Pairing: Harry/Draco (obviously)
Words: About 11,000
Prompt: Written for dragon_charmer, who wanted a bunch of things, including: seduction, hurt/comfort, dirty talk, Parselsmut, teasing, UST, happy endings, and well-written mpreg. I'm hoping my characterization wasn't too womanized, as that was in the list of things not wanted.
"I. You. What?" Harry stared at the healer and waited for words that made sense to commence.
None were forthcoming. "I said," the healer repeated, "It would appear you are, in fact, pregnant. I take it you didn't perform one of the rituals deliberately?"
"Rituals? What rituals?" This was getting ridiculous.
The healer peered into his eyes through an odd prism, then tapped his collarbones with a tiny bone mallet. "Are you sure you aren't suffering a headache? You seem rather discomposed."
Harry took a deep breath. "I'm discomposed because you've just told me that I, a man, am pregnant. And you seem to think it's possible I got this way, or rather that way because using this implies something that's true, and since what you're suggesting is impossible, so that way, on purpose. It's impossible because, I repeat, man. Boll--Testicles. Penis. Utter lack of, er, alarming bits which would be appropriate for, you know, growing spare people. Now, honestly. I'm exhausted, I cry--and believe me, that's irritating as all fuck because people notice and it doesn't exactly help with the staring--my ankles are swollen, and all I want to do is cuddle puppies and other small furry things and eat broccoli and flan. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?"
"Mister Potter. There is really no need to shout."
"Sorry. Now. What the hell is wrong with me?"
"I've told you what is wrong, and clearly you don't agree. I suggest a second opinion."
"I'll send someone--"
"No way. Call them here, and don't tell them your absurd idea, and don't go passing notes, either."
"Mister Potter! Are you suggesting I would--"
"Obviously you don't mind playing some sort of sick joke with my health, so yes, yes I am. Call them in. And don't tell them anything."
"Fine." The healer opened a little conduit in the wall next to the door. "Healer Chauhan, please step into room seventeen."
There was a pause, and then the tinny voice of the receptionist reported, "She'll be right there."
"Thank you." He closed the flap and turned to Harry. "I suppose you wish me to wait here, then?"
The healer shrugged. "Fine. So. What shall we discuss while we wait?"
"My actual condition?"
"Mister Potter. I've told you what your actual condition is. You merely need to wait another five months or so--"
"Five? Oh, so 'pregnant men' only need wait--"
"Honestly. You're surely four months gone or more. The baby is roughly the size of a grapefruit in there--all curled up nicely, of course. Probably about sixteen centimeters or so, head to toe. I'm surprised you haven't felt him moving."
Harry squinted. "Him, huh? You've done nothing to check that, but you can just tell?"
The healer sighed. "It's basic genetics, Mister Potter. Virtually all babies born to men are male. After all, there are only four combinations possible; one cannot result in a viable fetus, and two-thirds of the rest are male. And, because the male body does not, hormonally speaking, support pregnancy the same way, usually female embryos don't survive past the first ten weeks or so. The odds are, it's a boy."
"You've just made that up as you sat here."
"I'm afraid not. You may have to make some rather remarkable adjustments, Mister Potter." A knock sounded at the door, and it swung open. "Ah, and here is Healer Chauhan. I'll just be going, then." He stepped through the door and closed it behind him. The woman who'd just come in turned and looked at the closed door.
"I'm over here," Harry said. "You can just tell me what the hell is wrong with me, and also, you can tell me how to report him. He's either insane or just mean. Now. My symptoms… Padma?"
She turned back as he spoke. "Oh! Harry."
"Hi. Now. Can you tell me what's wrong? I'm tired all the time. I'm practically irrational with mood swings. My feet hurt. My back hurts."
She frowned and sent a shower of purple sparks over him. "Oh. Well. I'd say your efforts were a success, then, only I don't know why you've left it this long. Goodness. We'll need to get you on the vitamin regimen immediately. It should help, at least, with the exhaustion. Also, there's a quite good mood--"
"To get pregnant. I'd say you're at perhaps sixteen, eighteen weeks? Depending on the size of the other father, your own family history, that sort of thing."
Harry stared. "All right, what on earth is wrongwith you people? Men. Cannot. Have babies."
Padma blinked. "Sure they can. Well, wizards can. I gather you didn't believe the formula even while you were using it? Now, let's see, you probably did the butterscotch and salamander ritual?"
"Well. That one's simplest. Harry, what's wrong? Surely you wanted this, so you should be pleased. Harry?"
"Men. Having babies. With… salamanders?"
Padma's mouth made a small 'o.' "You didn't do this on purpose, did you--oh! Harry." She lifted a brow and explained, a series of words which individually made perfectly good sense and all in order were completely impossible. Finally, she wound up, "Well. You need to tell him, of course. In Britain male pregnancy is unusual enough that there are special laws to--"
"Would you stop acting as though I were pregnant?"
"Testicles. Penis. All present. Impossible."
Padma sighed and nodded at Harry. "Pick up your wand."
"Look. I'm not exactly telling people, but I'm pregnant as well. Early days, and I'm having twins. Now. The visualization charm is Foetus Imago, and the wand work is like this." She traced a pattern in the air. "Go on."
Harry spoke the charm and waved his wand, and a translucent image pulled forward out of Padma, showing two tiny curled embryos facing each other in the air before her.
She nodded. "All right?"
"How do I know that's not an image of yourself before you were born?"
"Well, for one thing, Parvati isn't here. For another, she and I aren't identical."
"And those are?"
"One placenta." She traced her finger around the image to show him.
"So. Now you. No, you go ahead and perform the charm on yourself. That way you'll know I'm not manipulating it."
"You could manipulate it nonverbally."
"And you'd know. You're a good deal stronger a wizard than I am a witch, Harry. I do well with learning, not actual magical strength. Go on, then."
Harry took a breath, then turned his wand toward himself and performed the charm.
The image floated forward out of him; a curled embryo, one as big alone as Padma's two together and much further developed, coalesced and stayed in the air.
Harry did the only thing that seemed to make sense.
It turns out there is a consequence of our interaction last March. I am required to notify you.
Leaky Cauldron. Friday evening. 5 p.m. to beat the crowd. Shut up, just, if you don't come meet me, apparently there's to be a rather more public notification, and I guarantee, you don't want that. I know you don't trust me but …trust me.
If you can't make that time, suggest another.
I don't do command performances. You're going to have to do better than that.
You don't want me to put this in writing in case of delivery error. It's a long-term consequence. You need to know before the rest of the world does.
5 p.m. tomorrow.
I'll be waiting.
Before the rest of the world? Please. No one's interested in you any more.
You'll have to put enough in writing for me to think this is anything other than some pathetic attempt to get a date.
You may recall our interaction last spring. Usually this sort of consequence does not ensue. In our case, it has.
Tonight, or it's in the bloody papers tomorrow, and believe me, people will be interested, not entirely because it's me.
Just fucking come.
Harry slid into his seat in the back and drummed his fingers on the table. The clock read 4:57, and while he'd just now arrived, he'd hoped not to have to wait.
"The usual, Mister Potter?"
Harry flinched at the appearance of the barman. "Er. No, actually, I'll just have tea, today. I've an appointment later."
"Yes, though I expect he'll want something stronger. Still, if you can just bring the pot?" He glanced across at the bar, hoping his impatience was clear without being rude.
"Of course." Tom shuffled off and Harry drummed his fingers again. 4:59.
At 5:03, he began mentally composing the note to the papers--he didn't want to advertise any more than he expected Draco would, but once she'd been sure he was all right--after awakening him and giving him chocolate--Padma had been quite clear: under the law, the other father had to be told, and the situation publicly acknowledged. If he didn't do it, St. Mungo's would. He still wasn’t' clear on how it was anyone's business, but there it was.
Harry looked up from his mental wanderings to see Draco sliding into the seat across from him. Draco grimaced as he sat, and adjusted his robes with finicky precision. "Malfoy."
"Hullo to you, too. Tea?"
"Just tell me whatever it is you've to say, and we can go about our lives."
"Yes, but it's going to take a moment to explain, and you may want some tea. Or possibly six or ten shots of Firewhisky." He plucked a cup out of the air and set it down, filling it up and sliding it across before he took a moment to set up some light disillusionment charms to deter to the interest of listeners. "Right. So. I've been feeling rather exhausted lately, and I went to St. Mungo's. I mean, Hermione's been pushing me to for, oh, a month or more now, but I hadn't got around to it. Or more like, I'd been too …anxious. Or something."
"Before the spring thaw, Potter."
"Right. Anyway. Apparently, and I swear to you, I'd no idea. Apparently, there are a number of ways wizards--men, with male bits and all--"
"I'm familiar with the term 'men,' for the love of Merlin."
"Right. Number of ways they can become, er."
"Pregnant. Become pregnant. Most of those ways require a ritual. You have to do it on purpose."
"Yes, and as you and I have never performed any of those rituals, and Potter, I was drunk, but not that drunk; I do remember; I fail to see what any of this is to do with me."
"You knew this?"
"Yes, and as I say, I've never performed any such ritual with the likes of you."
"Yes, well. There's the bit that's creating the trouble. We sort of maybe did."
"The bit that's creating trouble here is that you were hoping to get your hands on my bank books, I suppose, and that's bollocks, since I know I didn't--"
"Actually, no. Malfoy, surely you're aware I'm not exactly suffering for funds, so even if. Anyway. No, it's that there's at least one method that doesn't require a ritual. It requires a special skill."
"Yes, do tell, Potter. This should be interesting."
"It's known in India. Padma told me, once she worked out that I didn't believe them at all. Only there they warn gay ones, so they know, because otherwise, well, they'd have--"
"India. Again, nothing to do with me, and why the hell was Padma--Patil, I assume?--there?"
"Yes, her, and I know but the reason it's known there is they've a good many snake charmers. She explained the whole thing to me, and that was before she had idea about you or anything."
Draco sighed and drank his tea. "Potter, I've wasted ten perfectly good minutes here. Get on with it."
"Snake charmers are Parselmouths."
"Who charm snakes. Yes, I see how that's relevant."
"Oh. You were being facetious. Right. Well. Apparently that also means, um, charming, you know, snakes. And, er. It's the only non-ritual way to do it. Do the--"
"Yes, I understand the what"
"So we did. That. With the Parseltongue. And it, um, caused--"
"Oh." Draco looked down at his hands, his cheeks going ruddy. "You said 'before she knew about me,' which implies now she does."
"Well. Yes. I told her. Um. Actually, I accused her of colluding with you to play a horrible joke on you. Along about the time I worked out that the only time I'd used Parseltongue during, um, was in March. With you."
"And how did that go?"
"In March? Well, the outcome--"
"I meant the accusation of collusion."
"Oh. Poorly. Anyway. And then, if you do so, charm snakes, while saying certain kinds of things, about such things as taking care or keeping or, I don't remember what all else she said…"
Draco looked back up and stared, all the color draining from his cheeks and a look of horror replacing it. "You said I should be… what did you say? You said it both ways, I gather, but--"
"You were being a shit and talking up how I needed you and your money--by the way, is that a common theme for you? Because you just did it again now, and it's kind of depressing to think that's how you go along, thinking people only want that."
"Money buys a lot."
"Well, yes, I do know that. Still, you were being a shit, and I was being sarcastic and I said yes, you could be my sugar daddy."
"Uh. That you should give me money in exchange for, er. Not like a whore. In an ongoing, um. Single-party. Something."
"And then I--"
Draco groaned and poured another cup of tea. "Potter."
"Oh, and this actually gets worse. British law says we have to both publicly acknowledge--"
"You've no idea how it gets worse."
Harry grimaced. "It's going to make things hard for you, isn't it?"
"And you. Though it's your sodding fault, so it hardly seems wrong that your end would be unpleasant."
"Sorry. I really didn't know."
"You just had to go hissing at me--"
"That was the thing?"
"You didn't know? Jesus, Potter. Half the school headed for the showers the first time we heard you do that."
"It's. As you say. Snake-charming."
"Oh. Um. So that was all that." To his horror, Harry felt the feeling, far too familiar these days, of inappropriate tears welling in his eyes. Honestly. It wasn't as though he cared for Draco Sodding Malfoy, so that Draco didn't give a rat's furry arse about him wasn't relevant to anything.
Draco sighed and drank a third cup of tea, then shook his head. "The reason it's worse, Potter, is that you've made a big sodding mess here, and we're about to be a very fucking public scandal."
"Sorry." Harry blinked rapidly and stared down at his tea. "So, I assume you've no interest in the child?"
Draco poured and downed a fourth cup of tea, then said, tight and low, "more likely, children."
"No, honestly. I'm only having one and I can't believe I just said that because really there is no only here because zero is the only possible appropriate number and--"
"You're only having one. I have an appointment at St. Mungo's. For Monday. To discuss my growing exhaustion, sore feet, digestive discomfort, irritating cramping in my midsection, and inexplicable craving for Eggs Benedict."
Harry noticed his mouth was hanging open and clamped it shut. "You. But. Then. We. Oh." He shook his head. "Well, fuck."
"Er, do you want me to come with you, then? For. Um, in case you need…" Harry trailed off. "Of course, not that I had any such support."
Draco glared. "And I've no idea why anyone would need any such support. Fuck, Potter. It's just a parasite. Still, you're right about what the law says. I've only seen it come up once ever, and they put a bloody full-page advert in the Prophet for three Saturdays running."
"How did I not notice that?"
"How often do you actually read the society pages?"
"Maybe it doesn't have to be splashy. Maybe it just has to be public. I mean, were the fathers in question all thrilled?"
"Well, they had obviously undergone one of the rituals, so I imagine they might have been."
Harry nodded. "Maybe we can be less ostentatious."
"And make the announcement in the section with the advice columns or something. In very small print."
"We can hope. Should we wait and get it over with all at once?"
"Yes! I certainly don't hope to do it twice."
Harry nodded, glad his emotions had apparently leveled off. "Malfoy?"
"Would this mean we're having twins?"
Draco scowled and didn't answer, and then, all at once, they both slid out of their seats and headed for the toilets.
Harry sighed. Being pregnant was hard on the bladder.
As suspected, damn you.
In utter disgust,
We're in the same boat. Perhaps we should share experiences? There can't be too many others to talk to.
Why on earth would I want to talk to anyone? What I want to do is remain home and avoid interaction.
We still have to talk about the public thing. You really want to do that via owl? Mungo's says we have until Thursday week. I'm flexible.
Your sodding flexibility is part of the difficulty here, and no, I do not want to do it via owl. Since Mungo's already knows, I suggest we meet there. Monday, two o'clock. Be punctual.
You're seriously having cramps? I'm not having cramps. Is that normal? Did they say anything about that? Because you'd think we'd have the same thing at the same time, what with it being all the same day and everything. Also, I wasn't the only one being flexible. God. This isn't entirely my fault. Except for the part about the talking. Okay, it is. Sorry.
Still, if you really are feeling bad, maybe we should see about getting you, I don't know, some help?
Also, what, in the lovely dining facility there? It's not as though they have meeting rooms. Same place as last time. Two is fine.
Stop being a girl.
Whatever. Monday. Two. Same place. Until then, sod off.
It had taken an hour of discussion, mostly because Draco was being an insufferable prick, in Harry's opinion, to get it to an announcement they both could live with, which met the publicity requirement and also was as small as possible.
It was, and Harry was proud of this idea, to be in the little-used unusual housing arrangements section of the Prophet. He'd explained to the advert-placement form, which wouldn't allow deliberate misplacement, that since each of them was, unusually, housing an embryo, that counted. And it hadn't rejected his ink, so they were good. They'd selected un-bordered, unembellished uncolored text in the smallest font they offered, to say as follows:
Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter
Expecting offspring this winter.
The argument had been over the word 'offspring;' Harry had originally suggested 'babies,' but Draco had wanted something that didn't actually imply that he was pregnant, which was of course completely absurd because he was and after all the point of the announcement was to tell people. And Harry hadn't been willing to go about letting people believe he was carrying two babies, because for one thing, there was no way he was going to get that big (right?) and plus then people would want to come see him and the babies at hospital or something.
Finally, they'd come upon the term 'offspring,' and as that was nonspecific and might have meant one or two, it satisfied both Draco's ego and the letter of the law. They both signed the form, and it vanished.
"That's that, then," Harry said. "D'you want, I don't know. Should we get a, I was going to say a drink to celebrate, but I guess that's bad."
"I'm not feeling celebratory, Potter."
"I mean, to celebrate completing that stupid thing so Mungo's doesn't. That's worth a cup of tea, isn't it?"
"Only if one's bladder is not evidently being hexed from the inside by one's enemy's parasite."
"Oh, please. My bladder's not exactly enjoying the flamenco dancing your son is doing--"
"Son? How did you--"
"They didn't explain? About the whole genetics thing?"
"Oh. She said something, but I ignored that. It's just Muggle mumbo-jumbo."
"Yes, because Muggles spend a great deal of time studying the probabilities of male pregnancy."
Draco scowled. "Point. So, explain."
"Most are male, and of those that are female, most don't survive this far. So, it's like, 90% male."
"For each of us, so only four chances in five they both are."
"That's still a high number, and the chances of both being don't alter the chance of one being."
"I don't want to argue about this."
"You started it, you prick."
"I think it was your prick that started this."
"Perfect. We'll just leave at that, then, shall we?"
They both got up and headed for the toilets.
What the hell?
What are you on about? Sod off. I feel like stomped skrewt arse, and it's your fault. Also, why don't you ever use a proper sign-off?
It's not tiny, and it's not unspecific. I didn't fucking make it that way. I thought we had a deal.
I do too sign off, sometimes. I have before. How like you to only observe the instances you'd like to pick at.
Just for you, pissed-offedly,
Fuck you. As if I would have made it bigger. What have you done? Also, is this why there is a small army of photographers on my sodding lawn?
Much better, as to appropriate letter-writing etiquette.
Seriously? You didn't do it? I swear, I didn't. Oh, and fuck, I looked--the advert is there the way we said it in the back; it's just also in full-page flashing fucking glory on page two. And it's not Mungo's; I checked with them, too.
Glad you approve. Are you feeling any better? Because I feel good, except for the flamenco shite.
I said before, stomped skrewt arse. Your fault. My skin has gone insane; my stomach hurts, my legs feel rubbery, and I have a headache. You would feel good, fucker.
Have you notified a solicitor yet?"
Should I? Would it matter?
Probably not. Look, just stop. I need to sleep.
"What the hell are you doing in my bloody flat, Potter? I thought I told you weeks ago, I need to sleep. Also, how did you get in here?" Draco pushed up onto his elbows on the couch, his distended stomach a great deal more apparent than Harry both because he was more slender in the first place, and because he was lying on his back.
"Should I not have been able to get in?"
"After all that sodding press? No non-Malfoy should be able to get within--"
"Baby, then, I guess. Draco, you didn't turn up for your appointment."
"Why, so they could say, 'yes, you're still pregnant?' I can tell that all on my own, thanks."
"No, so they could make sure nothing is wrong, and also, as miserable as you feel it seems like that's a good idea."
"Which doesn't explain why you're here."
Harry rolled his eyes. "My child, hence I am its next of kin other than you. They flooed."
"God. They can't stay out of anything, can they?"
"Look, you look like death. Come on. I'll take you in."
"I don't think so."
"Maybe they can give you something for your headache."
"Maybe they can give you something for your skin."
"…Does it look so bad you can tell?"
Harry bit his lip. He didn't care about Draco's skin, but it had been in the litany of Bad Feelings. "Just a bit," he said. "You look rather pale. I mean, not the good classy pale. The other kind."
Draco groaned and pushed up further, then swung his legs down to the floor. He stopped there. "I don't think I can Apparate," he said.
"Can't anyway. Don't you listen?"
"Have to Floo or fly. I can fly you, though."
"You flew here?"
"Sure. I like to fly."
"Where the hell do you live, anyway?"
"I live where I lived the last time you saw my flat. You may remember that evening…"
"Ugh. Right. Brown carpet, purple chairs. Anyway. Too sodding far to Mungo's.
"Yes, but think about the spinning of the Floo."
Draco turned distinctly green.
"See? Come on, then." Harry slipped an arm around Draco's back and helped him up, then with a glance at each other, they headed for the toilet.
With that out of the way, Harry took Draco to the door and mounted his broom. His seat was awkward, but he felt safe still, and wasn't worried about the added weight of Draco. "There we are."
Fortunately, they were quite high up when Draco's stomach rebelled.
Any further news? They said they'd let you know by today.
Yes. Now leave me alone.
I wasn't specific enough, so you'll have to pardon me. You've more news? What is it? Is it good? Is there anything you need? Also, why are you swollen? Besides the obvious. Is yours driving you crazy with the kicking? Mine's evidently decided every time I talk I'm starting some sort of code, and it should thump my lungs in reply.
Anxious for news,
You've gone around the twist entirely. Who has that many questions? Something about blood and minerals. I'm exhausted, pale, and thin. Those last two are, if you ask me, perfectly normal, but they seem concerned.
I'm swollen for the obvious reason, and something about fluid retention. It's disgusting. My ankles look like Quaffles, even if I rest them on pillows all day.
Mine is more involved with my kidneys, which now hurt constantly, thank you. This was also of concern. Honestly, why do people do this on purpose? Oh, I know, because they wind up feeling all disgustingly healthy, like you and your glowing obnoxious skin. Fucker.
Your ankles are that bad? And constant kidney pain? And is it an iron issue? Or protein? Except that's not a mineral. Okay, Hermione says that's bloody dangerous. Dangerous for women, anyway; the literature on us is a bit sparse. Did they tell you to do anything? Are they monitoring you?
Seriously. She's really worried now, and so am I, because what she did find kind of shows, okay, the magic is only supposed to happen once at a time, but I was greedy and wanted, um, more than just the one time and I maybe sort of made you and. Anyway, yours was second and maybe that's why you're having such a hard time. I mean, there's really no literature on that, but still, I feel badly.
She says get plenty of fluids and if you develop a fever or double vision, you should floo for help immediately.
You told Granger? God. My life is now complete.
P.S. Yes, my ankles are that bad--the skin is fucking cracking--and of course it's your bloody fault. I hate you.
Of course I did. She wasn't going to not notice me gaining three stone, and honestly, you should be glad she already knew before Ron saw it in the papers, which, by the way, I should mention apparently some reporter placed the larger story, and they won't say who. And yes, I am checking with a solicitor.
Skin is cracking? That's it. I'm coming there, and don't go stopping me because if I could take down Voldemort's protections, I can take down yours, and then the reporters will be able to get in, too.
Draco had parchment and quill in hand when Harry arrived. "Hi."
"Damn it. You didn't even give me time to tell you to fuck off. Also, and I believe I'm repeating myself here, stop being a bloody girl about this."
"Idiot. I brought the stuff Hermione told me, and you're going to put both him and you in danger. Here." Harry tossed the book over Draco to land beyond him on the other side of the bed.
"I am not reading about stages of pregnancy, Potter. This is a nightmare and it's bad enough I have to live with it. I'm not looking at horrifying diagrams of female bits."
"You don't have to. The parts she marked are just about worrying symptoms such as yours." Harry sat down on the edge of the bed next to Draco's feet and adjusted his robe to not be so tight around his growing belly.
"It doesn't look like a tumor on you."
"Doesn't on you, either. It looks like you're pregnant. It's not for much longer, Draco." Harry poked one of Draco's ankles with one finger, leaving a deep impression. "Draco, this is really--did St. Mungo's actually release you like this?"
Draco looked away. "Maybe."
"I promised to rest."
"And have you been?"
"Yes! Where am I going to go like this? I'm wretched, and I can't even walk for five minutes without wheezing and feeling as though I'm going to faint."
"You've learned this by experimentation?"
"Uh-huh. And is it getting any better?"
"No. I'm going to be miserable for weeks yet and it's not getting better and--where are you going?"
Harry continued toward the Floo. "That's my child too, and you're being an idiot, Malfoy. You're endangering him, and it can't go on."
"I'm going to bring someone here to look at you." He stepped into the fireplace before Draco had a chance to complain.
It only took half an hour to locate Padma, who was the logical choice for already being aware of the situation, and wait for her to gather supplies, and then they were back in Draco's bedroom. Which was unoccupied. Before Harry even opened his mouth he heard retching from behind the slightly-ajar door on the other side of the bed. He looked at Padma, then went around and pushed at the door.
"Go away." Draco had stopped retching, for the moment, and was curled up, sweaty, against the tile wall next to the toilet. Harry sighed, and turned back into the bedroom. "Padma? Can you move him back to bed? I would, but--" He broke off, gesturing vaguely at his own stomach. "They said I shouldn't do anything that might be a strain at this point."
Draco shuddered against the wall and groaned. "Don’t let her see--"
"Draco." Harry crossed to the sink and picked up a flannel, wetting it and squeezing out warm water, then washed off Draco's face as Padma came around the bed toward them. "Come on. Got to put you back to bed. You're way more ill than you should be, and Padma needs to see. It's not just the baby you're endangering."
"Like you'd care."
"Yes, well. We can discuss that later. Padma?" Harry stepped back, frowning at the realization that in fact, he was quite bothered by the notion of Draco endangering himself, then followed them back into the main chamber, where Padma was just settling Draco on the mattress.
"Let's have a look," she said, opening the collar of his robe.
"But!" He clutched at the fabric above his navel, holding it closed, and glared. "It's hideous."
Harry sat down on the other side of the big bed and leaned over on his elbow, then reached with his other hand, setting it on the big bulge of belly. "It's not hideous, and if you're embarrassed, well, we can always examine me next…"
"No one wants to see your freak pregnant belly either, Potter."
"Course. But then we'd be even." He spread his fingers and pressed gently, then grinned at a solid thump. "He doesn't seem to want to be ignored."
"I really do need to get to skin to do a good examination," Padma said. Harry slid his hand up to wrap around the one clenched in the robe, then scooted closer and pulled.
"Leave me alone, Potter."
"I thought you might like to feel the evidence this one jumps on my bladder, too."
Draco scowled, though the expression was less convincing broken up by a wince, and allowed his hand to be led to Harry's bump while Padma finished undoing his robe.
They both looked up when she inhaled sharply. "Draco! You're a mess!"
"I believe I said that," he said sharply, jerking his hand free to gather his robes closed.
"No, I mean, we have to get this baby out of you soon." She leaned over the edge of the bed and Summoned a device to her hand, pressing it to his skin just above the hipbone.
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"To buy some time," she said. "You're both quite certain when you conceived, so we know this baby is in its thirty-first week on the pregnancy calendar."
Draco sighed, but visibly relaxed. "What'd you gi'me?" he asked.
"That should decrease some of the pressure and allow another perhaps two weeks if you stay in bed. Then, we have to get that little guy out. Your body isn't tolerating this well at all."
"'s nah' newsh," Draco said.
"You'll need full-time care," Padma admonished.
"I'll stay." Harry didn't realize he was volunteering until he had already done it, but he found he didn't mind; after all, he did feel fine, and it was his fault, more or less.
She lifted a brow, but Draco smiled. "Po'er'll shtay. Tay' care a'mee."
"Right, then. Harry, I'll prepare a list of foods he can have, and let me show you this device…"
Harry nodded, then grimaced. "Right, but first, I've got to go use the toilet. I'll be right back."
* CONTINUED IN PART TWO *