Fic: "Precipice," Part 3
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Category: Futurefic/War, Angst, Established Relationship, mpreg, hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: So very much not mine.
Summary: You can only go so far before you fall.
This is a sequel to In Those Days, but works as a standalone as well, I think.
Thank you to off_that_bridge for betaing, to amchau for britpicking and to rurounihime for her thoughts.
Part 1.
Part 2.
~*~*~
Hermione was doing the washing up when Harry entered the kitchen. Passing by the small table next to the door, he picked a towel off the back of a chair and wordlessly started drying the cups already sitting on the dish rack. He noticed that Hermione had changed from her robes into jeans and a grey jumper.
“Thanks,” Hermione said with a small smile. “They’d been piling up all week. It’s been busy.”
Busy meant more attacks, more injuries, more people to take care of. Harry didn’t want to know how many exactly. “Draco’s asleep.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
Harry managed to wait about a minute before asking, “What’s wrong with Draco?”
Hermione’s hands stilled, her gaze trained past the potted herbs on the window sill in front of her. “A few things.”
“What does that mean?”
Hermione reached for another plate, carefully rinsing it before handing it to Harry. “I’ve got a question or two--”
“Then ask,” Harry snapped.
Hermione shot him a glance. “Fine. When’s Draco’s due date?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Just what I said, that I don’t know. I…we think it’s soon, though. A bit over a month away, maybe.”
Vigorously scrubbing a fork, Hermione asked, “You never calculated the date? Why…oh, never mind. Tell me what day Draco took the potion, and we can figure it out. Surely you remember that, don’t you?”
Harry put down the plate he’d been drying. “There was no potion.”
“Harry. You must realise that-”
“Yes, thank you, I do. No need to…” lecture me. He took a steadying breath. “Do you remember what you were working on last summer?”
Hermione frowned. “Of course. The restorative spells, but-”
“Draco accidentally got hit by one when people on your team were trying them out. In June. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“That never came up in any of reports, not even as remote possibility.”
Harry shrugged. “You were experimenting with a new spell. How could you have known?”
Hermione shut off the water. “I suppose.” Her frown deepened.
“Draco and I never planned for this to happen. There’s no other explanation, really.”
“No, you’re right, it’s just…quite surprising.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Harry fondly remembered the litany of curses he’d been confronted with when Draco had first figured out the situation he was in and its most likely cause.
Hermione heavily leaned against the work top, eyes averted. “I owe you an apology.”
“No.” Harry rested his hand on Hermione’s arm. “You don’t owe me…us anything. I’m glad this happened.”
Hermione looked at him. “What about Draco?”
“Same for him. Took a while, but…yeah.”
“I can imagine. That it took getting used to, I mean. I never thought-” She broke off, shaking her head. Turning towards one of the cupboards, she asked, “Tea?”
Harry nodded, and watched Hermione pull out two cups and tea bags. “How d’you find out? Did Draco see a healer?”
“Uh, no. He insisted it was just a protracted case of the flu. I didn’t really think too much of it until I overheard these two women talking, well, gossiping, really, next to my desk one day, and everything they said perfectly fit what Draco had been complaining about.”
“Uhuh.” Hermione poured boiling water into their cups. “Sugar’s on the table. Milk?”
“Please.”
After Hermione got a carton of milk from the refrigerator, they sat down. “And?” She asked.
“I went to a pharmacy after work and bought a pregnancy test.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “You bought a muggle pregnancy test.”
“Er, yes.”
“And Draco didn’t hex you?”
“Not at first.” Harry stirred his tea. “He let me know exactly what he thought of me and the test, and then took it to prove that I was out of my mind. When it turned out to be positive, he just glared at me and flooed to Hogsmeade. To see Snape.”
Hermione nodded, urging Harry to go on.
“Well, he hexed me when he came back. Then he locked himself into the bedroom for three hours and refused to talk to me. Not that it wasn’t clear by his behaviour what Snape had told him. When Draco finally let me in, he just said-” Harry’s throat closed up at the memory.
“What?”
Harry gulped down some tea. “He said, ‘It’s a girl.’”
“Oh. That’s…that’s…”
“Yeah.”
Harry’s eyes fell on the muggle newspaper lying on the table. He scanned the headlines, out of habit reading for clues about the war in his world, wondering if Hermione did the same thing, or if she was only interested in what was happening on this side of Diagon Alley. Maybe she needed something to talk about on the occasional visits with her parents, something they’d really understand.
“D’you remember the date?” Hermione asked, cutting through Harry’s thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“The date Draco saw Snape.”
Harry swallowed. “It was in September. The week before-”
“Before Ginny was killed,” Hermione finished for him.
“Yes.” Harry fiddled with his cup.
“That makes it about eight months, then.”
Harry looked up at her, surprised by the lack of more questions about Ginny. “Sounds about right. Suddenly remembering Hermione’s earlier inquiry, he asked, “Why did you want to know Draco’s due date?”
Hermione pulled her chair closer to the table and leaned forward on her elbows. “It’s…look, Harry, the thing is-”
“You said…you said he might have pneumonia. Does he?”
“Yes. It’s quite severe, actually, and you know about the fever.”
Harry nodded.
“Because of the baby, I can’t give him the potions I’d normally give to him.”
“But what you gave Draco earlier was safe? And she’s okay, isn’t she?”
“Yes to both. She’s a bit on the light side if Draco’s really eight months along, but under the circumstances, that’s quite understandable.”
“Oh.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I…I tried to get him to eat more, but he wouldn’t, and he never told me when he wasn’t feeling well, even if it was obvious that he was bloody miserable, and-”
“Don’t blame yourself. I’m sure you did everything you could.”
“Wasn’t good enough.” Harry stood up and poured the remainder of his tea down the drain. “What else?”
Hermione sighed. “Well, I think, and I’m not an expert in this, but as far as I know, pregnant witches are required to take a potion in their last trimester that helps the baby’s magic to develop.”
“Draco never got that potion,” Harry whispered, slowly turning around to face Hermione.
“The potion also prevents the baby from depleting the mother’s magic. You didn’t notice that? Draco hasn’t had any problems with doing spells?”
Harry pondered that for a moment. “I’m not sure. He hasn’t really done any advanced magic these past two months. Just basic things, Lumos and so on. So the baby’s been taking away Draco’s ability to do magic?”
Hermione pushed aside her empty tea cup. “Not taking away. More like living off of it.” Clearly anticipating Harry’s question, she added, “It’s not permanent, but it’s very draining.”
That explained why Draco wanted to sleep all the time, and probably also why he was sick now. Harry cursed inwardly for taking Draco’s permanent exhaustion as simply another side effect of the pregnancy, for not being more suspicious of what else it might mean. He slumped back into his chair.
“You didn’t know,” Hermione said quietly. “And it seems Draco wasn’t aware of it, either.”
“No. Or maybe he did know, and didn’t mention it because he knew we wouldn’t be able to get or make the potion anyway.” Harry wondered what other things Draco had possibly kept from him. “Can you give the potion to him now?”
“Hmm, yes. It takes a while to simmer, but it’s fairly easy to brew otherwise.”
“When do you think Draco will be okay again?”
Hermione didn’t reply at first. The solemn expression on her face made Harry’s stomach twist into tight knots. “He’s going to be okay, right?”
“Harry, have you and Draco ever. Did you talk about. In case something ever happened to Draco, have you decided what to do if….if you had to make a choice between-”
Harry gripped the edge of the table because he felt as if he was falling. “You can’t. That’s not. Please tell me you don’t mean that. Hermione, please.”
Hermione reached for his hand. “I’m not saying you’ll have to make that choice. But you might have to.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“Draco’s very sick, and the next twelve hours are critical. If he takes a turn for the worse, he’s going to need stronger potions, preferably at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione explained slowly.
“But you said that they’d hurt the baby.”
“Yes. They would. That’s why I said you had to choose. They could do a Caesarean. She’s along far enough in her development to…she could make it.”
Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest. “And Draco?”
Hermione slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Harry couldn’t sit still any longer. The kitchen was far too small for proper pacing, so he went through the glass doors into the living room. He glanced into the bedroom, momentarily relieved to see Draco still asleep. Quietly closing the door, he turned to Hermione, who had followed him. “I can’t make that decision.”
“But you might have to.” Hermione leaned against one of the bookshelves lining the room.
Harry began walking back and forth, aware of Hermione’s eyes following his steps. “I can’t.”
This time, Hermione remained silent.
The floorboards creaked under Harry’s steps, almost like the rickety bridge he and Draco had crossed over one day back in late October. Draco had suddenly stopped walking, one hand flying to his stomach while the other dug into Harry’s arm. Harry never had the chance to ask what was wrong; a small gasp slipped past Draco’s lips, and there was a look in his eyes, a quiet reverence that made Harry go very still. Draco had reached for his hand then, guided it under layers of clothing until Harry could feel it, that tiny flutter pressing back against his fingers. That evening, they broke into a house so that Draco could have a bath and they could make love in bed.
Feeling very tired all of a sudden, Harry sat down on the sofa, head in his hands. “Why does this always happen to me?”
The cushion next to Harry dipped under Hermione’s weight. “What d’you mean?”
“Making impossible choices. Being in the middle of things without any clear picture of what to do.” More quietly, he added, “Losing all the good things in my life.”
Harry wasn’t surprised when Hermione had no answer for him. In the past, she might have tried to console him with a few reassuring words, but he was grateful she didn’t try that now. He found the silence between them remarkably comfortable.
With a squeeze to his shoulder, Hermione stood up. “I’ll get started on that potion now. You should try to sleep.”
Harry shook his head. “I’ll go check on Draco.”
Hermione nodded in acknowledgment. “Let me know if you need anything.”
~*~*~
Draco lay curled up on his side, a pillow wedged between his legs. The shirt he was wearing clung to his skin, damp in patches on his back, under his arms.
Harry sat down on the bed, his hand unconsciously reaching for his own chest when he heard Draco’s laboured breathing.
“Harry?”
“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
Draco blinked a few times before opening his eyes. “Wasn’t sleeping.”
“I was hoping you were.”
“No, I…I felt her move-”
“You did?” This was a good sign. A sign that things would look up.
“Yeah, and I didn’t want to miss if she moved again.” Draco coughed.
“Shhh.” Harry rested his hand between Draco’s shoulder blades. “I understand. Tell me if you feel her again?”
Draco nodded.
“D’you want some water?”
Another nod.
“Be right back.” Harry took the glass from the locker and refilled it in the bathroom.
Draco let Harry help him to sit up, but shot him a warning glance when he tried to hold on to the glass.
“Hmm, better.” Draco’s voice sounded less strained after he had finished the water. “I heard you and Hermione talk.”
Harry’s stomach flip-flopped, and he forced himself not to look away from Draco. “Yeah, we…we talked. She said you have pneumonia, and a fever. Guess that’s obvious, huh? The fever, I mean. But…it’ll be okay, love. Just don’t to worry, okay?”
For a long moment, Draco gazed at Harry, then he said, “Hmm. Does that mean more of that awful potion?”
Harry laughed, almost choked on it, on Draco’s sarcastic remark, on the way his heart jumped at the realisation that he could never give this up, give Draco up. His voice wavered when he replied, “I’m afraid so.”
“What?” Draco asked softly.
“Nothing,” Harry said firmly. “You should change into a different shirt. I’m sure Hermione wouldn’t mind you borrowing something.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Harry hoped he’d accept the change of subject, that he wouldn’t press Harry on what was on his mind.
“What I need is a bath,” Draco said with a sigh.
“So do I. At least you get fresh clothes.”
Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Hermione must own more than one shirt.”
Harry ignored Draco’s comment with a pointed look. “You want your trousers off as well?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Not exactly the subtlest way of getting me undressed.”
“But effective.” Harry unbuttoned and unzipped Draco’s trousers.
“Apparently so.”
Draco’s eyes challenged Harry to continue their exchange, but there was something about those quickly-traded remarks that took away Harry’s ability to speak. He wanted to wrap himself up in the words, pull them tightly around his body like a well-worn coat.
They remained silent while Harry helped Draco pull off his shirt and trousers, small gestures and touches enough to co-ordinate their movements.
Draco’s skin was flushed, an odd contrast to its usual paleness. Harry tried to assess how thin Draco looked; it was hard to tell, considering that Draco had always been rather skinny. There was a roundness to places that used to be all points and angles, and Harry wanted to know what they would feel like under his hands, wanted to explore this changed landscape of Draco’s body, feel curves and hollows rise and dip under his fingers.
“You’re doing that staring thing again,” Draco said.
Harry blinked, heat rising on his cheeks. “I, er…” He noticed that Draco awkwardly scratched his shoulder, arm across his chest, while his other arm wrapped around his belly. “Sorry. I just…haven’t got a good look at you in a while.”
“Hmm.”
“We’ve gone over this.”
Draco averted his eyes.
Harry gently took Draco by his shoulders. “I’ve told you that I like-”
“Yes, you.” Draco’s gaze flickered back to Harry. “You like me…like this. But maybe I don’t.”
Barely registering that his hands fell away from Draco, Harry whispered, “You…you don’t? But I thought. I thought you were glad? About…”
Draco’s breathing became more strained. “That’s not what I meant. I could never-” He paused for a moment. “Never regret anything about her. That doesn’t mean I like looking as if I’ve swallowed a quaffle or three. I--” He broke off, grimacing, one hand pressing against his chest.
“Hurts?” Harry asked, his hand hovering over Draco’s.
“’s not bad.”
Harry studied Draco, the way his lips formed a thin line and his eyebrows knitted together. “You want me to…”
Draco didn’t reply, only took Harry’s hand, squeezing it tightly. His head dropped forward to rest against Harry’s shoulder. Slowly, shallow intakes of breath deepened, evened out.
“Better?” Harry asked hesitantly.
“Yeah.” Draco sat up. “Was just a twinge. Happens from time to time.”
“Draco-”
“You really like looking at me now?”
Harry was tempted to ignore the question and demand a fuller explanation about these twinges, but for what? To make Draco feel guilty on top of everything else? He’d be upset again, and cough more, and be in even more pain, and-
Harry cut off that train of thought with a deep breath and returned his focus to Draco’s question. “Yes.”
Draco held his gaze for a moment. Very softly, he said, “All right.”
So Harry looked, with his eyes and his hands, fingers trailing in winding paths over Draco’s body. The past few weeks, there had at least been a thin layer of cotton under Harry’s hand whenever he’d touched Draco, filtering both his movements and Draco’s reactions. Now everything seemed that much more palpable, especially the heat radiating off Draco’s skin.
Carefully tracing along the pink-red lines on Draco’s belly, Harry asked, “Are they bothering you?”
Draco shrugged.
“Are they?” Harry asked more insistently.
“They itch a little.”
Make that a lot. “I’ll ask Hermione for a healing salve.”
Draco looked down, his fringes falling into his face. “It’s not that bad.”
Frustration welled up in Harry, and he couldn’t hold it back this time. “I just want you to be comfortable. As far as that’s possible. I know you’ve got to feel like shit right now, and if there’s something that you can make you feel a little better, then I want you to have it. Why is that such a problem?”
“Are you done?” Weariness outweighed the annoyance in Draco’s voice.
“Sorry. It’s just…” Harry halted, swallowing down the words on the tip of his tongue. Enough damage done. “I’ll get you another shirt now.”
There was a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt that immediately caught Harry’s eye because of its deep green colour. He charmed it to twice its size and handed it to Draco, who accepted it with a small smile.
“Nice colour.” Draco’s voice came muffled from inside the shirt.
“I thought you might like it.”
“Feels nice, too. Thanks.”
Harry smoothed the fabric over Draco’s shoulders and chest. “Good.”
“That’s nice as well,” Draco said quietly.
“Yeah?” Harry’s hands continued their small movements.
“Hmm.”
“Lie back.”
Once Draco was settled against the pillows, Harry resumed his task. “You could just ask me, you know. For this, I mean.” He slowly stroked over Draco’s side. “And not only when you’re in so much pain you-” Harry broke off. “Never mind.”
“It just…feels silly.”
“What? For you to ask me to touch you? It’s not exactly a chore, Draco.”
Draco’s eyes darted off to the side. “Still.”
Harry sighed. “Ask me next time, will you? Please?”
“Oh, all right.” Draco still insistently looked away, but Harry could feel his body relax.
Harry’s hand moved over Draco’s belly now, and he let it linger there in the hope of feeling his daughter move. She usually responded when Harry rubbed small circles over one spot, but not this time. Disappointed, his fingers trailed up to Draco’s chest again, down his arms, slipping under the sleeves of Draco’s shirt. The pulse at his wrist was fluttery, yet strong.
Gently scraping his nails across the palm of Draco’s hand, Harry asked. “Is there anything else you want?”
Draco slowly looked back at Harry. “A kiss.”
Harry smiled. “I can do that.” He leaned forward, only to be stopped by a hand against his chest.
“A proper kiss,” Draco admonished.
“Wouldn’t think of anything el--” Harry mumbled, his lips already brushing against Draco’s, the last syllable swept up into their kiss.
“How was that?” Harry asked after they pulled apart.
“One more.”
Harry thought there was something rather desperate to this second kiss, even if it was without haste.
“You hadn’t kissed me in two days,” Draco remarked afterwards.
“Keeping track?”
“Indeed.” Traces of uncertainty betrayed the confidence of Draco’s words.
Tucking a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear, Harry said, “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. You were sleeping so much, and felt awful the rest of the time, and I just…didn’t know.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have wanted a full-out snog, but…”
“’m sorry.”
“You made up for it.”
“I’ll snog you once you’re better.”
“And I’ll keep you to that,” Draco said with a wistful smile. “Fall asleep with me?”
Sleep was the last thing on Harry’s mind. Rationally, he knew Draco needed rest, but Harry wanted to keep talking to Draco, wanted him to stay awake. This wasn’t about what Harry wanted, however. “Of course, love.”
Harry quickly took off his trousers, jumper, and socks, dropping everything on the floor. After switching off the light, he asked, “Want to lean against me?”
“Mmhmm.”
Pushing all but one pillow out of the way, Harry settled against the headboard, stretching his legs out on either side of Draco, who slid lower to comfortably rest his head against Harry’s chest. Turning slightly sideways, Draco folded his hands on top of his belly and closed his eyes.
“Sleep well,” Harry said, tucking the duvet around Draco.
“You too.”
Draco shifted, his hair brushing across Harry’s cheek, a soft whisper, gone in an instant. Harry’s hand followed, winding into Draco’s hair until strands tangled around his fingers, his thumb sliding over the nape of Draco’s neck. Harry thought he heard Draco sigh with contentment, and he felt Draco grow heavier against him.
Despite Harry’s best efforts to clear his mind, he couldn’t shake the restlessness that increased with every little sign of Draco drifting further off to sleep. There was so much that had gone unsaid in these past months, things Harry had kept to himself because it wasn’t the right time or place or whatever other excuse he’d come up with.
“Draco?”
“Hmm?”
“I-” And then Harry’s mind was blank, or maybe it was too full, he didn’t know. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” came the automatic reply.
“No, I…I meant-” Harry desperately searched for words to explain that this wasn’t just one of those I love you’s you said at the end of the day, that this was more significant, meant…everything.
“What?”
“I-” Harry nearly choked on the word.
For a few moments, neither of them said anything.
“Harry.” Draco took Harry’s hand in-between his own, gently enveloping it with his fingers. “Promise me you’ll take care of her.”
“No,” Harry said shakily. “No. That’s not. No.” He squeezed his eyes shut, burrowing into Draco’s hair.
“Please.”
Harry shook his head.
Draco turned around, and his hand came up to Harry’s face, palm curving against his cheek, his lips pressing a kiss against Harry’s jaw before he whispered, “Promise me.”
Harry pulled Draco tightly against himself, but even with Draco pressed close against him, Harry felt as if he was slipping away. There had been this moment during the bonding spell when Draco’s presence had filled every corner of his mind, every particle of his body, and Harry wanted that now. He’d crawl under Draco’s skin if could.
“Too tight,” Draco mumbled, squirming in Harry’s arms.
“Sorry.” Harry relaxed his hold.
Running his hand over his belly, Draco said quietly, “She’s a bit demanding where space is concerned, especially now that there isn’t much room left in here for her.”
“Sorry,” Harry said again, and quickly added, “I can’t make that promise. I just can’t. Not because I…you know that I love her. But I love you, too. I love you so much.”
Draco nodded slowly, his face unreadable, obscured by shadows.
“We’ll take care of her. Together. I can promise you that.”
Draco nodded once, leaning back against Harry. “’s okay. I understand. I know you’re not going to let anything happen to her.”
Before Harry had a chance to respond, Draco was asleep.
On to Part 4
.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Futurefic/War, Angst, Established Relationship, mpreg, hurt/comfort
Disclaimer: So very much not mine.
Summary: You can only go so far before you fall.
This is a sequel to In Those Days, but works as a standalone as well, I think.
Thank you to off_that_bridge for betaing, to amchau for britpicking and to rurounihime for her thoughts.
Part 1.
Part 2.
~*~*~
Hermione was doing the washing up when Harry entered the kitchen. Passing by the small table next to the door, he picked a towel off the back of a chair and wordlessly started drying the cups already sitting on the dish rack. He noticed that Hermione had changed from her robes into jeans and a grey jumper.
“Thanks,” Hermione said with a small smile. “They’d been piling up all week. It’s been busy.”
Busy meant more attacks, more injuries, more people to take care of. Harry didn’t want to know how many exactly. “Draco’s asleep.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
Harry managed to wait about a minute before asking, “What’s wrong with Draco?”
Hermione’s hands stilled, her gaze trained past the potted herbs on the window sill in front of her. “A few things.”
“What does that mean?”
Hermione reached for another plate, carefully rinsing it before handing it to Harry. “I’ve got a question or two--”
“Then ask,” Harry snapped.
Hermione shot him a glance. “Fine. When’s Draco’s due date?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Just what I said, that I don’t know. I…we think it’s soon, though. A bit over a month away, maybe.”
Vigorously scrubbing a fork, Hermione asked, “You never calculated the date? Why…oh, never mind. Tell me what day Draco took the potion, and we can figure it out. Surely you remember that, don’t you?”
Harry put down the plate he’d been drying. “There was no potion.”
“Harry. You must realise that-”
“Yes, thank you, I do. No need to…” lecture me. He took a steadying breath. “Do you remember what you were working on last summer?”
Hermione frowned. “Of course. The restorative spells, but-”
“Draco accidentally got hit by one when people on your team were trying them out. In June. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“That never came up in any of reports, not even as remote possibility.”
Harry shrugged. “You were experimenting with a new spell. How could you have known?”
Hermione shut off the water. “I suppose.” Her frown deepened.
“Draco and I never planned for this to happen. There’s no other explanation, really.”
“No, you’re right, it’s just…quite surprising.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Harry fondly remembered the litany of curses he’d been confronted with when Draco had first figured out the situation he was in and its most likely cause.
Hermione heavily leaned against the work top, eyes averted. “I owe you an apology.”
“No.” Harry rested his hand on Hermione’s arm. “You don’t owe me…us anything. I’m glad this happened.”
Hermione looked at him. “What about Draco?”
“Same for him. Took a while, but…yeah.”
“I can imagine. That it took getting used to, I mean. I never thought-” She broke off, shaking her head. Turning towards one of the cupboards, she asked, “Tea?”
Harry nodded, and watched Hermione pull out two cups and tea bags. “How d’you find out? Did Draco see a healer?”
“Uh, no. He insisted it was just a protracted case of the flu. I didn’t really think too much of it until I overheard these two women talking, well, gossiping, really, next to my desk one day, and everything they said perfectly fit what Draco had been complaining about.”
“Uhuh.” Hermione poured boiling water into their cups. “Sugar’s on the table. Milk?”
“Please.”
After Hermione got a carton of milk from the refrigerator, they sat down. “And?” She asked.
“I went to a pharmacy after work and bought a pregnancy test.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “You bought a muggle pregnancy test.”
“Er, yes.”
“And Draco didn’t hex you?”
“Not at first.” Harry stirred his tea. “He let me know exactly what he thought of me and the test, and then took it to prove that I was out of my mind. When it turned out to be positive, he just glared at me and flooed to Hogsmeade. To see Snape.”
Hermione nodded, urging Harry to go on.
“Well, he hexed me when he came back. Then he locked himself into the bedroom for three hours and refused to talk to me. Not that it wasn’t clear by his behaviour what Snape had told him. When Draco finally let me in, he just said-” Harry’s throat closed up at the memory.
“What?”
Harry gulped down some tea. “He said, ‘It’s a girl.’”
“Oh. That’s…that’s…”
“Yeah.”
Harry’s eyes fell on the muggle newspaper lying on the table. He scanned the headlines, out of habit reading for clues about the war in his world, wondering if Hermione did the same thing, or if she was only interested in what was happening on this side of Diagon Alley. Maybe she needed something to talk about on the occasional visits with her parents, something they’d really understand.
“D’you remember the date?” Hermione asked, cutting through Harry’s thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“The date Draco saw Snape.”
Harry swallowed. “It was in September. The week before-”
“Before Ginny was killed,” Hermione finished for him.
“Yes.” Harry fiddled with his cup.
“That makes it about eight months, then.”
Harry looked up at her, surprised by the lack of more questions about Ginny. “Sounds about right. Suddenly remembering Hermione’s earlier inquiry, he asked, “Why did you want to know Draco’s due date?”
Hermione pulled her chair closer to the table and leaned forward on her elbows. “It’s…look, Harry, the thing is-”
“You said…you said he might have pneumonia. Does he?”
“Yes. It’s quite severe, actually, and you know about the fever.”
Harry nodded.
“Because of the baby, I can’t give him the potions I’d normally give to him.”
“But what you gave Draco earlier was safe? And she’s okay, isn’t she?”
“Yes to both. She’s a bit on the light side if Draco’s really eight months along, but under the circumstances, that’s quite understandable.”
“Oh.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I…I tried to get him to eat more, but he wouldn’t, and he never told me when he wasn’t feeling well, even if it was obvious that he was bloody miserable, and-”
“Don’t blame yourself. I’m sure you did everything you could.”
“Wasn’t good enough.” Harry stood up and poured the remainder of his tea down the drain. “What else?”
Hermione sighed. “Well, I think, and I’m not an expert in this, but as far as I know, pregnant witches are required to take a potion in their last trimester that helps the baby’s magic to develop.”
“Draco never got that potion,” Harry whispered, slowly turning around to face Hermione.
“The potion also prevents the baby from depleting the mother’s magic. You didn’t notice that? Draco hasn’t had any problems with doing spells?”
Harry pondered that for a moment. “I’m not sure. He hasn’t really done any advanced magic these past two months. Just basic things, Lumos and so on. So the baby’s been taking away Draco’s ability to do magic?”
Hermione pushed aside her empty tea cup. “Not taking away. More like living off of it.” Clearly anticipating Harry’s question, she added, “It’s not permanent, but it’s very draining.”
That explained why Draco wanted to sleep all the time, and probably also why he was sick now. Harry cursed inwardly for taking Draco’s permanent exhaustion as simply another side effect of the pregnancy, for not being more suspicious of what else it might mean. He slumped back into his chair.
“You didn’t know,” Hermione said quietly. “And it seems Draco wasn’t aware of it, either.”
“No. Or maybe he did know, and didn’t mention it because he knew we wouldn’t be able to get or make the potion anyway.” Harry wondered what other things Draco had possibly kept from him. “Can you give the potion to him now?”
“Hmm, yes. It takes a while to simmer, but it’s fairly easy to brew otherwise.”
“When do you think Draco will be okay again?”
Hermione didn’t reply at first. The solemn expression on her face made Harry’s stomach twist into tight knots. “He’s going to be okay, right?”
“Harry, have you and Draco ever. Did you talk about. In case something ever happened to Draco, have you decided what to do if….if you had to make a choice between-”
Harry gripped the edge of the table because he felt as if he was falling. “You can’t. That’s not. Please tell me you don’t mean that. Hermione, please.”
Hermione reached for his hand. “I’m not saying you’ll have to make that choice. But you might have to.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“Draco’s very sick, and the next twelve hours are critical. If he takes a turn for the worse, he’s going to need stronger potions, preferably at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione explained slowly.
“But you said that they’d hurt the baby.”
“Yes. They would. That’s why I said you had to choose. They could do a Caesarean. She’s along far enough in her development to…she could make it.”
Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest. “And Draco?”
Hermione slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Harry couldn’t sit still any longer. The kitchen was far too small for proper pacing, so he went through the glass doors into the living room. He glanced into the bedroom, momentarily relieved to see Draco still asleep. Quietly closing the door, he turned to Hermione, who had followed him. “I can’t make that decision.”
“But you might have to.” Hermione leaned against one of the bookshelves lining the room.
Harry began walking back and forth, aware of Hermione’s eyes following his steps. “I can’t.”
This time, Hermione remained silent.
The floorboards creaked under Harry’s steps, almost like the rickety bridge he and Draco had crossed over one day back in late October. Draco had suddenly stopped walking, one hand flying to his stomach while the other dug into Harry’s arm. Harry never had the chance to ask what was wrong; a small gasp slipped past Draco’s lips, and there was a look in his eyes, a quiet reverence that made Harry go very still. Draco had reached for his hand then, guided it under layers of clothing until Harry could feel it, that tiny flutter pressing back against his fingers. That evening, they broke into a house so that Draco could have a bath and they could make love in bed.
Feeling very tired all of a sudden, Harry sat down on the sofa, head in his hands. “Why does this always happen to me?”
The cushion next to Harry dipped under Hermione’s weight. “What d’you mean?”
“Making impossible choices. Being in the middle of things without any clear picture of what to do.” More quietly, he added, “Losing all the good things in my life.”
Harry wasn’t surprised when Hermione had no answer for him. In the past, she might have tried to console him with a few reassuring words, but he was grateful she didn’t try that now. He found the silence between them remarkably comfortable.
With a squeeze to his shoulder, Hermione stood up. “I’ll get started on that potion now. You should try to sleep.”
Harry shook his head. “I’ll go check on Draco.”
Hermione nodded in acknowledgment. “Let me know if you need anything.”
~*~*~
Draco lay curled up on his side, a pillow wedged between his legs. The shirt he was wearing clung to his skin, damp in patches on his back, under his arms.
Harry sat down on the bed, his hand unconsciously reaching for his own chest when he heard Draco’s laboured breathing.
“Harry?”
“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
Draco blinked a few times before opening his eyes. “Wasn’t sleeping.”
“I was hoping you were.”
“No, I…I felt her move-”
“You did?” This was a good sign. A sign that things would look up.
“Yeah, and I didn’t want to miss if she moved again.” Draco coughed.
“Shhh.” Harry rested his hand between Draco’s shoulder blades. “I understand. Tell me if you feel her again?”
Draco nodded.
“D’you want some water?”
Another nod.
“Be right back.” Harry took the glass from the locker and refilled it in the bathroom.
Draco let Harry help him to sit up, but shot him a warning glance when he tried to hold on to the glass.
“Hmm, better.” Draco’s voice sounded less strained after he had finished the water. “I heard you and Hermione talk.”
Harry’s stomach flip-flopped, and he forced himself not to look away from Draco. “Yeah, we…we talked. She said you have pneumonia, and a fever. Guess that’s obvious, huh? The fever, I mean. But…it’ll be okay, love. Just don’t to worry, okay?”
For a long moment, Draco gazed at Harry, then he said, “Hmm. Does that mean more of that awful potion?”
Harry laughed, almost choked on it, on Draco’s sarcastic remark, on the way his heart jumped at the realisation that he could never give this up, give Draco up. His voice wavered when he replied, “I’m afraid so.”
“What?” Draco asked softly.
“Nothing,” Harry said firmly. “You should change into a different shirt. I’m sure Hermione wouldn’t mind you borrowing something.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Harry hoped he’d accept the change of subject, that he wouldn’t press Harry on what was on his mind.
“What I need is a bath,” Draco said with a sigh.
“So do I. At least you get fresh clothes.”
Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Hermione must own more than one shirt.”
Harry ignored Draco’s comment with a pointed look. “You want your trousers off as well?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Not exactly the subtlest way of getting me undressed.”
“But effective.” Harry unbuttoned and unzipped Draco’s trousers.
“Apparently so.”
Draco’s eyes challenged Harry to continue their exchange, but there was something about those quickly-traded remarks that took away Harry’s ability to speak. He wanted to wrap himself up in the words, pull them tightly around his body like a well-worn coat.
They remained silent while Harry helped Draco pull off his shirt and trousers, small gestures and touches enough to co-ordinate their movements.
Draco’s skin was flushed, an odd contrast to its usual paleness. Harry tried to assess how thin Draco looked; it was hard to tell, considering that Draco had always been rather skinny. There was a roundness to places that used to be all points and angles, and Harry wanted to know what they would feel like under his hands, wanted to explore this changed landscape of Draco’s body, feel curves and hollows rise and dip under his fingers.
“You’re doing that staring thing again,” Draco said.
Harry blinked, heat rising on his cheeks. “I, er…” He noticed that Draco awkwardly scratched his shoulder, arm across his chest, while his other arm wrapped around his belly. “Sorry. I just…haven’t got a good look at you in a while.”
“Hmm.”
“We’ve gone over this.”
Draco averted his eyes.
Harry gently took Draco by his shoulders. “I’ve told you that I like-”
“Yes, you.” Draco’s gaze flickered back to Harry. “You like me…like this. But maybe I don’t.”
Barely registering that his hands fell away from Draco, Harry whispered, “You…you don’t? But I thought. I thought you were glad? About…”
Draco’s breathing became more strained. “That’s not what I meant. I could never-” He paused for a moment. “Never regret anything about her. That doesn’t mean I like looking as if I’ve swallowed a quaffle or three. I--” He broke off, grimacing, one hand pressing against his chest.
“Hurts?” Harry asked, his hand hovering over Draco’s.
“’s not bad.”
Harry studied Draco, the way his lips formed a thin line and his eyebrows knitted together. “You want me to…”
Draco didn’t reply, only took Harry’s hand, squeezing it tightly. His head dropped forward to rest against Harry’s shoulder. Slowly, shallow intakes of breath deepened, evened out.
“Better?” Harry asked hesitantly.
“Yeah.” Draco sat up. “Was just a twinge. Happens from time to time.”
“Draco-”
“You really like looking at me now?”
Harry was tempted to ignore the question and demand a fuller explanation about these twinges, but for what? To make Draco feel guilty on top of everything else? He’d be upset again, and cough more, and be in even more pain, and-
Harry cut off that train of thought with a deep breath and returned his focus to Draco’s question. “Yes.”
Draco held his gaze for a moment. Very softly, he said, “All right.”
So Harry looked, with his eyes and his hands, fingers trailing in winding paths over Draco’s body. The past few weeks, there had at least been a thin layer of cotton under Harry’s hand whenever he’d touched Draco, filtering both his movements and Draco’s reactions. Now everything seemed that much more palpable, especially the heat radiating off Draco’s skin.
Carefully tracing along the pink-red lines on Draco’s belly, Harry asked, “Are they bothering you?”
Draco shrugged.
“Are they?” Harry asked more insistently.
“They itch a little.”
Make that a lot. “I’ll ask Hermione for a healing salve.”
Draco looked down, his fringes falling into his face. “It’s not that bad.”
Frustration welled up in Harry, and he couldn’t hold it back this time. “I just want you to be comfortable. As far as that’s possible. I know you’ve got to feel like shit right now, and if there’s something that you can make you feel a little better, then I want you to have it. Why is that such a problem?”
“Are you done?” Weariness outweighed the annoyance in Draco’s voice.
“Sorry. It’s just…” Harry halted, swallowing down the words on the tip of his tongue. Enough damage done. “I’ll get you another shirt now.”
There was a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt that immediately caught Harry’s eye because of its deep green colour. He charmed it to twice its size and handed it to Draco, who accepted it with a small smile.
“Nice colour.” Draco’s voice came muffled from inside the shirt.
“I thought you might like it.”
“Feels nice, too. Thanks.”
Harry smoothed the fabric over Draco’s shoulders and chest. “Good.”
“That’s nice as well,” Draco said quietly.
“Yeah?” Harry’s hands continued their small movements.
“Hmm.”
“Lie back.”
Once Draco was settled against the pillows, Harry resumed his task. “You could just ask me, you know. For this, I mean.” He slowly stroked over Draco’s side. “And not only when you’re in so much pain you-” Harry broke off. “Never mind.”
“It just…feels silly.”
“What? For you to ask me to touch you? It’s not exactly a chore, Draco.”
Draco’s eyes darted off to the side. “Still.”
Harry sighed. “Ask me next time, will you? Please?”
“Oh, all right.” Draco still insistently looked away, but Harry could feel his body relax.
Harry’s hand moved over Draco’s belly now, and he let it linger there in the hope of feeling his daughter move. She usually responded when Harry rubbed small circles over one spot, but not this time. Disappointed, his fingers trailed up to Draco’s chest again, down his arms, slipping under the sleeves of Draco’s shirt. The pulse at his wrist was fluttery, yet strong.
Gently scraping his nails across the palm of Draco’s hand, Harry asked. “Is there anything else you want?”
Draco slowly looked back at Harry. “A kiss.”
Harry smiled. “I can do that.” He leaned forward, only to be stopped by a hand against his chest.
“A proper kiss,” Draco admonished.
“Wouldn’t think of anything el--” Harry mumbled, his lips already brushing against Draco’s, the last syllable swept up into their kiss.
“How was that?” Harry asked after they pulled apart.
“One more.”
Harry thought there was something rather desperate to this second kiss, even if it was without haste.
“You hadn’t kissed me in two days,” Draco remarked afterwards.
“Keeping track?”
“Indeed.” Traces of uncertainty betrayed the confidence of Draco’s words.
Tucking a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear, Harry said, “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. You were sleeping so much, and felt awful the rest of the time, and I just…didn’t know.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have wanted a full-out snog, but…”
“’m sorry.”
“You made up for it.”
“I’ll snog you once you’re better.”
“And I’ll keep you to that,” Draco said with a wistful smile. “Fall asleep with me?”
Sleep was the last thing on Harry’s mind. Rationally, he knew Draco needed rest, but Harry wanted to keep talking to Draco, wanted him to stay awake. This wasn’t about what Harry wanted, however. “Of course, love.”
Harry quickly took off his trousers, jumper, and socks, dropping everything on the floor. After switching off the light, he asked, “Want to lean against me?”
“Mmhmm.”
Pushing all but one pillow out of the way, Harry settled against the headboard, stretching his legs out on either side of Draco, who slid lower to comfortably rest his head against Harry’s chest. Turning slightly sideways, Draco folded his hands on top of his belly and closed his eyes.
“Sleep well,” Harry said, tucking the duvet around Draco.
“You too.”
Draco shifted, his hair brushing across Harry’s cheek, a soft whisper, gone in an instant. Harry’s hand followed, winding into Draco’s hair until strands tangled around his fingers, his thumb sliding over the nape of Draco’s neck. Harry thought he heard Draco sigh with contentment, and he felt Draco grow heavier against him.
Despite Harry’s best efforts to clear his mind, he couldn’t shake the restlessness that increased with every little sign of Draco drifting further off to sleep. There was so much that had gone unsaid in these past months, things Harry had kept to himself because it wasn’t the right time or place or whatever other excuse he’d come up with.
“Draco?”
“Hmm?”
“I-” And then Harry’s mind was blank, or maybe it was too full, he didn’t know. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” came the automatic reply.
“No, I…I meant-” Harry desperately searched for words to explain that this wasn’t just one of those I love you’s you said at the end of the day, that this was more significant, meant…everything.
“What?”
“I-” Harry nearly choked on the word.
For a few moments, neither of them said anything.
“Harry.” Draco took Harry’s hand in-between his own, gently enveloping it with his fingers. “Promise me you’ll take care of her.”
“No,” Harry said shakily. “No. That’s not. No.” He squeezed his eyes shut, burrowing into Draco’s hair.
“Please.”
Harry shook his head.
Draco turned around, and his hand came up to Harry’s face, palm curving against his cheek, his lips pressing a kiss against Harry’s jaw before he whispered, “Promise me.”
Harry pulled Draco tightly against himself, but even with Draco pressed close against him, Harry felt as if he was slipping away. There had been this moment during the bonding spell when Draco’s presence had filled every corner of his mind, every particle of his body, and Harry wanted that now. He’d crawl under Draco’s skin if could.
“Too tight,” Draco mumbled, squirming in Harry’s arms.
“Sorry.” Harry relaxed his hold.
Running his hand over his belly, Draco said quietly, “She’s a bit demanding where space is concerned, especially now that there isn’t much room left in here for her.”
“Sorry,” Harry said again, and quickly added, “I can’t make that promise. I just can’t. Not because I…you know that I love her. But I love you, too. I love you so much.”
Draco nodded slowly, his face unreadable, obscured by shadows.
“We’ll take care of her. Together. I can promise you that.”
Draco nodded once, leaning back against Harry. “’s okay. I understand. I know you’re not going to let anything happen to her.”
Before Harry had a chance to respond, Draco was asleep.
On to Part 4
.