![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: The Thought of It Otherwise
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rurounihime
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R-ish?
Warning: MPREG. Look thou!
Summary: Sequel to Under Fingertips. A visit to the Healer leaves Draco taking stock of his options.
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is this particular theory of male pregnancy.
A/N: This is for the lurvelycoffeejunkii. Thanks to fireelemental79 for the title help. *sigh* I am still not happy with this one. But I think it has been in my hands for too long and I need a break. So I disclaim here and say there may be future revisions, but for now it is done.
...
The Thought of It Otherwise
“Mr Malfoy.” The Healer sat back in her chair, her body in a state of relaxation that must have come from the consistency of her profession. It was a far cry from how Draco was interpreting the situation. “There are several important pieces of information we must discuss.”
Draco could feel his eyes narrowing. He glanced toward the closed door, and then turned back to face the woman. “Is this discussion standard for your patients?”
The woman’s eyebrows lifted behind silver-rimmed spectacles. “In my line of work, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco studied the Healer. She was older than he, perhaps in her forties, with graying hair about her temples. He was still undecided about her; she carried an air of professionalism like a comfortable cloak, and he suspected she was the type to become agitated by incompetence. But he’d only met her today, heard her speak just long enough to welcome them both and then direct Harry through the door to his appointment.
Oh, but Draco was already decided on the Healer’s assistant. He had been from the very moment the door opened, spilling her into the office. Blasted girl; a petite brunette… she’d immediately fixed her doe eyes on Harry, wide and astonished. Still a teenager, just out of Hogwarts. Draco could almost hear the hushed admiration waiting to flood from her lips. The questions she had no business asking.
The look she had turned on him an instant later had been just as wide-eyed, even more nervous, and had made him itch to grab his wand.
That morning, Draco had come into Harry’s bedroom, still damp from his shower, to find him sitting on the bed, both hands pressed against the soft curve of his stomach. His shirt was raised, wrinkling down over the tops of his hands, and Harry did not notice him for a long, long moment. His fingers stroked up once, trembled; Harry looked up and saw him watching. He flushed and smoothed his shirt into place again. Draco found himself wondering how much longer Harry could go out in public.
The truth was… Draco did not like having Harry out of his sight anymore. He frowned at the Healer where she sat behind her desk. “If she says anything to him, so help me—”
“She won’t,” the woman cut in cleanly, a frown of her own marring her features. Her eyes flicked to the door. “We have very strict regulations concerning our patients. All of them.”
Draco studied the doctor silently. She met his gaze without blinking, and he found himself wondering if she would begin to fidget eventually. Doubting it. “Perhaps Harry should be here for this.”
She shook her head. “No, Mr Malfoy, this is something I must discuss with you. Harry has already heard everything I am about to say.”
Draco took a measured breath. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked coolly at her from across the desk. “Go ahead.”
“Was this a planned pregnancy?”
Draco drew back before he could stop himself. He frowned at his hands. “Hardly.”
She nodded, the faintest of smiles appearing on her face. “I’m sorry for the impertinence of the question, but you must understand that it is necessary for Harry’s treatment that I know.”
Draco pursed his lips. “I can provide you with a list of the spells we were… using at the time. If necessary.”
“Harry has already done so, but thank you. Actually, I’m far more concerned with your personal opinion of the situation.”
Draco drew himself up, stifling a surge of annoyance. “Is that a fact?”
She merely looked at him, waiting. He exhaled through gritted teeth. “Are you asking my opinion of the situation, or of Harry? If you’re so curious to know how I feel about him, then please, stop beating around the bush and just ask.” He leaned forward and tilted his head. “I don’t enjoy interrogations. I’d rather argue my feelings for him out in the open, if you don’t mind.”
The Healer removed her glasses and folded them on the desktop. Draco was startled to see a sad warmth in her expression. “In my opinion, Mr Malfoy, your feelings for Harry are not in question. You would not be here if they were. My concern is not whether you care for him, but...” She paused. “…how deeply you care for him.”
“I don’t… understand.”
She breathed out, a quick huff. “This is my field of choice and it is by no means an unpopular one, for patients and physicians alike. But frankly, the male body is not built for or equipped to handle a pregnancy.” The doctor’s lips twisted sardonically. “If it were, all of this would not be necessary.”
Draco digested her words. It was nothing he had been unaware of, but her candor was refreshing. “How often do you encounter this situation?”
“Often enough to base my practice around it. It’s not quite as unusual as one would think. Not in the wizarding community, anyway. There are spells, as you are well aware, as well as potions, but I will come to that in a moment.”
Draco said nothing. The Healer continued.
“Harry has already been informed as to what he can expect over the next few months. However, the reality of it is a different thing entirely.” She lowered her head to peer at him over the tops of her spectacles. It was not a condescending look, but rather an intuitive one. “Harry wants this baby, Mr Malfoy. But he is going to need help.”
Draco plucked at his trouser leg for a long, uncomfortable moment, and then forced himself to be still. “I am not going to leave him to deal with it alone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he ground out.
“Draco.” Her voice was as soft as stroking feathers. He looked up and found her watching him with the same pensive stare she had worn before. “You’re going to have a difficult task. I will not sugarcoat it for you.”
“I don’t want it sugarcoated, I assure you.”
There was debate behind her eyes. But she spoke nonetheless.
“I don’t know how much he has told you about the first few months. Harry was unaware of the pregnancy until the third month, which is very common when conception is caused by spell-usage, as in this case. You see, Draco,” she said, folding her hands on her desk, “at three months, Harry’s immune system began treating the fetus as a foreign body, attempting to rid itself of the invading cells. Essentially, the baby was making him sick.”
Draco blinked, remembering Harry’s gaunt appearance, the way his coat had hung from his frame like so much loose drapery. He’d been so very pale. Draco touched his lip with one finger. “Then why has it stopped?”
“Initially, it was the spell combination you used that did it. Three spells in particular, with the side-effect of sexual pleasure” – Draco stiffened – “but designed in ancient times to assist in difficult or impossible conceptions. The spells themselves uphold the pregnancy until the mother’s own body takes over.”
“How long does that last?”
“The spells you used have already been long defunct.”
Draco’s head shot up. “Then how—”
She held up one hand. “When Harry came in the first time, he was suffering from the first stages of the spell disintegration. His body was fighting what had been done to it, in the only way it knew how. There was little time before it succeeded; unlike in the case of women, the male body is not allowed to inform itself of its own condition. The spells essentially conceal the pregnancy from anything that might harm the fetus. Harry’s own body had no idea what was making it sick.”
The Healer straightened, and her manner became more placid. “I informed him of his situation, his alternatives, and then gave him two weeks to decide upon a course of action. Our practice provided him with the information he would need to decide, as well as counseling. I urged him to speak to you, to include you in the decision, but in the end, the choice was up to Harry.”
Draco nodded, closing his eyes. He could still see the wretched look on Harry’s face, that night in the dim light of his living room. Steeled, masking the dread just beneath the surface. And then he’d opened his mouth and said—
“He didn’t actually say it. But he wanted…” Draco rubbed his forehead.
“And what do you want, Draco?”
He sighed. “I… I felt it. Move. I felt him. But Harry didn’t say if… He gave me the option of—ending it.”
She nodded as if he had given her all the answer she needed. “I’ve started him on temporary sustaining potions. They are harmless, and easily reversible should he change his mind before the end of this month, but they do give you both a bit more leeway to consider your options.”
“And after that?”
The Healer’s face sobered and Draco was struck by how weary she looked. “At the beginning of the sixth month, those potions will no longer be potent enough to sustain either the pregnancy or Harry’s health. He will need to begin a new series of treatments, which will continue right up until the birth.”
They had… a contingency plan. For pregnant men. Draco pushed the sense of absurdity down even as it rose in his mind, an indignant instinct. “What sorts of potions?”
“They are some of the most astounding, most troublesome potions I have ever come across as a Healer.” For the first time, Draco thought he saw wariness in her gaze. Her eyes darted… she was no longer looking directly at him. “They work together, given at precise intervals, to give the fetus protection inside the parent’s body, and the appropriate space to grow.”
Draco frowned; uneasiness niggled at him. He shook himself inwardly. “And how is this done, exactly?”
“The potions are similar in design to Dislocative magic.”
A beat. And then Draco was nearly out of his seat before he stopped himself, clutching the chair arms hard enough to hurt his fingers. “A displacement spell? On a human body?”
The Healer nodded once, her piercing gaze never drifting from his face. “Yes.”
Draco grimaced, felt his expression twisting out of his control. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
She stared at him and her eyes flickered. “Yes,” she said in a softer voice.
The air grew close in the small office. Draco stared back at the Healer, one hand hovering halfway to his mouth. A displacement spell. Dislocative magic. As if Harry’s body were the Knight Bus, easing itself around Muggle cars on a crowded street.
And… Apparition.
Dislocative magic was temporary, at best. It was designed to be. Unsteady in the best of circumstances. Draco took a deep breath. “What are you saying, exactly?”
The steadiness of the Healer’s posture told him she had carried on this conversation before. It threaded into him unexpectedly, and he drew another breath.
“I do not mean you to misunderstand, Mr Malfoy. This, dealing with this sort of situation, is by no means novel. You would be surprised by how many of today’s wizarding children were born of two men.”
“There are many, then?”
She smiled faintly, as if preoccupied. “No. But you would still be surprised by the number.”
Draco nodded absently. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of that sort of magic at work in Harry’s body. The body he touched at night, half asleep, the consciousness resting behind those green eyes. The… baby… that shifted and wiggled under the skin of Harry’s belly.
His stomach twisted.
“Are there any side-effects?”
All the accessibility slid out of the doctor’s face, replaced by a worried look. She seemed to have aged before his eyes.
“There are several, Draco. And that is why I must say what I’m about to say.”
The corners of her eyes pinched with resignation. She leaned over her desk. “If there is any chance that Harry may forgo the treatments, or that you may let them slide in an effort to help him, then I must advise you to convince Harry to terminate the pregnancy immediately.”
Draco’s mouth was as dry as cotton. His stomach gave another sickening roll.
“As it stands now, Harry is taking temporary potions to sustain the pregnancy. They will work up until the end of the fifth month and then the final series of potions must begin, or the pregnancy must be terminated.” She was watching him carefully. Draco could not find his voice. They were nearing the end of the fourth month already.
He blinked. They?
“Draco, I can tell you from years of experience that this procedure is safe. I have aided in the successful birth of many wizard-born children. But like any birth, to a woman or a man, it requires constant attention and a great deal of patience to see it through. The treatments are such that, once begun, will need to continue unabated until the birth.”
The Healer paused. “It will be painful for him, Draco. In many ways.”
Draco studied his hands, then looked up at her. “Tell me what will happen.”
She nodded approvingly. “Quite simply, his body will attempt to reject the fetus as soon as the temporary potions wear off. He will experience cramping. His body will ache. He may develop a very slight fever. This is not a constant state; it depends on the progression of the pregnancy and the health of the father.”
She rose from her desk and walked to a small cabinet near the door. Draco heard the clink of glass. “The first time this happens, you must begin a strict potions regimen. And then you both must stick to the schedule for the treatment to be effective.”
Draco caught sight of small vials in her hands. “Are they painkillers, then?”
She shut the cabinet and returned to her desk. “I will provide you with several mild potions for pain that can be given in addition to the three main potions. Direct spell usage is not recommended to relieve pain, but there has been little proof to suggest any true connection between magic and lasting effects on the child.”
She sat down and hesitated. Her face was changing, tottering between separate emotions, and suddenly she looked truly vulnerable. When she spoke, it was almost secretive. “Draco… I feel I am being very unfair to you personally in this matter. This will take a great toll on you, and it goes far beyond the simple administration of potions.”
The look on her face made him feel sick again. He held her gaze, only just managing to keep from moving. “Go on.”
“In a sense, I will be helping Harry to become ill, and then not only asking you to treat him, but to sit and watch him be in pain. It is an unfair demand for me to make of you, but it is the truth.”
Draco said nothing. She went on with a sigh. “You may have to wait for days at a time while he is in pain before you can give him the potion that will ease it. Watching a loved one suffer, especially when you hold the very thing that can cure him in your hands, is a difficult thing to do. I am being frank about this because I believe you will keep the larger picture in mind, whether that picture is Harry or the baby.”
Draco looked up sharply, heart thudding in his chest, but she only returned his gaze until he turned away. Three innocuous little bottles sat on the desk in front of him. He reached out and picked up the nearest: tar black. As if he were holding a small pot of ink in his hand.
Harmless looking. “How will I contact you?”
The doctor lifted her chin, adjusting her glasses over her nose. “There are several spells I’ll be casting on Harry that will alert me to any significant danger to his health. You may Floo call my office or home, but unless I am attending to another emergency, I will arrive promptly, and on my own.”
She folded her hands. “It is absolutely imperative, Draco, that he be consistent with his treatment.” Her voice had gone low and earnest. Draco caught her eye again. “You must help him remember when and how much.”
“And if…” Draco found he could not continue. His throat had gone bone dry.
“If he fails even once to take the correct potion at the correct time, Harry’s body will turn on itself, and the baby.” Her voice became grave. “There is the chance that Harry will die. It’s something you both must prepare for.”
It was a sudden, sharp pain, as if he’d been struck in the head. Or the gut. Draco winced and pursed his lips, but the idea would not leave. It seemed to be cementing itself in his mind, carving out hollows and troughs. Draco struggled for a long, breathless moment before it faded.
“Have you told Harry this?” he croaked out, and then grew furious with himself for the wavering of his voice.
The Healer nodded. “Yes.” Her hand came out, fingers brushing against his arm, and Draco jumped.
“I don’t want you to worry unduly. Death… even the chance of serious illness is extremely small. But Harry’s condition is not to be treated lightly, and I believe it wisest that you know all possible outcomes.”
Draco set his jaw and looked her right in the eye. “What do you predict will happen?”
“Harry is a healthy young man, intelligent, and unlike many of my other patients, he has someone who is willing to help him. I believe his pregnancy will go smoothly. As smoothly as it can go.”
Draco wondered if women listened to this sort of thing upon learning they were pregnant. Did they leave the Healer’s office reassured, then return home and silently ponder how many things could go wrong?
But then. Their bodies were usually capable of childbearing by nature. Harry’s was not. Draco resisted the urge to rub his temples. “As smoothly as it can go? Just how smoothly is that?”
The Healer’s brow wrinkled; she sat back. “It won’t be what you might have come to expect from a pregnancy; Harry is not female, and therefore there are obvious allowances to be made in terms of normality. It may be an odd concept to grasp for a time, Draco, but you must treat this pregnancy almost as you would an illness. Harry will not want to eat. You’ll need to make sure he gets enough food for himself and the baby. He’ll be restless at times, and quite lethargic at others. And some of the time, he will be his normal, energetic self. It really is a subjective thing.”
Draco studied the Healer for a moment, considering. “What about…” He shut his eyes briefly and opened them again. “What about intimacy?”
If the question surprised her, she did not indicate it. “Intimacy is fine, though you will need to defer to Harry’s energy level. He may not be up to anything especially taxing. And you may not be either.”
Draco felt a bit vague around the edges, and strangely surprised that he wasn’t more embarrassed by this line of questioning. He studied the three vials on the desk in front of him, but didn’t really see them. They were shapes in a haze, carrying an uneasy aura about them, but it was only a dull prickle in his mind. He was aware of the Healer watching him through hooded eyes; it seemed unreal, as if he’d stepped outside himself.
The clock ticked on the wall, and they sat in silence. Draco took a deep breath, let it out, and then went back to the beginning of their discussion in his mind.
* * *
It was dark and the wind had turned chilly when Harry let them into his flat, struggling with the key for a moment before shoving the door open. He turned and ran a hand through his hair as Draco followed him in. His mouth opened, but in the end, he simply gave a weak smile and led the way to the living room.
“Do you mind… I need to get some things. And I’d like a shower.”
Draco nodded. He watched Harry pad up the stairs. In his long coat, he looked… normal. As if none of this had happened, and Draco would follow him upstairs once he’d removed his own coat, and end up flat on his back in Harry’s bed, seeing his lover through the warm buzz of rum and vodka from the club. Harry would grin at him, suck hard on the juncture of his shoulder and throat, and whisper about the sandy-blond they’d seen on the dance floor, the sexy one in vinyl and netted shirt, just to rile Draco into that growl he liked so much. Draco would grab his arm. Flip him over. Bite at his ear and thrust against him until Harry couldn’t speak for moaning. Let Harry roll him over and take him if he wanted to, in the end.
Draco’s stomach ached; he felt bereft. When was the last time Harry had topped? Pushed him against the nearest wall and demanded things he was only too willing to give, regardless of how he groused between kisses? Woken him in the night with half-whispers and roving hands? He couldn’t even remember, but his body sought for the sensation, even as he stood in the darkness of the front hallway: the sense of being filled, from above or below. His eyes tracked Harry’s progress up the stairs. His lover stopped just beyond the landing and looked back. His face was troubled when he turned away and continued up, out of sight.
The flat was silent except for the mute hush of Muggle cars in the street below. Draco sat on the sofa in the darkness and pictured Harry rummaging through drawers in the room above, one hand straying perhaps to his stomach as he threw clothing onto the bed, as he undressed—
The shower started up, water rushing through the pipes upstairs. Draco rubbed a hand over his face, and forced his eyes open, inhaling sharply. Blue shadows and gray light took the place of what his closed eyes showed him: Harry’s face the night he’d returned, as shaded as the walls of his flat, and one hand clutching repeatedly at the hem of his coat. Except this time Draco could clearly see the weariness, the sickly tint around Harry’s eyes.
Was it really a memory? Or a conjuring of his own imagination?
Harry’s words that morning, when Draco had watched him from the doorway – mere hours ago – floated out of his memory and hung in the air as if spoken aloud. Shouldn’t take too long. You don’t have to wait for me. I mean, if you… The Healer just wants to talk to you for a few minutes.
Draco rose and made his way up the stairs. Harry’s bedroom door stood open, light streaming into the short hallway. Draco could see an overnight bag on the bed, the sleeve of a red shirt dangling from the opening. Across the hall, steam rolled from under the bathroom door. Draco faced it, one hand poised just above the knob. He heard the splash of water within, the drumming of droplets on tile and skin.
He entered as quietly as he could. The warm wall of air curled gently over his flesh. Draco shed his clothing slowly, feeling dazed. Harry’s outline was a pale peach against the misted glass of the shower door. Draco gazed along the front of Harry’s body until he saw the light bulge at his abdomen, indistinct beyond the fog.
He eased the shower door open and stepped inside to find Harry standing with his back to him, letting the water rush over his face. He started when Draco touched his waist, and half turned, slipping on the slick floor of the shower. Draco’s hands came out almost on their own and steadied him, gripping his hips. One of Harry’s palms pressed against his forearm, and his lover gave a soft sigh. Fingers squeezed.
“Scared me,” Harry murmured.
Draco said nothing, only tilted his head, intent on the wet arch of the other man’s back. He traced his right hand around to Harry’s front, fingertips sliding along the soft bulge there. He lingered for a moment, thumb dipping into Harry’s navel, before returning to his lover’s hip.
Harry dropped his eyes to the floor and worried the bar of soap with both hands. “Sorry, I… Only be a minute, then I’ll finish packing and we can go.”
Draco’s voice was not present, not in his chest or throat, or even in this steaming, wet room. In this city, country. He watched Harry’s hands move over his shoulders, leaving translucent trails of suds in their wake. Under the hot water, Harry’s skin was flushed a rosy pink, healthy and alive. The thought of it otherwise was revolting and horrific.
Draco reached out, gently taking the soap from the other man, and Harry stilled, looking at him with a curious, nervous glint in his eyes. Draco ruffled the soap into bubbles and turned Harry toward him until he could touch his chest, run his hands over the warm skin there, feel the blood beating through the body in front of him. Water sluiced down Harry’s body and Draco followed it with his eyes.
“Harry, do you really want to go through with this?” he asked softly.
Harry jerked a tiny bit, and Draco’s hands stopped moving. Tanned fingers rose and touched rounded belly, then fell away. “Don’t you?” Harry said, too quickly.
Draco looked up and met his gaze, and everything around them went quiet. Harry’s eyes were speaking to him, a desperate question there, a yearning plea in whorling green. A want. And a fear. So much fear, of so many different things. Draco’s stomach lurched as it hit him yet again… that everything he had been told, Harry had been told, too.
But one fear, he could lay to rest, at least. He stroked upward along the curves of Harry’s sides and down again with both hands, and his lover gave a shiver despite the hot water. Draco nodded, without words, and began to rub soap over Harry’s skin once more.
“Don’t think I’ve taken such a long shower in a while.” A timid laugh followed Harry’s words, hushed in the heavy air. Draco said nothing, taking his time with the body that had produced such a small sound. Harry fidgeted under his ministrations, and Draco caught his eyes darting away. Harry ran a hand through his hair, shaking water drops out.
“You can stay tonight. If you want to, I mean.” He gestured toward the bathroom door through the steam and fogged glass.
Draco stared in that direction, already feeling the tug in his innards, the one reminding him of how badly he slept when his bed held only him these days. It was hard to pinpoint, like a gnawing hunger that he couldn’t define; couldn’t figure out what food he needed to eat in order to be sated. Harry was hunger, and satiation as well, but now Harry was much more than that. He was fear, black and roiling and everywhere Draco turned because, Merlin, what he was going to say next was only going to cement that fear in his chest and lungs and gut for a long, long time.
“I want you to move in,” he said, very quietly. He stared at Harry’s stomach, the hitch of startled breathing. Fingers grazed his face.
“You… what?”
“We’ll stay. Here, tonight. But tomorrow, I want—” He stopped, wondering if he had failed, if he needed to go on and explain his failure, to think, to see what was coming, to hope, fucking hell, what was the point of hoping, but he was doing it already and he couldn’t look up.
But Harry only nodded. His hands came up to Draco’s back and pressed Draco against him. A damp chin touched his shoulder, a cheek settled there, hot breath on his neck, and Harry nodded again.
...
Part 3
...
...
...
Thank you for reading!
Author:
rurounihimePairing: H/D
Rating: R-ish?
Warning: MPREG. Look thou!
Summary: Sequel to Under Fingertips. A visit to the Healer leaves Draco taking stock of his options.
Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me is this particular theory of male pregnancy.
A/N: This is for the lurvely
coffeejunkii. Thanks to fireelemental79 for the title help. *sigh* I am still not happy with this one. But I think it has been in my hands for too long and I need a break. So I disclaim here and say there may be future revisions, but for now it is done....
The Thought of It Otherwise
“Mr Malfoy.” The Healer sat back in her chair, her body in a state of relaxation that must have come from the consistency of her profession. It was a far cry from how Draco was interpreting the situation. “There are several important pieces of information we must discuss.”
Draco could feel his eyes narrowing. He glanced toward the closed door, and then turned back to face the woman. “Is this discussion standard for your patients?”
The woman’s eyebrows lifted behind silver-rimmed spectacles. “In my line of work, Mr Malfoy.”
Draco studied the Healer. She was older than he, perhaps in her forties, with graying hair about her temples. He was still undecided about her; she carried an air of professionalism like a comfortable cloak, and he suspected she was the type to become agitated by incompetence. But he’d only met her today, heard her speak just long enough to welcome them both and then direct Harry through the door to his appointment.
Oh, but Draco was already decided on the Healer’s assistant. He had been from the very moment the door opened, spilling her into the office. Blasted girl; a petite brunette… she’d immediately fixed her doe eyes on Harry, wide and astonished. Still a teenager, just out of Hogwarts. Draco could almost hear the hushed admiration waiting to flood from her lips. The questions she had no business asking.
The look she had turned on him an instant later had been just as wide-eyed, even more nervous, and had made him itch to grab his wand.
That morning, Draco had come into Harry’s bedroom, still damp from his shower, to find him sitting on the bed, both hands pressed against the soft curve of his stomach. His shirt was raised, wrinkling down over the tops of his hands, and Harry did not notice him for a long, long moment. His fingers stroked up once, trembled; Harry looked up and saw him watching. He flushed and smoothed his shirt into place again. Draco found himself wondering how much longer Harry could go out in public.
The truth was… Draco did not like having Harry out of his sight anymore. He frowned at the Healer where she sat behind her desk. “If she says anything to him, so help me—”
“She won’t,” the woman cut in cleanly, a frown of her own marring her features. Her eyes flicked to the door. “We have very strict regulations concerning our patients. All of them.”
Draco studied the doctor silently. She met his gaze without blinking, and he found himself wondering if she would begin to fidget eventually. Doubting it. “Perhaps Harry should be here for this.”
She shook her head. “No, Mr Malfoy, this is something I must discuss with you. Harry has already heard everything I am about to say.”
Draco took a measured breath. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked coolly at her from across the desk. “Go ahead.”
“Was this a planned pregnancy?”
Draco drew back before he could stop himself. He frowned at his hands. “Hardly.”
She nodded, the faintest of smiles appearing on her face. “I’m sorry for the impertinence of the question, but you must understand that it is necessary for Harry’s treatment that I know.”
Draco pursed his lips. “I can provide you with a list of the spells we were… using at the time. If necessary.”
“Harry has already done so, but thank you. Actually, I’m far more concerned with your personal opinion of the situation.”
Draco drew himself up, stifling a surge of annoyance. “Is that a fact?”
She merely looked at him, waiting. He exhaled through gritted teeth. “Are you asking my opinion of the situation, or of Harry? If you’re so curious to know how I feel about him, then please, stop beating around the bush and just ask.” He leaned forward and tilted his head. “I don’t enjoy interrogations. I’d rather argue my feelings for him out in the open, if you don’t mind.”
The Healer removed her glasses and folded them on the desktop. Draco was startled to see a sad warmth in her expression. “In my opinion, Mr Malfoy, your feelings for Harry are not in question. You would not be here if they were. My concern is not whether you care for him, but...” She paused. “…how deeply you care for him.”
“I don’t… understand.”
She breathed out, a quick huff. “This is my field of choice and it is by no means an unpopular one, for patients and physicians alike. But frankly, the male body is not built for or equipped to handle a pregnancy.” The doctor’s lips twisted sardonically. “If it were, all of this would not be necessary.”
Draco digested her words. It was nothing he had been unaware of, but her candor was refreshing. “How often do you encounter this situation?”
“Often enough to base my practice around it. It’s not quite as unusual as one would think. Not in the wizarding community, anyway. There are spells, as you are well aware, as well as potions, but I will come to that in a moment.”
Draco said nothing. The Healer continued.
“Harry has already been informed as to what he can expect over the next few months. However, the reality of it is a different thing entirely.” She lowered her head to peer at him over the tops of her spectacles. It was not a condescending look, but rather an intuitive one. “Harry wants this baby, Mr Malfoy. But he is going to need help.”
Draco plucked at his trouser leg for a long, uncomfortable moment, and then forced himself to be still. “I am not going to leave him to deal with it alone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he ground out.
“Draco.” Her voice was as soft as stroking feathers. He looked up and found her watching him with the same pensive stare she had worn before. “You’re going to have a difficult task. I will not sugarcoat it for you.”
“I don’t want it sugarcoated, I assure you.”
There was debate behind her eyes. But she spoke nonetheless.
“I don’t know how much he has told you about the first few months. Harry was unaware of the pregnancy until the third month, which is very common when conception is caused by spell-usage, as in this case. You see, Draco,” she said, folding her hands on her desk, “at three months, Harry’s immune system began treating the fetus as a foreign body, attempting to rid itself of the invading cells. Essentially, the baby was making him sick.”
Draco blinked, remembering Harry’s gaunt appearance, the way his coat had hung from his frame like so much loose drapery. He’d been so very pale. Draco touched his lip with one finger. “Then why has it stopped?”
“Initially, it was the spell combination you used that did it. Three spells in particular, with the side-effect of sexual pleasure” – Draco stiffened – “but designed in ancient times to assist in difficult or impossible conceptions. The spells themselves uphold the pregnancy until the mother’s own body takes over.”
“How long does that last?”
“The spells you used have already been long defunct.”
Draco’s head shot up. “Then how—”
She held up one hand. “When Harry came in the first time, he was suffering from the first stages of the spell disintegration. His body was fighting what had been done to it, in the only way it knew how. There was little time before it succeeded; unlike in the case of women, the male body is not allowed to inform itself of its own condition. The spells essentially conceal the pregnancy from anything that might harm the fetus. Harry’s own body had no idea what was making it sick.”
The Healer straightened, and her manner became more placid. “I informed him of his situation, his alternatives, and then gave him two weeks to decide upon a course of action. Our practice provided him with the information he would need to decide, as well as counseling. I urged him to speak to you, to include you in the decision, but in the end, the choice was up to Harry.”
Draco nodded, closing his eyes. He could still see the wretched look on Harry’s face, that night in the dim light of his living room. Steeled, masking the dread just beneath the surface. And then he’d opened his mouth and said—
“He didn’t actually say it. But he wanted…” Draco rubbed his forehead.
“And what do you want, Draco?”
He sighed. “I… I felt it. Move. I felt him. But Harry didn’t say if… He gave me the option of—ending it.”
She nodded as if he had given her all the answer she needed. “I’ve started him on temporary sustaining potions. They are harmless, and easily reversible should he change his mind before the end of this month, but they do give you both a bit more leeway to consider your options.”
“And after that?”
The Healer’s face sobered and Draco was struck by how weary she looked. “At the beginning of the sixth month, those potions will no longer be potent enough to sustain either the pregnancy or Harry’s health. He will need to begin a new series of treatments, which will continue right up until the birth.”
They had… a contingency plan. For pregnant men. Draco pushed the sense of absurdity down even as it rose in his mind, an indignant instinct. “What sorts of potions?”
“They are some of the most astounding, most troublesome potions I have ever come across as a Healer.” For the first time, Draco thought he saw wariness in her gaze. Her eyes darted… she was no longer looking directly at him. “They work together, given at precise intervals, to give the fetus protection inside the parent’s body, and the appropriate space to grow.”
Draco frowned; uneasiness niggled at him. He shook himself inwardly. “And how is this done, exactly?”
“The potions are similar in design to Dislocative magic.”
A beat. And then Draco was nearly out of his seat before he stopped himself, clutching the chair arms hard enough to hurt his fingers. “A displacement spell? On a human body?”
The Healer nodded once, her piercing gaze never drifting from his face. “Yes.”
Draco grimaced, felt his expression twisting out of his control. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
She stared at him and her eyes flickered. “Yes,” she said in a softer voice.
The air grew close in the small office. Draco stared back at the Healer, one hand hovering halfway to his mouth. A displacement spell. Dislocative magic. As if Harry’s body were the Knight Bus, easing itself around Muggle cars on a crowded street.
And… Apparition.
Dislocative magic was temporary, at best. It was designed to be. Unsteady in the best of circumstances. Draco took a deep breath. “What are you saying, exactly?”
The steadiness of the Healer’s posture told him she had carried on this conversation before. It threaded into him unexpectedly, and he drew another breath.
“I do not mean you to misunderstand, Mr Malfoy. This, dealing with this sort of situation, is by no means novel. You would be surprised by how many of today’s wizarding children were born of two men.”
“There are many, then?”
She smiled faintly, as if preoccupied. “No. But you would still be surprised by the number.”
Draco nodded absently. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of that sort of magic at work in Harry’s body. The body he touched at night, half asleep, the consciousness resting behind those green eyes. The… baby… that shifted and wiggled under the skin of Harry’s belly.
His stomach twisted.
“Are there any side-effects?”
All the accessibility slid out of the doctor’s face, replaced by a worried look. She seemed to have aged before his eyes.
“There are several, Draco. And that is why I must say what I’m about to say.”
The corners of her eyes pinched with resignation. She leaned over her desk. “If there is any chance that Harry may forgo the treatments, or that you may let them slide in an effort to help him, then I must advise you to convince Harry to terminate the pregnancy immediately.”
Draco’s mouth was as dry as cotton. His stomach gave another sickening roll.
“As it stands now, Harry is taking temporary potions to sustain the pregnancy. They will work up until the end of the fifth month and then the final series of potions must begin, or the pregnancy must be terminated.” She was watching him carefully. Draco could not find his voice. They were nearing the end of the fourth month already.
He blinked. They?
“Draco, I can tell you from years of experience that this procedure is safe. I have aided in the successful birth of many wizard-born children. But like any birth, to a woman or a man, it requires constant attention and a great deal of patience to see it through. The treatments are such that, once begun, will need to continue unabated until the birth.”
The Healer paused. “It will be painful for him, Draco. In many ways.”
Draco studied his hands, then looked up at her. “Tell me what will happen.”
She nodded approvingly. “Quite simply, his body will attempt to reject the fetus as soon as the temporary potions wear off. He will experience cramping. His body will ache. He may develop a very slight fever. This is not a constant state; it depends on the progression of the pregnancy and the health of the father.”
She rose from her desk and walked to a small cabinet near the door. Draco heard the clink of glass. “The first time this happens, you must begin a strict potions regimen. And then you both must stick to the schedule for the treatment to be effective.”
Draco caught sight of small vials in her hands. “Are they painkillers, then?”
She shut the cabinet and returned to her desk. “I will provide you with several mild potions for pain that can be given in addition to the three main potions. Direct spell usage is not recommended to relieve pain, but there has been little proof to suggest any true connection between magic and lasting effects on the child.”
She sat down and hesitated. Her face was changing, tottering between separate emotions, and suddenly she looked truly vulnerable. When she spoke, it was almost secretive. “Draco… I feel I am being very unfair to you personally in this matter. This will take a great toll on you, and it goes far beyond the simple administration of potions.”
The look on her face made him feel sick again. He held her gaze, only just managing to keep from moving. “Go on.”
“In a sense, I will be helping Harry to become ill, and then not only asking you to treat him, but to sit and watch him be in pain. It is an unfair demand for me to make of you, but it is the truth.”
Draco said nothing. She went on with a sigh. “You may have to wait for days at a time while he is in pain before you can give him the potion that will ease it. Watching a loved one suffer, especially when you hold the very thing that can cure him in your hands, is a difficult thing to do. I am being frank about this because I believe you will keep the larger picture in mind, whether that picture is Harry or the baby.”
Draco looked up sharply, heart thudding in his chest, but she only returned his gaze until he turned away. Three innocuous little bottles sat on the desk in front of him. He reached out and picked up the nearest: tar black. As if he were holding a small pot of ink in his hand.
Harmless looking. “How will I contact you?”
The doctor lifted her chin, adjusting her glasses over her nose. “There are several spells I’ll be casting on Harry that will alert me to any significant danger to his health. You may Floo call my office or home, but unless I am attending to another emergency, I will arrive promptly, and on my own.”
She folded her hands. “It is absolutely imperative, Draco, that he be consistent with his treatment.” Her voice had gone low and earnest. Draco caught her eye again. “You must help him remember when and how much.”
“And if…” Draco found he could not continue. His throat had gone bone dry.
“If he fails even once to take the correct potion at the correct time, Harry’s body will turn on itself, and the baby.” Her voice became grave. “There is the chance that Harry will die. It’s something you both must prepare for.”
It was a sudden, sharp pain, as if he’d been struck in the head. Or the gut. Draco winced and pursed his lips, but the idea would not leave. It seemed to be cementing itself in his mind, carving out hollows and troughs. Draco struggled for a long, breathless moment before it faded.
“Have you told Harry this?” he croaked out, and then grew furious with himself for the wavering of his voice.
The Healer nodded. “Yes.” Her hand came out, fingers brushing against his arm, and Draco jumped.
“I don’t want you to worry unduly. Death… even the chance of serious illness is extremely small. But Harry’s condition is not to be treated lightly, and I believe it wisest that you know all possible outcomes.”
Draco set his jaw and looked her right in the eye. “What do you predict will happen?”
“Harry is a healthy young man, intelligent, and unlike many of my other patients, he has someone who is willing to help him. I believe his pregnancy will go smoothly. As smoothly as it can go.”
Draco wondered if women listened to this sort of thing upon learning they were pregnant. Did they leave the Healer’s office reassured, then return home and silently ponder how many things could go wrong?
But then. Their bodies were usually capable of childbearing by nature. Harry’s was not. Draco resisted the urge to rub his temples. “As smoothly as it can go? Just how smoothly is that?”
The Healer’s brow wrinkled; she sat back. “It won’t be what you might have come to expect from a pregnancy; Harry is not female, and therefore there are obvious allowances to be made in terms of normality. It may be an odd concept to grasp for a time, Draco, but you must treat this pregnancy almost as you would an illness. Harry will not want to eat. You’ll need to make sure he gets enough food for himself and the baby. He’ll be restless at times, and quite lethargic at others. And some of the time, he will be his normal, energetic self. It really is a subjective thing.”
Draco studied the Healer for a moment, considering. “What about…” He shut his eyes briefly and opened them again. “What about intimacy?”
If the question surprised her, she did not indicate it. “Intimacy is fine, though you will need to defer to Harry’s energy level. He may not be up to anything especially taxing. And you may not be either.”
Draco felt a bit vague around the edges, and strangely surprised that he wasn’t more embarrassed by this line of questioning. He studied the three vials on the desk in front of him, but didn’t really see them. They were shapes in a haze, carrying an uneasy aura about them, but it was only a dull prickle in his mind. He was aware of the Healer watching him through hooded eyes; it seemed unreal, as if he’d stepped outside himself.
The clock ticked on the wall, and they sat in silence. Draco took a deep breath, let it out, and then went back to the beginning of their discussion in his mind.
* * *
It was dark and the wind had turned chilly when Harry let them into his flat, struggling with the key for a moment before shoving the door open. He turned and ran a hand through his hair as Draco followed him in. His mouth opened, but in the end, he simply gave a weak smile and led the way to the living room.
“Do you mind… I need to get some things. And I’d like a shower.”
Draco nodded. He watched Harry pad up the stairs. In his long coat, he looked… normal. As if none of this had happened, and Draco would follow him upstairs once he’d removed his own coat, and end up flat on his back in Harry’s bed, seeing his lover through the warm buzz of rum and vodka from the club. Harry would grin at him, suck hard on the juncture of his shoulder and throat, and whisper about the sandy-blond they’d seen on the dance floor, the sexy one in vinyl and netted shirt, just to rile Draco into that growl he liked so much. Draco would grab his arm. Flip him over. Bite at his ear and thrust against him until Harry couldn’t speak for moaning. Let Harry roll him over and take him if he wanted to, in the end.
Draco’s stomach ached; he felt bereft. When was the last time Harry had topped? Pushed him against the nearest wall and demanded things he was only too willing to give, regardless of how he groused between kisses? Woken him in the night with half-whispers and roving hands? He couldn’t even remember, but his body sought for the sensation, even as he stood in the darkness of the front hallway: the sense of being filled, from above or below. His eyes tracked Harry’s progress up the stairs. His lover stopped just beyond the landing and looked back. His face was troubled when he turned away and continued up, out of sight.
The flat was silent except for the mute hush of Muggle cars in the street below. Draco sat on the sofa in the darkness and pictured Harry rummaging through drawers in the room above, one hand straying perhaps to his stomach as he threw clothing onto the bed, as he undressed—
The shower started up, water rushing through the pipes upstairs. Draco rubbed a hand over his face, and forced his eyes open, inhaling sharply. Blue shadows and gray light took the place of what his closed eyes showed him: Harry’s face the night he’d returned, as shaded as the walls of his flat, and one hand clutching repeatedly at the hem of his coat. Except this time Draco could clearly see the weariness, the sickly tint around Harry’s eyes.
Was it really a memory? Or a conjuring of his own imagination?
Harry’s words that morning, when Draco had watched him from the doorway – mere hours ago – floated out of his memory and hung in the air as if spoken aloud. Shouldn’t take too long. You don’t have to wait for me. I mean, if you… The Healer just wants to talk to you for a few minutes.
Draco rose and made his way up the stairs. Harry’s bedroom door stood open, light streaming into the short hallway. Draco could see an overnight bag on the bed, the sleeve of a red shirt dangling from the opening. Across the hall, steam rolled from under the bathroom door. Draco faced it, one hand poised just above the knob. He heard the splash of water within, the drumming of droplets on tile and skin.
He entered as quietly as he could. The warm wall of air curled gently over his flesh. Draco shed his clothing slowly, feeling dazed. Harry’s outline was a pale peach against the misted glass of the shower door. Draco gazed along the front of Harry’s body until he saw the light bulge at his abdomen, indistinct beyond the fog.
He eased the shower door open and stepped inside to find Harry standing with his back to him, letting the water rush over his face. He started when Draco touched his waist, and half turned, slipping on the slick floor of the shower. Draco’s hands came out almost on their own and steadied him, gripping his hips. One of Harry’s palms pressed against his forearm, and his lover gave a soft sigh. Fingers squeezed.
“Scared me,” Harry murmured.
Draco said nothing, only tilted his head, intent on the wet arch of the other man’s back. He traced his right hand around to Harry’s front, fingertips sliding along the soft bulge there. He lingered for a moment, thumb dipping into Harry’s navel, before returning to his lover’s hip.
Harry dropped his eyes to the floor and worried the bar of soap with both hands. “Sorry, I… Only be a minute, then I’ll finish packing and we can go.”
Draco’s voice was not present, not in his chest or throat, or even in this steaming, wet room. In this city, country. He watched Harry’s hands move over his shoulders, leaving translucent trails of suds in their wake. Under the hot water, Harry’s skin was flushed a rosy pink, healthy and alive. The thought of it otherwise was revolting and horrific.
Draco reached out, gently taking the soap from the other man, and Harry stilled, looking at him with a curious, nervous glint in his eyes. Draco ruffled the soap into bubbles and turned Harry toward him until he could touch his chest, run his hands over the warm skin there, feel the blood beating through the body in front of him. Water sluiced down Harry’s body and Draco followed it with his eyes.
“Harry, do you really want to go through with this?” he asked softly.
Harry jerked a tiny bit, and Draco’s hands stopped moving. Tanned fingers rose and touched rounded belly, then fell away. “Don’t you?” Harry said, too quickly.
Draco looked up and met his gaze, and everything around them went quiet. Harry’s eyes were speaking to him, a desperate question there, a yearning plea in whorling green. A want. And a fear. So much fear, of so many different things. Draco’s stomach lurched as it hit him yet again… that everything he had been told, Harry had been told, too.
But one fear, he could lay to rest, at least. He stroked upward along the curves of Harry’s sides and down again with both hands, and his lover gave a shiver despite the hot water. Draco nodded, without words, and began to rub soap over Harry’s skin once more.
“Don’t think I’ve taken such a long shower in a while.” A timid laugh followed Harry’s words, hushed in the heavy air. Draco said nothing, taking his time with the body that had produced such a small sound. Harry fidgeted under his ministrations, and Draco caught his eyes darting away. Harry ran a hand through his hair, shaking water drops out.
“You can stay tonight. If you want to, I mean.” He gestured toward the bathroom door through the steam and fogged glass.
Draco stared in that direction, already feeling the tug in his innards, the one reminding him of how badly he slept when his bed held only him these days. It was hard to pinpoint, like a gnawing hunger that he couldn’t define; couldn’t figure out what food he needed to eat in order to be sated. Harry was hunger, and satiation as well, but now Harry was much more than that. He was fear, black and roiling and everywhere Draco turned because, Merlin, what he was going to say next was only going to cement that fear in his chest and lungs and gut for a long, long time.
“I want you to move in,” he said, very quietly. He stared at Harry’s stomach, the hitch of startled breathing. Fingers grazed his face.
“You… what?”
“We’ll stay. Here, tonight. But tomorrow, I want—” He stopped, wondering if he had failed, if he needed to go on and explain his failure, to think, to see what was coming, to hope, fucking hell, what was the point of hoping, but he was doing it already and he couldn’t look up.
But Harry only nodded. His hands came up to Draco’s back and pressed Draco against him. A damp chin touched his shoulder, a cheek settled there, hot breath on his neck, and Harry nodded again.
...
Part 3
...
...
...
Thank you for reading!
