry.

Harry sealed the letter and sent it off, then went out into the garden to pull up weeds just to give himself something to do while he waited. His stomach tied itself up in knots and he found himself checking the time every couple of minutes..

Half an hour later, his owl returned.

Harry’s heart pounded as he took the letter it offered him and turned it over in his hands. His stomach dropped when he realized it was the same one he’d sent.

Malfoy hadn’t even bothered to open it.


****


Harry continued to write. Every week he’d send Malfoy another letter. And every week it would come back to him unopened.

It became as much of his routine as his Healer appointments or volunteer work or Thursdays with Ron or Sunday suppers at the Burrow. Every Tuesday afternoon, Harry would send off another letter, and every Tuesday evening Malfoy would return it to him unopened.

Sometimes the letter would come back right away. Sometimes it would take several hours, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder whether Malfoy hadn’t been home when it arrived, or if he’d kept it for a while before sending it back. He pictured Malfoy sitting in the Manor with Harry’s letter in his hands, fingertips tracing over the seal as he debated whether or not he should open it.

Harry knew that he should find Malfoy and tell him in person, but when he was just six weeks along he’d bumped into Malfoy at the Ministry while helping Ron with a consult for the Aurors. Malfoy had hexed him silent before Harry could even open his mouth. By the time he’d got the hex undone, Malfoy had already gone storming off down the hall.

The letters really were the safer option, so Harry kept writing. After all, sooner or later Malfoy was bound to read one of them, wasn’t he?


****


“Hermione?” Harry called as he stepped out of her Floo.

“In here!” she called back.

Harry hurried down the hall to her study and found her – predictably – at her desk, surrounded by piles of paper and teetering stacks of books. Research for the new Potions textbook she was writing, a new crusade she’d taken up shortly after Rose had been born. Apparently the Hogwarts curriculum only changed once every eighty-six years, according to Hermione’s research, and that was unacceptable to her, that her daughter might be learning from the same textbooks that Harry’s parents had used while they were in school.

She didn’t look up as he walked in, and he flopped down on the small settee tucked away in the corner and grinned at her.

“Let me guess. You’ve just come from your Healer appointment,” she said, scratching down a few more words before setting her quill aside. She was smiling when she looked up at him at last.

He nodded eagerly. “I’m having a boy.”

“Oh, Harry!” she exclaimed, leaving her desk to squeeze onto the loveseat with him. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you. ”

He laughed. “And what would you have said if I’d told you I was having a girl?”

“The exact same thing,” Hermione admitted with a small laugh of her own. “It’s just so exciting, isn’t it? When I found out that Rose was a girl and Hugo was a boy, that’s when the whole thing finally became real for me.”

“I know,” Harry said, still grinning. “Now I can finally start thinking of names.”

“Hm,” Hermione said. “You know, there’s someone else who should be thinking of names with you,” she hinted broadly.

Harry’s good mood popped like a soap bubble. As always, when he thought about Malfoy, Harry’s stomach turned over and he felt slightly ill with apprehension.

“You need to tell him,” Hermione went on when Harry kept silent. “He needs to hear it from you, not from the papers. You’re not going to be able to keep it from them much longer, and Malfoy got an O on his Arithmancy NEWT. He’s fully capable of working the math to figure out when exactly that happened.” She aimed a pointed glance at the prominent swell of Harry’s stomach.

Harry settled back into his chair. “I’ve been trying to tell him. He won’t answer any of my owls.”

Hermione sighed but didn’t bother to say anything, opting not to waste words on something they both already knew. Harry was perfectly aware that he should have told Malfoy about the baby months ago. But once his initial shock had faded, he’d been so busy with his volunteer work and Healer appointments and fixing up his home so it’d be safe for a baby that confronting Malfoy had been easy to keep putting off. And putting off, and putting off… And then suddenly four months had gone by and Malfoy still didn’t know, and yeah Harry felt sort of guilty about that, but mostly he just tried not to think of it.

“I know,” he sighed. “But if he won’t even open my letters, I can’t imagine that he’s going to hang around long enough to listen to me explain. The one time we crossed paths, he hexed me and ran.”

Again, Hermione’s gaze flicked meaningfully to Harry’s midsection. “He’s smart, you know. Certainly smart enough to add up the clues. You wanting to have a conversation while looking like that… Really, I’m sure he’ll stay still long enough to hear you out. If nothing else, he’ll probably be too shocked to run away.”

Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands. “With luck he’ll be too shocked to murder me, too. That’d be nice.”

Hermione took his hand and gave it a pat. “Harry,” she said in that mother voice of hers.

“I know, I know,” he said. “I’ll talk to Ron about it.”

“Ron?” Hermione repeated. “I don’t think you’ll need protection. I’m sure Malfoy wouldn’t really try to murder you.”

“No, but he’s not about to let me get near him, either. He’s not going to let me into the Manor, and I can’t approach him in public…” Harry paused as he worked through the rest of his idea. Yeah, this might work. “He’s not going to let me come at him like a Gryffindor. I’m going to have to trap him.”

And then hope that Hermione was right, and Malfoy would be too surprised to run off so that Harry could explain.


****


Technically this was an abuse of Ron’s position as Deputy Head Auror, but it hadn’t taken much to talk him into doing it, once Harry explained his plan. Malfoy, one of the research heads in the Potions Division, did consults with the Aurors often enough that being summoned to Conference Room B in the middle of the workday wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. Harry removed his outer robes, which Hermione had charmed with a Glamour to disguise his expanding belly, and folded them over the back of a chair. Beneath them, he wore a pair of jeans and a plain grey t-shirt that left no doubt as to his condition. He managed to sit for all of a minute before his nerves had him getting back to his feet. He paced back and forth, glancing at the clock approximately every twenty seconds.

Clipped footsteps echoed up the hall, and Harry’s breath caught as they came closer, closer…

“Fucking hell, Weasley,” Malfoy snarled as he banged into the room. “This better be—Potter.”

“Erm. Hi,” Harry said when Malfoy stopped short.

Very carefully, Malfoy shut the door behind himself. His eyes were fixed on the prominent swell of Harry’s stomach. Harry looked away.

“You’re pregnant,” he said.

Even though it wasn’t a question, Harry answered, “Yes.”

“And… it’s mine?”

“Yes.”

“And might I infer from this little confrontation that you’re keeping it?”

“Yes,” Harry said, and cleared his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to look Malfoy in the eye. “I understand that you didn’t have a choice about this. And if you want nothing to do with us, that’s fine. I’m not trying to get money out of you, or force you into anything you don’t want. But I’d never deny my child one of his parents. I want you to be as involved in his life as you want to be.”

Emboldened by his little speech coming out exactly the way he’d rehearsed it in his head, Harry finally looked up and found that Malfoy’s gaze was still pinned to the rounded swell of his belly.

Malfoy blinked, swallowed, and blinked again. “It’s a boy?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and could feel himself blush a little as he looked down at himself. He brushed a wrinkle from his t-shirt. “We’re having a son.”

Malfoy seemed to sway where he stood. “Fucking hell,” he managed.

Harry’s smile faded. “Malfoy…”

Malfoy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I can’t,” he said, then again, “I can’t.”

He turned around, yanked the door open, and was gone. All without ever once looking Harry in the eyes. And even though Harry hadn’t expected Malfoy to welcome him into his life with open arms, he was surprised by just how stung he was by Malfoy’s immediate rejection. He’d thought there’d be more of an argument before Malfoy went storming off, at least.

And there had been one tiny part of him that had really hoped…

“Well,” Harry sighed, cupping his palms over his stomach. “I guess that means we’re on our own.”


****


Harry had just settled onto his sofa with a fresh pint of the chocolate ice cream he’d been craving all day when the doorbell rang. For a moment, he seriously considered ignoring it and hoping whoever was out there would go away, but he dutifully set his cardboard container and spoon aside and levered himself to his feet. The bell rang again.

“Coming, coming,” he muttered as he hurried down the hall. He unlocked the door and swung it open, then froze. Because of all the people he’d expected to be ringing his doorbell late on a Tuesday evening… “Malfoy.”

“Potter,” Malfoy said stiffly. His gaze slid down to Harry’s stomach and he hurriedly looked away as a light blush crept over his cheeks.

“How did you find my house?” Harry asked stupidly, still staring.

“Don’t worry, your Fidelius Charm is still intact. Weasley told me where to find you. And honestly, you should have picked someone a little less obvious as your Secret Keeper,” Malfoy sniffed, glancing at Harry, then beyond him into the foyer. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Er, right, yeah. Sorry,” Harry said, stepping back and swinging the door open all the way.

Malfoy walked inside and Harry shut the door after him. He looked rather dashing in a set of navy blue robes trimmed in silver, and it made Harry wish he’d put on something a little nicer than a faded pair of cotton pajama bottoms and one of Dudley’s old shirts. But then he hadn’t exactly expected company.

“Is there somewhere we could sit down?” Malfoy prodded after a few moments of silence had dragged past. “I believe we’re long overdue for a conversation.” Again, his gaze slid down to Harry’s middle.

“Right, yes. This way,” Harry said, brushing a hand self-consciously over the front of his shirt.

He led the way to his sitting room, and gestured to one of the chairs. Malfoy sat in it, and Harry curled up in his spot on the sofa. He waited for Malfoy to speak.

“I’ve drawn up all the papers to declare him my heir,” Malfoy said. “I’ll file everything as soon as he’s born.”

It took Harry a moment to read between the lines of what Malfoy had just said. He was claiming the baby as his heir. Malfoy wanted to be part of his life. Harry couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Father’s not pleased that the Malfoy heir will be illegitimate, but I expect he’ll come round,” Malfoy continued. “Mother’s over the moon, of course.”

“And you?” Harry asked quietly, fighting his grin back to something a bit less manic.

“Still a bit in shock, to be honest,” Malfoy admitted.

“Sorry for that,” Harry said. “I wasn’t exactly tactful about how I told you.”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” Malfoy said dryly. “Ambushing me at work was about as far from tactful as you could possibly have got. And believe me, your accomplice and I had a discussion about his role in all of it.”

“Oh,” Harry said, shifting a little on the sofa cushion. “Ron didn’t say anything about that.”

“Yes, well. I don’t imagine that he would have,” Malfoy said with a sniff. “Some of the things I said to him don’t bear repeating.”

Harry figured that for the truth. Sure, Malfoy had been nicer in recent years, but being an arsehole was rather like riding a bicycle, wasn’t it? It wasn’t the sort of skill that ever dulled with disuse.

“I did try to tell you earlier,” Harry said, and immediately bit his tongue. The last thing he wanted to do was say something that would spark a fight. Malfoy was being surprisingly civil, given the circumstances, and Harry didn’t want to do anything to upset that.

“Of course, the letters,” Malfoy said with a wince, and Harry was surprised by how contrite Malfoy sounded. “And I sent them all back without opening them. I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, and to his horror he felt his eyes begin to tear up. He didn’t have a reason to cry, it was just that he was so damn glad Malfoy was here. That his baby would have two parents, and that Malfoy was being nice to him. He blinked a few times and managed to get himself back under control. “I mean, you were pretty angry, and you had every right.”

“No, that’s not what I’m apologizing for,” Malfoy said, tugging distractedly at his cuff. “I’ve missed so much already. Four months.”

“There wasn’t all that much to miss,” Harry said. “It was mostly just me throwing up for about two months straight.”

Malfoy wrinkled his nose. “Every cloud must have its silver lining, I suppose,” he said, and smiled back when Harry laughed.

“So, I guess we should work out where we go from here,” Harry said, trying to remember where he’d put the planner Hermione had given him. Malfoy would want to go with him to his appointments from now on, and of course they’d have to work out some sort of custody arrangement…

Malfoy shifted in his seat. “That’s rather what I’d hoped to discuss with you.” He met Harry’s eyes, his face earnest and a little desperate, which stunned Harry a little. Normally Malfoy tried to hide anything even remotely like vulnerability. “Do you remember what I said to you while we were having sex?” He was blushing again.

Harry thought he knew what Malfoy was referring to but wasn’t sure, so he shook his head.

“I mentioned that I’d been interested in you for a long time.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt and waited for Malfoy to go on.

“This is quite difficult for me to say,” Malfoy continued. He was watching Harry closely, his back ramrod straight and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked as though he were facing a firing squad. “But if I don’t say it and then you find someone else, I’ll regret not having spoken up when I had the chance.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I want a relationship with you. And we’re having a baby together so it makes sense, right? And we can take it as slow as you’d like, take as much time to get to know each other as you need. But I want this, I want to try.” He drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I want—I love you, Potter.”

Harry gaped at him. “You what?”

Malfoy’s chin came up a defiant fraction. “You heard me.”

Yeah, Harry had heard him. That didn’t make it any easier to understand. Malfoy wanting to shag him, Harry could understand. He could even accept that Malfoy had feelings for him. But love? Malfoy was in love with him? And he wanted a relationship with Harry… God, he wanted Harry to love him back.

Harry wasn’t sure if he could. He had no idea if they were even capable of that, not with their long and antagonistic history, and for a long minute he had no idea what to do. Malfoy’s eyes darted from Harry’s face down to his stomach and back up to his face, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Harry made his decision.

It was the way Malfoy was looking at him now, half desperate and half terrified and entirely determined. It was that Malfoy looked more open and honest than Harry had ever seen him before in his life, that ultimately convinced him. This wasn’t at all who Malfoy was, rolling over and exposing his vulnerable belly like this, but of course he would know that Harry wasn’t likely to take well to Slytherin cunning or manipulation. He was coming to Harry as a Gryffindor would, approaching Harry on terms he’d appreciate and understand, to hold out his heart and hope that Harry wouldn’t break it. In a way, it was really quite Slytherin of him, approaching Harry as a Gryffindor, showing vulnerability just for the sake of getting Harry to trust him…

Harry pushed aside those thoughts before they could complete their circle. “Okay,” he said with a small shrug.

Malfoy blinked. “Okay?” he repeated like he expected he’d misheard.

“Okay,” Harry said again. “Let’s try this.”

Malfoy seemed taken aback. “Are you sure? Potter, if you’re not sure, don’t jump into this. I can’t take—”

“I’m not sure. I’m not sure about any of this. But you’re right, if we’re together it’ll make raising the baby easier.” Harry knew that was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. The way Malfoy’s face shuttered confirmed it. “But it’s more than that,” he went on. “I think maybe I could be really happy with you, and I’d like to find out.”

Malfoy’s expression had begun to ease. “Do you mean that?”

Harry thought of all the things he’d learned about Malfoy in recent years, all the ways he’d changed and matured and moved on from his horrible youth. He thought of Malfoy reaching out, of the long talk they’d had where they’d both agreed to let go of the past, and how tentative their ensuing friendship had felt. He thought of the look in Malfoy’s eyes on the night Harry had conceived their son, lust-dark and possessive. He looked at Malfoy’s eyes now.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, I do.”

Malfoy broke into a smile, half giddy with relief. “This is happening, then? We’re really together.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a smile of his own. “So we should, what? Go on a date?”

Malfoy stood slowly and reached out a hand. Harry took it and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Malfoy said, drawing Harry close.

“Oh,” Harry said. He was close enough to smell Malfoy now, warmth and just the faintest hint of acrid Floo powder beneath the faintly spicy scent of cologne, and just one whiff of it hit him like a punch to the gut and for a split second he drowned in memories: hard and desperate and sweetly burning friction, Malfoy’s hands on his hips, Malfoy’s mouth on his neck, Malfoy inside him.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” Malfoy said, kissing Harry’s throat.

“The sex was that great, was it?” Harry managed to get out despite the fact that Malfoy’s mouth on him like that made his brain stutter and threaten to quit working altogether.

“The sex was passable,” Malfoy said. “I’m fairly certain it will be better when you’re not falling-down drunk.”

“Or on mind-altering potions?”

“That too,” Malfoy said.

“Well,” Harry said. “I’m neither drunk nor on potions now.”

Malfoy pulled back. “Potter,” he said. “Where’s your bedroom?”

Harry frowned at him. “My bedroom?”

“Unless you’d prefer sex on the sofa,” Malfoy said. His nerves had all but disappeared the moment Harry had agreed to a relationship with him, and though it had been the nervousness and vulnerability he’d shown that had swayed Harry’s decision, he thought it would probably be this version of Malfoy, confident and eager and bold, that would make Harry stay.

Harry wanted to take Malfoy up to his bedroom. Very much so. But he pulled away.

“I just thought you’d want to take things slow,” Harry said. “I don’t know, get to know each other a little better before we jump in to anything.”

“Fuck taking things slow. We’re doing this whole thing backwards, aren’t we? Baby, relationship, sex.” Malfoy’s mouth ticked up in a small smile. “Wait a while, and you can ask me out on a date.”

He reached for Harry, and Harry took a step back. “But you said you wanted a relationship.” Malfoy frowned at him, and Harry rushed on before he could speak. “I’m flattered that you’ve wanted me for a long time, and we’ve known each other for a long time, but we don’t really know each other. And I don’t want you to want me because I’m the Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived or any of that rubbish. If we’re going to do this, I want you to want me because I’m just Harry.”

Malfoy snorted. “You’ve never been just Harry to me, Potter, and I doubt you ever will be. And you clearly don’t know me if you honestly think I care that you’re the Chosen Git. All that shit was years ago, anyhow.” His gaze sharpened into a glare. “I’m in love with you because you’re the stupid speccy git who’s been driving me half-mad for years. Just, in the last few years, I worked out that shagging you would probably be more satisfying that punching you in the face.”

It was such a Malfoy-ish observation, and the way he accompanied it with that glare was just so him that Harry had to laugh. And wasn’t it just strange that the words he’d always wanted to hear finally came from the person he’d least expected.

“All right, fine,” Harry said. “But you do understand that it’s just sex to me at the point, right? I don’t have feelings for you, and this isn’t some…” He waved his hand.

“Merlin, Potter, I’m not a girl,” Malfoy said with a scowl. “I’m perfectly aware you don’t feel the same way I do. Yet.” He spit the last word like a challenge, and paused to glare at Harry as if daring him to disagree. “And I plan to take my time convincing you. But I don’t see any reason I can’t shag you while I’m doing that.”

“You’ve got a point,” Harry allowed, because if they were going to try to have a relationship it really made no sense for them to abstain. “I just wanted to be clear about—”

And then he couldn’t say anything else because Malfoy was kissing him like he’d die if he went another second without it, and Harry let himself get swept away until Malfoy broke off, breathing hard.

“Bedroom?” he asked, and Harry nodded.

Leading Malfoy up to his bedroom felt a little awkward, but they’d barely cleared the doorway when Malfoy pulled him around and kissed him hard, and Harry found that with Malfoy’s mouth on his, he didn’t have nearly enough space left in his brain for feeling uneasy.

Harry yanked at Malfoy’s trousers, and Malfoy stripped off Harry’s shirt, then froze as he stared at Harry’s middle. The awkwardness that had been staved off by Malfoy’s sudden frantic kiss came rushing back. Harry wasn’t embarrassed by how he looked; on the contrary, he had been eager to start showing his pregnancy and loved that by now it was undeniable he was carrying a child. But Malfoy was just staring at him, blank-faced and faintly disbelieving and, well, Harry didn’t know quite what to say.

“Can I…?” Malfoy began, reaching out with one hand.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

He didn’t know why he expected Malfoy’s hands to be cold. They hadn’t been cold the last time they’d fucked. But he was still surprised to find them so warm. Malfoy touched him gently, hesitantly, warm palms and splayed fingers sliding over the tight skin of Harry’s belly. Somehow this felt more intimate than sex, Malfoy touching him like this, and knowing that the baby was there, linking them together for the rest of their lives.

“Is it safe to do this?” Malfoy asked.

“Yeah.” Harry leaned up for a kiss, and Malfoy kindly obliged him. “My Healer said sex is perfectly fine.”

“Good,” Malfoy breathed, and kissed Harry again.

Harry let it happen, let himself get lost in it for a few wonderful minutes.

“I want to fuck you,” Harry said, sliding one hand around to grope Malfoy’s arse.

“Mm,” Malfoy said as Harry’s hand gave him a squeeze. He rocked his hips forward, pressing closer to Harry. “Are you… I thought you’d want…”

“I want this and I don’t think I’ll be able to do it if I get much bigger.” Harry paused to pluck at the buttons of Malfoy’s robes. “I really want to be inside you.”

Instead of answering, Malfoy groaned and caught Harry’s mouth in a needy kiss. Harry optimistically interpreted that as agreement. They struggled out of their clothes and stumbled their way to the bed where Harry shoved Malfoy hard, sending him sprawling across the mattress. He clambered up and crawled over him, straddled Malfoy’s hips and ground his cock against Malfoy’s. His stomach pressed awkwardly against Malfoy’s, but Malfoy didn’t seem to care. If anything, it seemed to encourage him.

“Merlin, Potter,” he gasped as Harry rolled his hips in a long, slow drag of feverishly hot skin. “You’re—I can’t believe you’re. Fuck. I want, I’ve wanted—”

“Malfoy,” Harry interrupted. “Shut the fuck up.”

And then Harry kissed him before the stupid prat could say anything else. They kissed and kissed and frotted against each other and kissed some more and it was absolutely the most brilliant fucking thing Harry had done in as long as he could remember… until Malfoy pushed him away.

“I’m too close,” he said, and Harry had a dim flash of how Malfoy had shuddered through his orgasm the last time they did this. He reached out for Malfoy, and Malfoy pushed him away again. “No, I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

Well, yes. Harry definitely wanted that. He reached instead for the drawer of his bedside table and rummaged around for lube. He nearly toppled off the bed in surprise when Malfoy grabbed him by the hips and pressed his face between Harry’s cheeks.

“What are you doing?” Harry gasped as he froze.

Malfoy didn’t dignify the question with a reply. He just made a small humming sound and continued to work his tongue into Harry’s arsehole. He licked and sucked, and then his hands slid up the backs of Harry’s thighs, massaging them firmly, and Harry shifted, spreading his legs farther apart. Malfoy rewarded him by fastening his mouth over Harry’s hole and sucking gently, and Harry cried out, needing more, wanting—

And of course that was when Malfoy, the complete and utter bastard, simply stopped. Harry growled in frustration and turned to find Malfoy on his hands and knees on the mattress. He smirked at Harry, and Harry wanted to hit him until his brain belatedly twigged onto the position Malfoy was in.

“You’re an arsehole,” Harry told him.

“I’ve got one,” Malfoy said loftily and gave his arse a little shake. “Why don’t you play nice and introduce yourself?”

Harry knotted one hand in Malfoy’s hair and yanked him up for a kiss, rough and dirty.

“Need some lessons in anatomy, do you, Potter?” Malfoy taunted when Harry let him go a few seconds later, but his face was flushed and his eyes were a little dazed.

“Sorry, Malfoy,” Harry replied. “But with the amount of shit you talk, I’m sure you can see how it was easy for me to make that mistake.”

Malfoy drew himself up onto his knees and his chin went up an imperious fraction so that he could look down his nose at Harry. His regal posture and haughty expression were somewhat diminished by the way his erection bobbed in front of him, and before Malfoy could say a word, Harry couldn’t resist reaching out and pressing it down with a single fingertip. He let his finger slide over the tip as he released it and it sproinged right back up.

“Fucking stop it,” Malfoy snapped at him as he slapped Harry’s hand away. His cock bounced again with the motion, and Harry snickered. “What are you, fucking five years old?”

“No, it’s just funny. You’re all Malfoy-ish, and then your boner’s just like…” Harry gestured down to his own erection as he gave his hips a little wiggle to make his cock wobble from side to side. It looked especially ridiculous with his rounded belly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Merlin,” he muttered. “I’m starting to reconsider whether I liked you better when you were so shitfaced you could barely stand up.” He gestured curtly with one hand. “That’s it. On your back.”

“What?”

“On your back, I said. As you clearly can’t be trusted to use your penis like an adult, I’m afraid I’ll just have to ride you.”

“That’s not much of a punishment,” Harry said, rolling over against the pillows.

Malfoy smirked at him and leaned very close so that his lips brushed against Harry’s as he spoke. “You only think that because you haven’t been inside me yet.” He pried the container of lube from Harry’s fist and popped the cap open.

“You want me to…?” Harry offered, propping himself up on his elbows.

“No,” Malfoy said. He squeezed some over his index finger and reached behind himself.

Harry watched Malfoy’s arm move as he worked that finger into himself, but he stopped far sooner than Harry thought he would. He squeezed more lube over his fingers, then closed the container and tossed it aside before he reached for Harry’s cock with his slick hand.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked as Malfoy worked over him. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of yourself?”

“I have,” Malfoy said. “I wasn’t trying to stretch myself, I was just trying to get a little bit wet.” He let his heated gaze sweep down Harry’s body and linger on his cock. “I want to feel you stretching me open.”

“Oh,” Harry said faintly, imagining what that would be like. Maybe Malfoy wasn’t that far off when he’d talked about ‘punishment.’

“Ready, Potter?” Malfoy asked. He was smirking, but there was something in his eyes. Something a little uncertain, a little wistful. He blinked, and it was gone, leaving Harry wondering if he’d only imagined it.

“Yeah,” he said.

Malfoy gripped the base of Harry’s cock to hold it steady and lined himself up. The head of Harry’s cock pressed against his hole and Malfoy began to put weight on it. For a split second it seemed like it wouldn’t fit, and then the head popped through and Malfoy groaned as he slid slowly down until his arse was pressed snugly to Harry’s groin and Harry’s whole world narrowed down to tight and hot and bloody fucking hell why hadn’t he done this sooner?

Finding a rhythm was a little bit awkward at first. Malfoy had to angle his body backward to get around Harry’s protruding belly, and Harry was glad they were doing this now. He was getting bigger so quickly that he didn’t think they’d be able to do this again until after the baby arrived. Not that he didn’t enjoy bottoming, but this was something he’d very much wanted to do. Being inside Malfoy, god, even the idea of it was arousing.

Malfoy fucked him with deep, rolling thrusts of his hips that had Harry’s toes curling into the sheets, working him right up to the edge before easing off again. Harry’s pleasure built and built and built until he thought he might go mad.

“Malfoy,” he begged. “Please, fuck, please. I need…”

Malfoy laughed breathlessly. “Just what I was waiting for. You begging me.” He worked his hips, taking Harry hard and deep, and this time he didn’t back off when Harry’s orgasm built.

Harry came, gasping out Malfoy’s name, his hands fisting in the sheets as every nerve his his body lit up in pleasure so sharp it was nearly painful. And Malfoy kept fucking him all the way through his orgasm, watching Harry intently as if he wanted to memorize every second. Harry lay back, still breathing hard, and Malfoy wriggled slightly, pressing closer to Harry to take every inch of his cock as deep as he could as he began to wank himself in long, firm strokes. Harry slid his hands up the inside of Malfoy’s thighs, rubbing lightly, and Malfoy whimpered and spread his legs a little wider so Harry did it again.

“I’m going to, oh fuck,” Malfoy gasped out as his body tightened around Harry and he came, spattering Harry’s stomach with his release. “Fuck,” he sighed, his hand still curled around his cock. “Fuck that was good.”

He disentangled himself from Harry a moment later and cleaned them both up with a few murmured spells. He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eyes and made to stand.

“Don’t even,” Harry said. “Get back in bed, Malfoy. We’re having another go in the morning.”

Malfoy looked over at him, his eyebrows raised. “Only want me for sex, do you?”

Harry grinned at him and rubbed a hand over his belly. “And your swimmers.”

Malfoy snorted and rolled his eyes at that, but he got back in bed. They got under the covers and turned out the lights.

Harry settled down and Malfoy spooned up behind him, curving his body around Harry’s. He pressed a warm kiss to Harry’s shoulder with a mumbled “Night, Potter,” and within minutes his breathing went deep and even. Harry closed his eyes and just listened. It wasn’t quite snoring, but Harry had missed having someone else with him in bed. With the occasional gentle flutter of movement within him, and Malfoy a warm and welcome weight beside him, Harry felt safe and content and, for the first time since that night at the pub, entirely optimistic about the future. He was just drifting off into sleep when a terrible thought occurred to him.

“Fuck,” Harry sighed. “I forgot all about my ice cream.”

Behind him, Malfoy mumbled something and snuggled closer, and Harry thought fuck it, he’d go out and get more ice cream in the morning.


****


Harry found that it was easy to fall into a routine with Malfoy, even though getting him in place for a routine to happen hadn’t been quite as simple; Malfoy had too many clothes and too many books, and he insisted that they get rid of the ancient sitting room furniture and replace it with his own more modern set that he brought from his flat. (“I swore on the day I moved out of the Manor that I’d never sit on horse hair again,” Malfoy had insisted.) Harry had argued with him for the sake of arguing, but truthfully the old chesterfield had been horribly lumpy and uncomfortable. Malfoy’s leather sofa was much nicer, not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

Malfoy’s china mixed with Harry’s in the kitchen, and he took over the back parlor to run his potions experiments, and at least six pairs of his shoes were abandoned by the Floo at any given time. Once, he’d repainted the dining room while Harry had been out visiting the Weasleys. Another time, he’d replaced the runner rugs on all the stairs. They’d argued about that too, but a part of Harry liked Malfoy making changes, the way he was taking Harry’s house and making it theirs.

Harry stepped from the Floo and wondered if he’d find anything new tonight. It was a Thursday, which he always spent with Ron, but his back was aching so badly that he’d come home early. Usually, he found Malfoy waiting for him on the sofa – not waiting for him, Malfoy insisted, he was only in here because the light was good for reading, and funny how that was only the case on Thursday nights but Harry knew better than to say that out loud – but tonight there was no sign of him. The kitchen, likewise, Harry found cold and dark. He went upstairs.

He finally found Malfoy in the nursery, standing over the crib. His fingers traced along the glossy wood of the railing, back and forth, back and forth. He was smiling, a startlingly gentle expression that Harry had never seen from him before.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked softly when all Malfoy did was keep standing there.

He jumped. “Potter. I thought you’d be gone til later.”

“Not feeling well,” Harry said, and waved a hand dismissively when Malfoy started for him, concerned. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just achy and can’t get comfortable.” He pulled a face. “Perfectly normal for being eight months pregnant, or so I’m told.”

“I could get you a potion to ease the pain,” Malfoy said, and continued before Harry could argue with him. “Or I could rub your back. A good massage might work just as well.”

Harry rolled his eyes, even though a massage sounded like the most amazing thing in the world right now. “You’re just looking for an excuse to get your hands on me.”

Malfoy came toward him again, and took Harry into his arms, his fingers digging into Harry’s lower back and pressing in small circles. Harry groaned and leaned into the touch.

“Can you blame me?” Malfoy murmured in his ear. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

“I’m the size of a house,” Harry muttered.

“A bloody gorgeous house,” Malfoy said as he stopped rubbing and steered Harry down the hall to their bedroom.

Later, after Malfoy had proven himself right – the massage had done wonders for Harry’s back pain – he asked Malfoy what he’d been doing in the nursery.

“Just thinking,” Malfoy said, idly toying with Harry’s fingertip. “The baby will be here soon, and our relationship is going much better than everyone thought it would, myself included. And I was just taking a moment to think about how bloody lucky I am that this is my life.” He linked his fingers through Harry’s and gave them a squeeze. “I can’t remember ever being this happy before. And to think that we stumbled into it by accident.” He rubbed his free hand over Harry’s stomach. “I had such plans for my life, and none of them included this.”

Harry put his hand over Malfoy’s. “Yeah, he did sort of ruin everything,” he said, and the baby kicked, right on cue, and Harry met Malfoy’s eyes. “But in the nicest way, don’t you think?”

In answer, Malfoy brought Harry’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingertips. “I really do.”


****


“Malfoy,” Harry said. “I don’t think it’s working.”

Malfoy sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.” He sighed again and pushed his cock half-heartedly along the cleft of Harry’s arse. “I was so sure we could do it.” He pressed the tip of one finger back inside Harry, but even that was too much.

Harry swatted his hand away, then turned and flopped down on the bed. “I’m almost nine months. The Healer said sex would be difficult this far along.”

Malfoy hummed and reached out to curl his hand around Harry’s cock. He stroked firmly, and Harry pressed up into his touch as best he could. His back didn’t exactly arch these days. “We do have other options, you know.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, his voice low and breathy. “And what options might those be?”

“Well, we could try an Undetectable Extension Charm,” Draco suggested.

It took a minute for that to sink in. “On my arse?” Harry gasped, shoving him back. “No! That’s not even—No!”

“Are you sure? I’m sure it’d be perfectly safe. And if you ever have to go on the run from another Dark Lord, we can just shove a tent up there and we’ll be all set.”

Harry gaped at him.

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched.

Harry hit him with a pillow. “You stupid git! I can’t believe you were able to say that with a straight face.”

“Entirely worth it,” Malfoy laughed. “You should have seen the look on your face.”

“Fuck you,” Harry said, even though he wasn’t really upset about it.

It was one of the things that Malfoy did that he especially liked, actually, that Malfoy made these ridiculous little jokes about things that had happened during the war. Some events were taboo by unspoken agreement, but the rest of it was perfectly open to whatever absurd comment Malfoy felt like making. Right now, Malfoy may be laughing about shoving a tent up Harry’s bum, but Harry knew what he was trying to say beneath it. It’s over and done with and It’s not the only thing that defines our lives and We’ve both come through it just fine. It was something Harry thought they both needed to be reassured of.

The grin on Malfoy’s face showed no sign of fading. “I believe we just tried that and it didn’t work.”

“Hm, and then I recall a discussion of other options,” Harry reminded him, taking Malfoy’s hand and guiding it back to his cock.

Malfoy obediently curled his fingers around Harry’s cock and gave it a squeeze. “If you’d like,” he said mildly, his easy tone entirely at odds with the wicked smirk he gave Harry. “Although there are other other options.”

“Oh?”

Malfoy leaned down and gave Harry’s cock a lick.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Yes. Yes please.”

“I thought you might be interested,” Malfoy said, and Harry could just hear the smirk in his voice.

“Less talking, more sucking,” Harry told him.

Malfoy laughed quietly as he bent his head back down and took the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth. He sucked gently, pressing his tongue firmly to the underside, then flicked up over the tip.

“Bloody… Fucking tease,” Harry gasped. He tried to prop himself up on his elbows so he could see what Malfoy was doing down there, but the enormous curve of his stomach hid everything from view. Harry flopped back against the pillows with a frustrated growl as Malfoy continued to suckle lightly. And it felt good, but god, it wasn’t nearly enough. “Get on with it, you wanker.”

Malfoy sucked hard as he pulled off Harry’s cock with a wet pop. “Pushy, pushy,” he said, then licked Harry’s cock again, light and teasing. “Tell me, are you always this demanding and hard to please in bed or is it the pregnancy hormones that’ve got you all—”

“If you value your sex life, Malfoy, you won’t finish that sentence.”

Still out of sight, Malfoy pressed a warm kiss to Harry’s belly. “As you wish.”

And before Harry could say anything else, Malfoy took his cock into his mouth again, this time sucking it all the way down to the base. Harry groaned and relaxed into it, letting Malfoy take care of him. Usually he preferred to take a more active role in bed, but his default feeling these days was awkward and uncomfortable with the occasional foray into cumbersome, so for now it was nice to just lie back and enjoy it.

Malfoy sucked hard and gently kneaded Harry’s testicles in one warm palm, and Harry let out a groan. Fuck, but Malfoy was good at this. Harry wasn’t going to last much longer. He gave himself over to it, didn’t even try to hold back as Malfoy sucked and licked and sucked and—

“Oh god, Malfoy, fuck,” Harry gasped out as his climax hit, and then there was nothing a blinding rush of pleasure that stole his breath.

When he recovered enough to think again, he quickly became aware of the unmistakable sound of wanking. Harry rolled onto his side and awkwardly pushed himself up into a sitting position, and found Draco on his knees, cock in hand, his gaze lazily roaming Harry’s body.

“Want me to take care of that for you?” he asked.

Draco shook his head. “No, I’ve got the situation well in hand, don’t you think?” He smirked.

Harry snorted. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Malfoy said. His voice had started to go low and breathy, the way it always did when he let his arousal take over.

And for a few seconds Harry just let him get on with it. He loved watching Malfoy. The way his stomach went taut. The way his cheeks pinked, and that sweet flush swept down his neck and crept over his collarbones. The way his eyes went hazy and dark. And especially the way the flushed head of his cock peeped between the circle of Malfoy’s fingers as he thrust into his own fist. But as much fun as it was to just enjoy the show, Harry thought it was even more fun to participate.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, sneaking a hand around behind Malfoy. “But I can’t in good conscience sit back and do nothing. Not after you were kind enough to give me that wonderful blowjob.”

“What are you… oh Merlin,” Malfoy panted, his rhythm never faltering. He spread his legs a little wider.

Harry pressed in deeper, relishing the hot tight press of Malfoy’s arse around his finger. After the baby came and Harry got rid of his unwieldy belly, one of the first things he was going to do was get his cock inside Malfoy again and fuck them both senseless. It’d be fantastic.

“Fingering you. Isn’t that obvious?” Harry asked as he pushed his finger deeper and stroked slowly. “I want to feel it when you come.”

“Like that, do you?” Malfoy asked, his voice now breathless. His hips twitched, pushing closer to Harry’s hand

“Mmhm,” Harry murmured, shifting closer so he could mouth at Malfoy’s hipbone. He bit down gently, scraping his teeth over the hard ridge of bone, and Malfoy whined. “I like feeling your orgasm, the way your body tightens around me. God, Malfoy, I can’t wait to fuck you again.”

“Soon,” Malfoy agreed, though the way he said it gave Harry the impression that Malfoy would agree to just about anything right now. “Come on, give me more than that.”

Harry pulled away from Malfoy just long enough to swipe two fingers along the crack of his own arse to slick them from the lube there leftover from their failed attempt at penetration, then pushed both of them into Malfoy’s body again. He worked them in and out, trying to time each thrust with Malfoy’s strokes.

“Fuck,” Malfoy gasped. “Fuck, Potter, yes.”

His hand moved over his cock one, two, three more times, then he gasped and came, spurting over his fingers, his inner muscles clenching tight around Harry’s fingers. Harry didn’t think he’d ever get tired of watching Malfoy come. Malfoy always held himself so precisely, every action and reaction perfectly controlled. There was something captivating about watching him fall apart like this. It was even more intoxicating when Harry was the one to make it happen.

Or, Harry thought as he gave his fingers one last push before he pulled them free of Malfoy, at least when he got to assist. He reached for his wand and cleaned them both up with a murmured spell, then tossed the pillows up against the headboard of their bed and leaned back. He gave Malfoy’s arm a tug.

“Stay here with me for a little while.”

“Well,” Malfoy said with a gusty sigh, though the warmth in his eyes and the tender way he smiled told Harry that he didn’t mean it. “If you really insist.”

“I really do,” Harry said as Malfoy settled down beside him.

Malfoy reached out and put his hand on Harry’s stomach.

“Other side,” Harry said.

Malfoy sat up and slid his hand to Harry’s other side just as the baby kicked again. “Ah, there he is,” Malfoy said with a warm smile.

Harry tucked a hand behind his head and watched Malfoy watch the smooth shift and roll beneath Harry’s skin as the baby moved. He looked utterly enraptured and completely smitten, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. His baby wasn’t even here yet and already he was so, so loved. Already he was the most important person in Harry’s life, and Harry would bet anything that Malfoy felt the same way.

“He’ll have a big role to fill,” Harry said softly.

Malfoy glanced up at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the baby. “Hm?”

“Our son,” Harry said. “I was just thinking. He’ll be the Malfoy, Black, and Potter heir.”

“Shame it’s not triplets, then,” Malfoy said, his voice soft and lazy. He pressed his fingers gently against Harry’s stomach, and Harry felt the baby kick against the slight pressure of Malfoy’s hand. “Then we’d have one for each.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t even joke about that. Just the one’s uncomfortable enough. If you want two more, we’ll have to do it one at a time. And you’re more than welcome to carry both of them.”

Malfoy’s hand froze on him, and Harry flushed hot as he realized what he’d just said. He wished he could take it back.

“Er. I mean…”

“I think I’d like that,” Malfoy said quietly. His hand moved again, his fingers pushing, and again the baby pushed back.

Harry blinked at him. “You’d what?”

Malfoy frowned and glanced up at Harry. “I’d like that,” he said again. “I was an only child and sometimes it was quite lonely. I always wanted siblings. And if you ever tell this to your friend I’ll deny it vehemently and then murder you in your sleep, but a small part of me was always a little bit jealous of the Weasleys.” The baby kicked again, lower this time, and Malfoy moved his palm to feel it. “We don’t have to decide right now. But if things go well with this one, I just think it might be nice to have more.”

Harry reached down and covered Malfoy’s hand with his own. “I think,” he said quietly, his voice soft and steady even though his heart pounded, “I might like that, too.”

Malfoy’s smile was like a ray of sunlight punching through a cloudy day. “I love you, you know,” he said.

“I know,” Harry said, a little bit surprised by the words even though he’d already known, but Malfoy hadn’t said it again after that night he’d shown up on Harry’s doorstep. And then because Harry felt like a complete arsehole to not say anything back, he added, “I’m still catching up. But I don’t think it’ll be too long before I can say it back. I care about you. Very much so.”

Malfoy’s smile had faltered a bit, but now returned full-force, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat to see. He reached out and brushed his hand through Malfoy’s hair, his fingers sliding around the back of Malfoy’s neck, and he drew him down for a slow, warm kiss.

No, Harry certainly didn’t think it’d take long at all.


****


Harry was certain that the first moment he held his newborn son in his arms would always be the best moment of his life. James had a tuft of downy-soft black hair and a round red face and ten tiny, perfect fingers and ten tiny, perfect toes. Harry fell deeply and irrevocably in love with him from the instant he heard that very first scream.

“Healthy set of lungs on this one,” the Healer had joked as he’d handed James over.

“He’s perfect,” was all Harry could say as he stared down at his son – his son! – and carefully traced the plump curve of his cheek with one gentle fingertip. He couldn’t believe that he, Harry Potter, with his dead parents and shit childhood and fucked-up life, could possibly have made something so perfect.

Malfoy sat perched on the edge of the chair at Harry’s bedside. He leaned forward but didn’t even try to touch James. Just kept staring at him with wide eyes and a disbelieving frown pulling at his mouth, like the baby was a mirage that might waver and disappear in a blink.

“I’ve had him all to myself for months now,” Harry said to the Mediwitch. “I guess it’s time Malfoy had a turn.”

She took the baby from him and helped settle James in Malfoy’s arms, then stepped away to continue jotting down notes in Harry’s chart.

And Harry knew he had been wrong. Holding James for the first time wasn’t the best moment of his life; this was. The disbelief vanished the moment Malfoy had the warm weight of James bundled safely in his arms, and now he looked radiantly joyful and scared shitless all at once as he looked down at his son, and in that moment Harry was so in love with both of them that he thought his ribs might crack from the force of it. This much joy seemed impossible for one person to contain alone. He reached out and slid his palm over Malfoy’s knee.

Malfoy looked up and gave him a giddy grin. “I can’t believe he’s mine,” he said, cuddling James a bit closer.

Harry sat up a little and settled back against his pillows. “Of course he is. I think he’s going to have your pointy chin.”

“He’s already got your awful hair,” Malfoy said, and glanced down at James. His smile grew even brighter. “Merlin, we’ve fucked him over already, haven’t we?”

“Not quite, I don’t think,” Harry laughed. “As reluctant as I am to admit this, I sort of like your pointy chin.”

Malfoy’s eyes were bright as he glanced up at Harry. “And I suppose I’ve become rather fond of your awful hair.” He looked down at James again. “He really is ours, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Harry squeezed his fingers around Malfoy’s knee. “He really is.”

Harry watched Malfoy watching James for a little while longer. He’d never looked quite this beautiful to Harry before as he did now, holding their son. Harry knew he should ask the Mediwitch to get their visitors. The Weasleys and Malfoy’s parents would all be eager to meet James. But for now, for just a few minutes longer, Harry wanted to stay here. Just like this. Just the three of them.

With his family.






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