Knotting is Fair in Love and War by Beyond (Part 1)
Hey, guys! So many people have been asking for this fic that I thought it'd be easier to just post it here. I have tried to find out why it was removed from ArchiveofOurOwn/if it's okay to share, but no luck. I hope it's okay for me to post it (if the author contacts me, I will immediately remove it), so enjoy!
Knotting is Fair in Love and War by Beyond
Pair: Sirius Black/Draco Malfoy, Padfoot/Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Bestiality, Knotting, Mpreg, Raunch, Body Horror, AU, Anal Sex, K9 - Freeform, Ass Babies, Birth Scene, Dubious Consent/Ethics, Cousin Incest
Words: 20593
Summary:
Draco switching sides may well have cost Voldemort his victory, but the war and how it ended is the least of Draco's worries now that he has five new things to worry about, and his reputation is about to take another sharp nose dive. He figures he should have let that sleeping dog lie.
Chapter 1
Slackness, softness are the sort of things to shun
Nothing could be harder than the quest for fun
Lots of strength is needed and experience too
Swollen bellies can embarrass you
- from Baal's Hymn, David Bowie in Bertolt Brecht's Baal
As embarrassments went, he hadn't thought that being turned into a ferret could ever be bested. But this? This was unreal.
Here he was, at the kitchen table of 12, Grimmauld Place. Trying to keep his breakfast down. It wasn't morning sickness turning his stomach, it was Molly Weasley's never ending stream of tips on how to handle pregnancy that he'd been subjected to before Sirius, irritated by Molly's constant hovering, had said, "Actually, about that pregnancy..."
Because there was something everyone needed to know and that they - he and Draco, although inside Draco was screaming nooooooo! - needed them to know just in case, if something went wrong, if the Ministry decided that even in times of war, this hadn't just been a severe lapse of judgement but indeed a crime. That in that case, he needed them to take care of Draco and their progeny until he had everything sorted out. In the worst case scenario he'd get a few weeks in Azkaban, basically two steps below a beach hut on the Riviera now that the Dementors were
gone. And he'd told them just what exactly was so very special about Draco's pregnancy. No amount of Draco kicking and pinching him under the table had stopped him. Draco had to hand it to him, Sirius could take a lot more abuse than he ever dealt.
Now the silence was deafening. Potter and his assortment of Weasleys were mum, having picked their jaws off the floor moments earlier. Only Nymphadora, tactless as ever, saw the funny side, stifling her laughter to the extent that tears were streaming down her face. Thank fuck the
werewolf, who'd from the looks of it had not seen any funny side whatsoever, had left the room after Sirius had brought up that there could be complications because of their extraordinary circumstances.
The fucker. Should have left sleeping dogs lie, Draco reminded himself.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Everything's allowed in love and war, right? If he was just a dog, he could pretend he wasn't fraternizing with the enemy, not until he'd made up his mind to shaft Voldemort. He'd just been creatively procrastinating. Besides, Padfoot
had been warm, friendly, comforting. Comforting only initially perhaps, granted. The half bottle of Ogden's had not helped sway Draco's perspective to the saner side. The sex had been mind-blowing, literally. He hardly remembered it, sometimes he had flashbacks to a long tongue
covering every inch of his skin, but that was it. Small mercy.
After that he'd somehow helped Sirius' side win the war, and there'd been a lot more sex, some drunk, some not, some somewhere private, some not. All of it not with the dog but with the man. But by then - and although they didn't know it, they'd felt it - something was really fucking off and it was something inside him.
As a visit to St. Mungo's had confirmed soon after, he had pups in the oven. Five of them. Who might, or might not, ever, turn human after - or during (Draco reeled in horror at the idea) - birth. Of this, Sirius had just informed everyone in the room.
Draco could almost hear Potter think it. And the rest of them.
Bitch.
Then the hold Nymphadora had on herself broke and her roaring laughter infected the rest of the room.
Unable to disapparate in his delicate condition, Draco feigned miscarriage.
It must have been convincing enough. The laughter stopped abruptly, and Molly started fussing again.
Sirius insinuated himself between her and Draco and said, "Draco? I'm taking you up, okay? You need to lie down."
"He needs to see a-" Molly started.
Sirius lifted Draco from his chair and shook his head at her. "If it's serious we'll go to St. Mungo's. He just needs some time with his feet up, you've been at him about what to eat and what not and what to drink and what not the entire morning, give it a rest, woman."
Sirius' arms were powerful, so were his legs, and he had Draco up the stairs and into their room in their own wing of the house in no time, on their bed, with his clothes loosened all the way down his rump because of course he needed air.
"They think I'm your bitch," Draco whispered, hands over his flushed face.
"So? Aren't you?"
Draco nodded without hesitation. Of course he was, all messy in his underwear, where Sirius had already a finger in him, probing. After Sirius - Padfoot - had bred him, everything down there had changed very rapidly. It had cramped and hurt for days, but now things had settled down. His arse was still fully functional, but had become selflubricating. It's a defensive reaction was how they had explained it at St. Mungo's. Your body's magic kicking in, to protect itself. He had a womb, sealed securely with a mucous plug, deep inside, so the pups wouldn't be infected with any bacteria from his feces.
They'd told him at St. Mungo's that he would have to be cleaned out thoroughly before birth, and Sirius had said he'd be there for it. Draco hoped there would be full anesthesia.
They'd also informed him of the hazards of mating with an Animagus. That in a sense it's even more risky than doing it with other magical creatures.
Too little too late, Draco thought. Preaching to the choir. Why didn't they teach that at Hogwarts?
"Well?" Sirius insisted, pulling him out of his reverie. That finger was now deep inside him, manipulating him and turning him into more willing putty.
"Yes," Draco sighed, hand on Sirius' strong arm.
"Yes what?"
"They'd be right if-they think-that I'm your bitch."
"Good boy," Sirius said, smiling at him. Deceptively sweet.
Draco smiled back. He was glad that they were just thinking it, not saying it.
The portrait of Sirius' mother had thrown heaps of colourful abuse at him when she first noticed that he'd turned sides, but then Bill Weasley and Hogwarts' new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had burned the thing clean from the wall, and there was no more screaming of profanities in the dead of night. Not from that corner of the house anyway. Draco squirmed, aching for another finger. He knew what he had to do to make Sirius give him what he wanted. "They think-they probably know-that I enjoyed it when you mounted me."
"Did you?"
"Yes," Draco said, although he had almost zero recollection of Padfoot on him, in him. But he enjoyed it when Sirius mounted him now. Still two times a day on average, given the chance.
Sirius pushed a second finger inside of him, and started pulling the nipples of his pointy little breasts with his other hand.
Draco squirmed more. "They're probably-ah! Imagining it."
"Imagining what?"
"That I betrayed the dark lord just so you'd fuck me more," Draco whispered. This was completely true, though he had no idea if they actually thought that. They might suspect something of course. It had taken him a while to not become visibly flustered, with his pupils dilated, licking his lips whenever Sirius was anywhere near him.
Sirius pursed his lips, looking amused. "And what else might they be imagining while they sit there and sip their tea?"
"The-your knot, in me, and-and-how you flooded my insides-with sperm, so hot... how it ran down my thighs, into the hollows of my knees..." He closed his eyes, raising his hips from the bed when Sirius pushed a third finger into him. "They must wonder about it all the time-how it felt-when you were breeding me."
"That's right. Or they will, from today."
"Wonder how it's possible, and how much I liked it, begged for it."
"Did you?"
"I love it," Draco said, fucking himself on Sirius' fingers, his own hands under his brand new tits, holding them up, in offering.
"Love it?"
"Loved it," Draco corrected. He had no idea if there had been begging involved, chances were there had been, very good chances.
"You'd do it again?"
"Yes, yes. I would."
"Spread your skinny legs for Padfoot? Present for his eager pink prick like a bitch in heat?"
"Yes."
"Have litter after litter of his-my- pups?"
"Yes," Draco said.
He wasn't so sure about that, not while he didn't even know how having the first litter would go down. But he didn't want to upset Sirius by telling him he'd considered aborting the lot of them. Or that he was afraid there'd be something wrong with them after generations of inbreeding between their families. Having Animagus pups was one thing, what if there was a Squib pup among them?
"What else are they thinking right now, downstairs?" Sirius asked.
"That I just wanted an excuse to get away, so you can fuck me. That I already have your cock in me, screaming for mercy because I can't take any more, because I come as soon as you're in me, because I just can't help myself. Please!"
Sirius laughed, the sound low in his throat, and moved in between Draco's spread legs to guide his prick into the inviting little hole. "Pretty bitch."
It was always too much. Too much sensation. Enormous pleasure with the vaguest hint of pain and discomfort behind it. The stretching, the weight of him, he was glad he didn't clearly remember getting knotted, it must have been agony, with only the whiskey making it tolerable for the clueless virgin that he had been.
Sirius grunted and rolled his hips, covering Draco's slender body with his own, beard grazing Draco's shoulder. Draco's abdomen was still flat enough to do it like this, although he knew Sirius preferred taking him doggy style, like a true bitch, smacking his butt hard at random intervals to throw him off rhythm and make it last longer. That was how it had been immediately after the war, when he'd always been reduced to sobs while he came, burning hot arse, inside and out, squeezing the come out of Sirius Black, decorated war hero instead of wanted mass murderer. Respectable, not insane at all, oh no, not to those who didn't have the privilege of getting fucked senseless by him with the regularity of the sun setting and rising, and the intensity of a magic firestorm.
He'd become a bit less beastly as soon as they'd found out Draco was going to be the mother of his pups. Draco was still on the fence about whether he liked that or not. He was good if it was just a temporary thing.
"My sweet little bitch," Sirius breathed against his ear, and then raised himself up on his arms. He pounded into Draco rhythmically, controlled, powerfully. "Your mother should see you like this."
"No..." Draco said.
He hadn't even told his parents. Since they weren't talking to him, they had probably heard from someone - Rita Skeeter most likely - that he was living in sin with his cousin, but they didn't know about the litter. If he had a say in it, they'd never find out about the knotting and the breeding, even if he had to tell them about his pups before they heard that from someone else too. But he didn't want to think about them right now. He wanted the pleasure to build, overtake his senses; he wanted to come.
Sirius kept at him, hips smacking into his arse, filling him up beyond capacity with every thrust and watching his pointy breasts jiggle. "Your little cunt is sucking in my cock, so greedy-like our pups will suck on your tits."
Draco nodded, thinking whatever, he enjoyed most of the things Sirius told him, designed to get him flustered, blushing, embarrassed and leaking. He tried not to imagine it. Was he actually expected to breastfeed dogs? Their puppies? Would watching it make Sirius horny? Would he insist on fucking him while he nursed them? All of those were questions Draco was glad he didn't have answers for yet.
"Turn me over. Sirius, please."
The slight hesitation. That was all he needed to know. He didn't care that Sirius still drank a lot more than was good for him, didn't care that he took off for days without saying when he would be back, didn't care that their queer relationship had started as desperate hate fucks, or that he hardly ever kissed him. He didn't care that Sirius came off as mean so often, just as long as that slight hesitation when he asked him to do something that could hurt him was there, that was enough.
Sirius slipped out of him, helped him turn, and put a hand on the small of his back when he was on his knees. He slowly drove his cock home again, making Draco whimper into the pillow his face was pushed into.
Lately, he'd started enjoying the very new sensation of his breasts swaying when Sirius fucked him from behind. He'd been completely flat - obviously - during their first few rabid fuck sessions, but now his little breasts, an embarrassment at any other time, were not heavy enough
yet to hurt, and still sensitive enough for just the flow of air over them while they swayed to give him pleasure.
Sirius' rough fingers pulling on his nipples gave a different kind of pleasure. Draco closed his eyes and moaned, barely able to breathe. He touched him so good... It was a little like having two cocks jerked off. He hoped that wasn't how breastfeeding felt, because that would just be
wrong.
He was almost there, and could feel Sirius was too, the cock that was already stretching him to the limits expanding more. Sirius pinched his nipples painfully, Draco screamed and came sloppily, hole squelching, its grasp on Sirius' cock making him hiss. He came too, bucking violently against Draco's butt, spilling inside of him.
While Sirius caught his breath, Draco wondered idly if his pups would be any bigger than Sirius' cock. If they weren't, this was probably excellent preparation for birth. He didn't want to think of them turning human halfway through. Human babies' heads... he was sure there was no way to prepare for that, unless he begged Sirius to let Padfoot knot him regularly. Pity that Sirius would never agree to that; no more knotting, was what they'd said in St. Mungo's. They didn't want several litters of different gestational ages in there.
Sirius lay down next to him, an arm over him, gently caressing Draco's slightly distended abdomen. "Satisfied?"
Draco nodded, closing his eyes and pushing his face against Sirius' chest. Draco had started hexing off his own body hair as soon as he realized he was gay, explaining it to himself as an OCD thing, like never having a hair on his head out of place. It was one of the things that had
caught Sirius' attention, he was sure. The contrast between their physiques, one smooth, one verging on furry, the only thing giving away their family ties the similar shade of grey of their eyes.
Sirius was very unkempt for a wizard of his class, belligerently so. Draco loved the dark hair on his olive-skinned chest, and the thick mane of unruly wavy hair framing his still devastatingly handsome face, the scratchy beard obscuring some of it, his untrimmed mass of pubes, clean
but matted in places, and his hairy legs, entangled with his own. The abundance of coarse black hair on him was a constant reminder for
Draco that yes, he was Padfoot's bitch, and yes, he'd do it again, any time. With the benefit of enough booze there was nothing he wouldn't do for either of them.
Sated, arse still throbbing contentedly, he no longer cared what everyone else in the house thought. In their stupid kitchen with their tepid tea and newfangled Muggle biscuits. He was pretty sure that in their own twisted way, some of them were jealous. Sirius was gorgeous in spite of pushing forty, brimming with powerful magic, rich even by Malfoy standards, exonerated of all the crimes he'd ever been accused of (including those he'd committed), and most importantly, related by blood.
What more could an up and coming young wizard want in a lover?
Chapter 2:
Dozing under a blanket on a chaise longue near the fire, Draco would have felt comfortable if not for his ever mounting anxiety about his pregnancy.
He was grateful the Weasleys had moved out, now that their new house was finished, but Potter and Ron Weasley still were around too much for his liking, visiting Sirius. He also wasn't too fond of the werewolf and Nymphadora, also frequent guests, parading their offspring around. He
didn't so much mind Bill, who'd from the looks of it had given his youngest brother a good talking too. Probably not out of concern for Draco as much as for his babies. His puppies. Draco cringed, trying to not imagine what was growing inside him too vividly. He'd overheard him
saying something about how stress was bad for pregnancies. He'd know of course, having knocked up his half-Veela wife. At least Draco wouldn't be the only one with offspring not quite human. The problem was that he didn't have the faintest idea when they'd be born.
His gut had grown considerably over the last few weeks, but at St. Mungo's they had been frustratingly unhelpful. They had no idea for how long he would be pregnant and when he was due. It could be anything between a short dog pregnancy and a long human pregnancy. They'd advised him to 'listen to his body'.
In the long history of wizards and witches, there hadn't been many people like him, no accurate accounts. If people had bred with Animagi in their animal form before, they'd probably kept quiet about it. Or else no one had been stupid - or drunk - enough to go there. The fact that
most Animagi were registered, unlike Sirius and Potter's late father, might have something to do with them not horsing around like that. Completely reckless, but Draco couldn't bring himself to hate that about Sirius. He wasn't happy, but he was happier than he had been. At least somewhat happy, if a ball of stress.
At St. Mungo's they'd also told him he needed fresh air and exercise, but he flat out refused to go anywhere. It would have been different if they'd had a large garden or lived near a forest, but he, a pregnant man, wasn't going to go out in London, among Muggles, and he sure as hell wasn't
going to parade his shame around in Diagon Alley. He only ate when he was hungry, and except for his belly and breasts, hadn't grown much rounder anywhere. The fact that he'd probably manage to get his old body back when this was over was one thing keeping him sane.
He had to admit that a few of Molly Weasley's pregnancy tips had been helpful, in ways that Nymphadora's had not been, but he resented her as much as he was grateful. He didn't want to compare himself to her in any way. He tried to feel smug about at least not having birthed seven
Weasleys, but being up the duff with five Blacks instead. He couldn't quite manage. Sure enough, they'd be purebloods, they'd not be blood traitors. That somewhere still had to count for something.
But the reality was that for the time being they were dogs, with no guarantee that they'd ever be able to figure out how to turn human.
He turned his head and wiped the tears off on a velvet pillow case. It smelled musty, but Draco refused to call Kreacher to do something about him. The house-elf loved him, but he hated it. Not with the callous disregard that Sirius did, he was more, almost, afraid of it. Its exaggerated preoccupation with how Draco was carrying more purebloods to continue the proud family line, the way it talked about it, freaked him out.
He looked at the basket with baby clothes Molly Weasley had so helpfully provided, the simplicity of its material and colour out of place in the oppressive, baroque room. The clothes were tiny, and all pure white, with the Black family crest in relief embroidery. She'd probably guessed that he wouldn't want to use anything as scrubby and vulgar looking as the whole Weasley family wore on any of his babies. The clothes, nappies and swaddling blankets were all soft, warm, fluffy, twenty sets of everything because babies had to be changed frequently and so
Kreacher could keep up with the laundry, she'd said.
That she completely ignored the fact that Draco's litter might not be human and not need any clothes made him both hopeful and bitter.
He had no one to talk to. His parents hadn't talked to him since the end of the war. He knew his mother had switched sides too, to protect him if necessary, and that was what had saved his father's hide, who had feigned neutrality at the last moment. He was in Azkaban though, and
would remain there for three more years. He couldn't tell them about the pups. It was bad enough that he was shacking up with Sirius. They wouldn't have minded anyone else who was related, but they'd have preferred a girl he guessed.
His old Slytherin friends were either dead, imprisoned, or keeping their distance. What did he have to tell them? That his only major life change after Hogwarts involved having been bred by Gryffindor's top dog? He'd really rather die, although he actually didn't want to die, and didn't want to hurt. He wanted his mother.
Stubbornly pushing back more tears, he tried to sleep, feeling too exhausted to get himself into bed. He wasn't going to cry in front of Sirius, ever. He wasn't going to risk anything that pushed him away.
Thinking of the devil, Draco thought, when he heard the tell-tale tapping of dog nails on the polished wooden floor. When he was tired, back from whatever they asked him to do as a member of various post-war committees at the Ministry - Shacklebolt, always on good terms with Sirius, had insisted - he tended to turn into a dog at night, to give his mind a rest. Draco preferred that to the heavy drinking, he liked Padfoot because the dog was less complicated to deal with.
He never tried anything funny, just slipped in next to him, the soft yet powerful bulk of him bringing warmth, comfort, and blissful sleep.
But before five minutes had passed, Padfoot turned, and Sirius sat up next to him. "I know you're not asleep."
Draco slowly opened his eyes. He was amazed that Sirius still wanted him, frequently, as grotesque as he must look. That he hadn't dumped him. He was a free man now, he could go anywhere. He wondered if he wanted an explanation, but didn't know what to say.
Sirius reached out and caressed his face. "Nobody deserves your tears, but whoever deserves them will not make you cry," he said.
"What?"
"Not my words. It's a line from a Muggle book. Hermione forgot it in the kitchen and she circled that line with marker. But I agree with the sentiment."
Draco gulped.
"I know you've been crying. Padfoot can smell it. The hormones, the salt. What is it?"
"Just... hormones, I guess," Draco said.
Sirius grinned. "Fine cop-out if I ever heard one." He brought his hand down and caressed Draco's pregnant belly. The pups were not asleep. Squirming. "Do they hurt you?"
"No."
Sirius brushed his hair out of his face, and said, "Look, I'm not the most sensitive kind, but I do worry about you, cooped up here with a crazy house-elf. I know you have no one to talk to. And you never ask me for anything. Tell me."
"I'm fine," Draco lied.
Sirius sighed, pulled one of his hands up by the wrist, kissed the inside of it and then bit his thumb pad lightly. He let go and said, "Tell me or I'll have Padfoot bite you."
He wouldn't, Draco thought. On the other hand, he'd never refused Sirius anything before. But that had been simpler demands, physically mostly. Some for information during the war, but that was over. He didn't want to sound like a nag, needy. He didn't want to feel dependent and helpless.
"I want... my mum," he admitted, trying very hard not to cry again.
"Okay," Sirius said.
Draco wanted to make it clear that he just wanted to see her, talk to her, not go home with her or anything like that. "I want to talk to her."
"That can be arranged. What else?"
"I want another house-elf."
"Another one? Don't we have enough trouble with one?"
"Can't you retire him? He's... awful. I don't want him around our-ourwith his crazy talk about purebloods. I fell for all of that, thought I was better than everyone else my whole life, and see where it got me."
Sirius nodded. "You're right, I agree. We're... a bit fucked up," he said, and chuckled. "But there's no reason-" he patted Draco's belly, "to submit them to the same. How about I get us a new house-elf, and we have it redecorate the whole house as its first job? In brighter colours?"
Draco nodded. "No house colours."
"Pastels and natural wood then? Sounds good to me," Sirius said, laughing. "Might look a bit Muggle."
Draco didn't care. He laced his fingers through Sirius' and asked, "How did you do it? Know that you didn't want any part of it-when you were only eleven?"
Sirius shrugged. "I guess I was born contrary. Reckless. Some would call it courage, some would say I'm a 'sociopath'-"
"What is that?"
"A Muggle thing, we'd call them Warlocks. Reckless, and dangerous, to myself and others. It's the same thing that put me in Azkaban. But not what kept me there. I let the Dementors wreak havoc with my mind for more than ten years for something I didn't do but blamed myself for
anyway. That was loyalty. That's something, maybe the only thing, you should know about me. I may be a terrible dog, but I'm a loyal dog too. And I'm willing to put up with a lot. From people... I consider worth it."
Draco shivered, not sure he understood.
"I know what you're afraid of. I'll never leave you," Sirius said. "Well, maybe for a few days occasionally, but I'll always come back. Now tell me what you need me to do and I'll get it done."
Draco thought. A new house-elf, that was a relief. Redecorating another, he didn't want for any of his children, or puppies, to grow up in a place as gloomy as this. He had no idea what he was going to do for baby beds. Five cribs or five dog beds? But there was one thing he really
wanted that had nothing to do with the pups.
"You-you almost never kiss me," Draco said. When he did, he was usually drunk. Not that Draco minded, but it was humiliating that he wasn't into kissing when he was sober. As if there was something wrong with his face without Whiskey goggles.
"I thought you didn't want me to," Sirius said, frowning.
"Why would you think that?" Draco wondered.
"Because I have no delusions about the way I look. I was as handsome as you are when I was your age, but now... I'm more than twice as old. An old man ravaged by hard time. That's why you prefer it from behind, isn't it?"
Draco shook his head, feeling himself blushing furiously. He preferred it from behind because of how deep Sirius could fuck him like that, because of how dominated it made him feel, because of how hard that feeling of being utterly powerless and owned made him come. Not because he didn't want to see him, on the contrary, he thought Sirius looked absolutely glorious, he'd never seen a finer wizard. They really had a communication problem. He sat up, and said, "No, no. I-if I want you to fuck me almost every time I look at you, I damn well want you to kiss me."
"You want to have sex every time you look at me?" Sirius asked, pulling him closer.
Draco nodded, suddenly not sleepy anymore, body tight with anticipation, and he could feel his hole twitching, getting moist while his cock swelled rapidly. "I thought you knew that." Draco thought everyone knew that, that was what made him so uncomfortable around other people who knew about him and Sirius.
"Well, Padfoot could smell it. It had me mightily confused."
Sitting up on his knees, Draco straddled one of Sirius' thighs, and pressed into him. Sirius slipped a hand in under his robes and cupped his cock. He looked into Draco's eyes, licked his lips, and then kissed him. Draco was in heaven. He was going to see his mother, he was getting a new house-elf, and he had so much less to worry about where Sirius was concerned. He had Sirius' tongue in his mouth, for once not tasting of alcohol, a finger in his hungry butt, and soon after, Sirius' hot, throbbing cock.
Draco insisted on staying on his back for it, thighs on top of Sirius', to look at him, to make it clear that he loved looking at him in the throes of passion. It made it also possible for Sirius to suck his nipples, a sensation he'd come to enjoy so much he was pretty sure that alone could make him come. This was good too, better perhaps because Sirius kissed him again while he came, literally taking his breath away while his hole clamped tightly, painfully around Sirius' spurting cock.
He woke up in a sun-flooded room where the curtains had been torn down, and could hear Sirius arguing with Kreacher downstairs, about his oncoming retirement. Draco chose to ignore it. He had a bath, and by the time he was dressed, Kreacher was gone. Sirius tore the curtains down in a few more rooms, and some of the loudly-protesting dark old paintings for good measure. He made them slightly burned toast and tea for breakfast, and kissed Draco goodbye before leaving.
"I'm going to see about a house-elf - they can probably spare a decent one at the Ministry - don't be surprised when it pops up, and then I'll see what I can do about your mother. If there's anything else, send me an owl."
Draco nodded, settling down with his tea. He tried one of the Muggle biscuits Granger had left. It didn't taste bad. For the first time in he couldn't remember how long, he felt relatively happy. He felt as if he finally knew how to handle Sirius. He was manageable, as long as he had something to do. Like a good dog. A very good dog. Draco closed his eyes. He could still taste him, still feel him moving inside him, but then he felt several of the pups kick and told himself that it was perhaps time to look into what exercise he could do. Walking up and down the stairs, he guessed. But not all the way to the attic, that could hold more dark family secrets he was in no hurry to discover. The new house-elf could deal with that.
The new house-elf popped up just in time to fix him lunch. It was called Totty, was wearing a clean uniform that meant it was a free elf working for a living wage, and Draco decided to treat it with respect since he didn't want a repeat of the shit Dobby had gotten up to and the creepiness of Kreacher. The meal was better than anything he'd eaten over the past few weeks, and when he was done, the kitchen looked cleaner. His and Sirius' room looked cleaner and brighter almost immediately too, and after running up and down the stairs twenty times, he settled down with the Muggle book Granger had left. What they didn't know he was reading couldn't hurt his image.
TBC...