HD INSPIRATION FOR ALISANNE
Yay! The second of three Mpreg posts today.
Author: faynia
Recipient: alisanne
Title: Shotgun
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Malfoy name means everything to Draco, and he will do everything he can to bring good fortune to his family name…including wearing a dress.
Warnings: Mpreg, cross-dressing
Total word count: 2,526
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: Alisanne, I made an attempt at four of your requests (skirtpr0n, wall!sex, public sex, and Lucius and Narcissa forcing Harry to make an honest man out of Draco) and hopefully I was able to satisfy at least some. Hope you enjoy it.
Shotgun
"No, there will be no ruffles, and for the last time I'm not wearing beige. And for Merlin's sake Harry, don't just stand there and laugh at me."
Draco scowled as the seamstress shot Harry an exasperated look. It served her right. Ruffles indeed! What did she think he was, some sort of poodle? He thought not. The elderly woman seemed much aggrieved when he accidentally trod on her fingers as she measured his leg. He hadn't the foggiest why his mother had insisted on some angry old squib. How were they ever going to have this wedding in two weeks if the woman couldn't even spell her tape measure to do the measurements for her?
"This can't be normal," Harry muttered, stepping around layers of thick silk to sit on the only chair in the room.
Draco snorted. "The last Malfoy male to go through this process lived 300 years ago. It's a time-honoured tradition between two males or females when they wed. Even if our circumstances are less than traditional, I refuse to tarnish the family name by shirking my responsibilities.”
"So your mother told me," Harry answered with a wry smile. "But that still doesn't make it any more normal. Do you even want to wear a dress?"
"Why are you even in here?" Draco asked in reply, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Shouldn't you be helping mother sort out the invitations?"
"You mean the hundreds of people you don't even know that you invited?"
Draco nodded. "Of course."
"Then no." Harry smirked in the face of Draco's disapproval. "I have, however, sorted out the invitations for my family and friends, and the sixteen people I invited have all responded in the positive."
"You left my mother alone with all those invitations? What kind of horrible human being are you?"
"The kind who hates large gatherings, and couldn't care less if the Minister from Sweden decides to attend."
"Uncultured swine," Draco sniffed, holding out his arms so the seamstress could measure his chest. He eyed Harry as his fiancé stood once more with a speculative look. "If you aren't going to help my mother or go to the bathroom, I'd suggest placing your arse back in that chair."
"And if I were to choose option three, leave and go to Quality Quidditch Supplies for a bit?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.
Draco's nostrils flared and he said nothing. Harry sat down abruptly with a small flush staining his cheeks. Draco smirked and batted away the woman's hands in irritation as they brushed under his arms. It tickled. He hated being tickled. Harry fidgeted in the chair, eyes darting around the room as if afraid to look at Draco.
"Oh for pity's sake, Potter." Draco rolled his eyes, and stepped off the wooden crate he'd been standing on. The seamstress gave him an annoyed glare for his efforts. "If you want to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies that badly then go."
"I was kidding," Harry muttered, meeting Draco's angry snarl with a steady gaze. "Do you honestly think I'd leave you buried three feet in silk?"
Draco's expression didn't falter, but Harry could tell his anger receded. "You owe me."
Harry nodded and crossed the sea of fabric in a few steps. He circled his arms around Draco's slender hips and tugged him forward. "What are the odds I can steal a strip of this fabric without the fabric fairy noticing?" he murmured into the blond's neck, sucking gently at the exposed skin.
"Slim," came the breathy response. "Very slim indeed, especially since you're stepping on some of it right this second with those God awful shoes of yours. Can't you find decently sized ones?"
"I like these. They're comfortable," Harry stressed, not letting up on Draco's neck. One of his hands drifted lower and groped Draco's thinly covered arse, kneading his fingers into the soft flesh.
"Harry, not here."
"Fabric fairy doesn't care."
Draco groaned and fisted a handful of Harry's black hair. "She will if we ruin even a scrap of this fabric."
"She won't if we pay her well enough," Harry muttered, grinding his hips forward. "And I plan on paying her very handsomely."
"Pervert," Draco gasped, trailing a hand up under Harry's shirt. "You just like the silk."
"You may be right," was the wry answer and Draco didn't even have a chance to process it before he was pressed against the gold gilded floor length mirror and effectively silenced.
~*~
Harry tugged on the collar of his black robes and peered out the side door into the Malfoy's ballroom. He swallowed thickly as he began to count the number of heads in the crowd. The Weasleys were easily spotted and a spear of relief hit his chest and he exhaled sharply.
"Bloody bow tie."
"Oh, hold still, Ron."
A small smile appeared on Harry's face as he listened to his best friends argue behind him. He had never been more thankful for their constant presence than he had been in the past two months. Harry refused to even think about what it could have been like, staying in Malfoy Manor listening to Draco harp on about one thing after another. It was bad enough he had to do it for the last week as the wedding drew closer.
The transformation his fiancé had gone through since they had first found out Draco was pregnant was a marvel, and completely horrific. Harry wanted to blame Draco's parents, but they did nothing wrong. Both of them wanted their son happy, and if asked, Harry would willingly say the same thing. But wanting Draco's happiness and being constantly told that he was the source of his greatest unrest did not set well in his stomach. Acid churned in his gut and the very little toast he'd managed to nibble on at breakfast threatened to make a reappearance.
The only thing keeping him in place and not running for the hills was the knowledge that once this wedding business was over, Draco might go back to normal, or as normal as Draco ever was. Harry wasn't certain if his own thoughts were supposed to be calming him down because they didn't seem to be..
"You sure you want to do this, mate?" Ron called out, fighting with his wife. He batted at her busy hands as Hermione adjusted first his bow tie then his outer robes. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his jugular and Ron squeaked once before falling silent.
"Don't listen to him, Harry. You know better than I do what he was like at our wedding."
Harry laughed and shook his head, getting up onto the finely polished table that rested against the far wall. "He actually made it back inside the Burrow before any of us noticed."
"Honestly, you men act like getting married is the end of the world," Hermione scolded, but the affection behind her words was almost tangible. She tugged once more on both sides of the bow before stepping backwards. "There." Her large brown eyes fell on Harry and the barely concealed critique left Harry shaken.
"What?"
"You're really nervous, aren't you?" she asked, moving towards him as he slid back off the table. Harry figured it was safer than having her pull him off it. She stopped in front of him and brushed some hair away from his eyes.
Colour flooded his cheeks when she began to straighten out his cummerbund and collar of his shirt. "He's been a complete prat recently."
"You mean there are times when he isn't?" Ron chipped in, earning himself two angry scowls. "Sorry," he mumbled, glancing into the mirror hanging on the wall.
"I'm sure he's just as nervous as you," Hermione reassured him, running her fingers through his hair in methodical swipes. He grimaced and held still as she did so, knowing there was no hope for it. "Mrs. Malfoy seems over the moon about this."
"She just wants a grandchild," Harry mumbled, staring at the ground. "But she's been awfully helpful regardless."
Hermione nodded while adjusting the single pale flower in her hair. Her dress, not as frilly as most of the bridesmaids, carried a certain amount of dignity which commanded attention whenever she was near. It didn't hurt that the material flowed off her lower back and across her bottom. Ron certainly didn't seem to mind, Harry noticed. He didn't think it would take too long for Hermione to notice Ron's attention.
"Is everything going well back here?"
Narcissa Malfoy ducked her head out from behind a thick blood red drape to survey the room. Harry grinned in her direction but could tell it wasn't as bright as normal when her smile dimmed in reaction.
"How's Draco?" he asked, instead of answering the original question.
A smirk touched the corner of Narcissa's lips and her eyes glittered in amusement. "His father is helping him get dressed. They both banished me when I laced up the corset of the dress too tightly. As if I would ever endanger my future grandson in that manner."
"I'm sure they're both scared to death."
"Lucius has been dealing with this affair better than I could have hoped," Narcissa confided when she laced her arm through Harry's. She led him for a small walk around the antechamber. "Draco is not, however."
"Is he …?" Harry didn't dare finish asking the question.
Narcissa patted his arm reassuringly. "Oh he's quite all right, I assure you. Just a touch of morning sickness combined with nerves."
"Where is --"
Harry tried to pull away suddenly. He craved to touch Draco's skin, to reassure himself that his fiancé was in fact all right. Narcissa had no reason to lie to him that he knew of, but he'd feel better if he were able to see Draco. Trying not to attract attention to himself, he gently disengaged Narcissa's hold on him and edged towards the door leading out into the hall.
"Harry, you'll see him in two minutes," murmured Narcissa as she picked at his robes in much the same way Hermione had earlier. He held up his hands to get her to release him when she began pushing him backwards. "Which is really why I came back here, after all. We can't have the groom late for his own wedding."
The words hung thickly around Harry's head as he stumbled out of the door in front of a large crowd. Ron stepped out behind him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder while he steered him to the proper spot in the center of the room. His heart beat a rapid rhythm in his chest that he knew everyone around him could hear. He wiped his sweaty palms against his robes in a surreptitious movement that he hoped no one caught. It wouldn't be good if he appeared too nervous. Many of these people, Harry knew, were just here in the hopes that some huge calamity would occur.
Few things could cause such a disaster. The biggest was Draco and how poorly he'd been dealing with his pregnancy recently. Narcissa may not have been lying, but she certainly knew how to fabricate the truth. They were in a dangerous period for male pregnancies. Though rare, there had been enough cases of it in the wizarding world that the Healers could explain to them why the fourth month needed to be monitored with extreme caution.
Draco's morning sickness had come back with a vengeance the week before, and Harry could only hope it was a lingering stomach bug. Food poisoning would have passed within two days, he knew, and if it was anything more. Draco would be too weak to move.
So caught up in his own thoughts, he nearly missed Draco's entrance into the ballroom of Malfoy Manor.
~*~
It wasn't the stares that bothered him; it was where the stares were centred.. Draco brushed his hand over his slightly bulging stomach with a shuddering sigh. He couldn't hide behind less than fitted shirts here, never mind the dress he was currently wearing. Months of press reports and gossip made his midriff the most exciting part of his person. Protectiveness welled up within Harry as he glared at the nearest row of guests. If they so much as touched him, they'd regret it. Immediately.
Throwing his slender, bare shoulders back, Draco tipped his chin in the air and sniffed. Let them stare. He was proud, despite not having acted like it at first. The position of female was degrading in the extreme, but never once had Harry rubbed it in his face. In fact, of everyone he'd interacted with in the past few months, Harry had been the only one to act normally around him. Well, as normally as Harry ever acted around him. Harry's excitement was palpable every time Draco was near him and he wondered if maybe the Healers had gotten it wrong. Draco's sex drive hadn't changed, but it seemed Harry couldn't keep his hands off him.
Draco stepped forward with the hope that he could make it to the center of the room without passing out. His father stood next to him looking anything but happy about this day, but he was there. If there was ever a surer sign that Lucius Malfoy agreed with a situation it was his presence in it. Draco silently accepted the consent for what it was and hid his gratefulness for his father's imposing stance as they made their way down the clear aisle.
For the first time since he'd entered the ballroom, Draco locked eyes with Harry. He almost stumbled to a halt then and there and fled the hall. His mouth went dry as he tried to retain his balance in the elegant, silk dress without toppling forward straight into Harry's arms. Harry's eyes roved over him like he was on display, and as he drew nearer the darkened green told him exactly what Harry wanted to do ... and it certainly was not appropriate for this setting.
Harry held out his hand with a smug smirk and when Draco rested his hand in Harry's he swore he saw a spark. His eyes shot up to Harry's face, and he was momentarily stunned by the possessiveness he saw there. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he gazed over at the official, urging him to get this over with as quickly as possible.
For months to come, people would talk about the speed of the ceremony, but for Draco it had gone on too long. A man could only stand being undressed in his lover's mind so long before he snapped, or before said lover snapped.
~*~
It amazed Draco that neither he nor Harry stuttered when repeating their vows -- not that he could recall what they were at any rate. Pushed up against the wall of the antechamber, legs wrapped around Harry's waist, and the skirt of his wedding gown lying severed on the ground, he really couldn't bring himself to care. He'd find out later, because right then and there it truly didn't matter.
Author: faynia
Recipient: alisanne
Title: Shotgun
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Malfoy name means everything to Draco, and he will do everything he can to bring good fortune to his family name…including wearing a dress.
Warnings: Mpreg, cross-dressing
Total word count: 2,526
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: Alisanne, I made an attempt at four of your requests (skirtpr0n, wall!sex, public sex, and Lucius and Narcissa forcing Harry to make an honest man out of Draco) and hopefully I was able to satisfy at least some. Hope you enjoy it.
Shotgun
"No, there will be no ruffles, and for the last time I'm not wearing beige. And for Merlin's sake Harry, don't just stand there and laugh at me."
Draco scowled as the seamstress shot Harry an exasperated look. It served her right. Ruffles indeed! What did she think he was, some sort of poodle? He thought not. The elderly woman seemed much aggrieved when he accidentally trod on her fingers as she measured his leg. He hadn't the foggiest why his mother had insisted on some angry old squib. How were they ever going to have this wedding in two weeks if the woman couldn't even spell her tape measure to do the measurements for her?
"This can't be normal," Harry muttered, stepping around layers of thick silk to sit on the only chair in the room.
Draco snorted. "The last Malfoy male to go through this process lived 300 years ago. It's a time-honoured tradition between two males or females when they wed. Even if our circumstances are less than traditional, I refuse to tarnish the family name by shirking my responsibilities.”
"So your mother told me," Harry answered with a wry smile. "But that still doesn't make it any more normal. Do you even want to wear a dress?"
"Why are you even in here?" Draco asked in reply, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Shouldn't you be helping mother sort out the invitations?"
"You mean the hundreds of people you don't even know that you invited?"
Draco nodded. "Of course."
"Then no." Harry smirked in the face of Draco's disapproval. "I have, however, sorted out the invitations for my family and friends, and the sixteen people I invited have all responded in the positive."
"You left my mother alone with all those invitations? What kind of horrible human being are you?"
"The kind who hates large gatherings, and couldn't care less if the Minister from Sweden decides to attend."
"Uncultured swine," Draco sniffed, holding out his arms so the seamstress could measure his chest. He eyed Harry as his fiancé stood once more with a speculative look. "If you aren't going to help my mother or go to the bathroom, I'd suggest placing your arse back in that chair."
"And if I were to choose option three, leave and go to Quality Quidditch Supplies for a bit?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.
Draco's nostrils flared and he said nothing. Harry sat down abruptly with a small flush staining his cheeks. Draco smirked and batted away the woman's hands in irritation as they brushed under his arms. It tickled. He hated being tickled. Harry fidgeted in the chair, eyes darting around the room as if afraid to look at Draco.
"Oh for pity's sake, Potter." Draco rolled his eyes, and stepped off the wooden crate he'd been standing on. The seamstress gave him an annoyed glare for his efforts. "If you want to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies that badly then go."
"I was kidding," Harry muttered, meeting Draco's angry snarl with a steady gaze. "Do you honestly think I'd leave you buried three feet in silk?"
Draco's expression didn't falter, but Harry could tell his anger receded. "You owe me."
Harry nodded and crossed the sea of fabric in a few steps. He circled his arms around Draco's slender hips and tugged him forward. "What are the odds I can steal a strip of this fabric without the fabric fairy noticing?" he murmured into the blond's neck, sucking gently at the exposed skin.
"Slim," came the breathy response. "Very slim indeed, especially since you're stepping on some of it right this second with those God awful shoes of yours. Can't you find decently sized ones?"
"I like these. They're comfortable," Harry stressed, not letting up on Draco's neck. One of his hands drifted lower and groped Draco's thinly covered arse, kneading his fingers into the soft flesh.
"Harry, not here."
"Fabric fairy doesn't care."
Draco groaned and fisted a handful of Harry's black hair. "She will if we ruin even a scrap of this fabric."
"She won't if we pay her well enough," Harry muttered, grinding his hips forward. "And I plan on paying her very handsomely."
"Pervert," Draco gasped, trailing a hand up under Harry's shirt. "You just like the silk."
"You may be right," was the wry answer and Draco didn't even have a chance to process it before he was pressed against the gold gilded floor length mirror and effectively silenced.
~*~
Harry tugged on the collar of his black robes and peered out the side door into the Malfoy's ballroom. He swallowed thickly as he began to count the number of heads in the crowd. The Weasleys were easily spotted and a spear of relief hit his chest and he exhaled sharply.
"Bloody bow tie."
"Oh, hold still, Ron."
A small smile appeared on Harry's face as he listened to his best friends argue behind him. He had never been more thankful for their constant presence than he had been in the past two months. Harry refused to even think about what it could have been like, staying in Malfoy Manor listening to Draco harp on about one thing after another. It was bad enough he had to do it for the last week as the wedding drew closer.
The transformation his fiancé had gone through since they had first found out Draco was pregnant was a marvel, and completely horrific. Harry wanted to blame Draco's parents, but they did nothing wrong. Both of them wanted their son happy, and if asked, Harry would willingly say the same thing. But wanting Draco's happiness and being constantly told that he was the source of his greatest unrest did not set well in his stomach. Acid churned in his gut and the very little toast he'd managed to nibble on at breakfast threatened to make a reappearance.
The only thing keeping him in place and not running for the hills was the knowledge that once this wedding business was over, Draco might go back to normal, or as normal as Draco ever was. Harry wasn't certain if his own thoughts were supposed to be calming him down because they didn't seem to be..
"You sure you want to do this, mate?" Ron called out, fighting with his wife. He batted at her busy hands as Hermione adjusted first his bow tie then his outer robes. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his jugular and Ron squeaked once before falling silent.
"Don't listen to him, Harry. You know better than I do what he was like at our wedding."
Harry laughed and shook his head, getting up onto the finely polished table that rested against the far wall. "He actually made it back inside the Burrow before any of us noticed."
"Honestly, you men act like getting married is the end of the world," Hermione scolded, but the affection behind her words was almost tangible. She tugged once more on both sides of the bow before stepping backwards. "There." Her large brown eyes fell on Harry and the barely concealed critique left Harry shaken.
"What?"
"You're really nervous, aren't you?" she asked, moving towards him as he slid back off the table. Harry figured it was safer than having her pull him off it. She stopped in front of him and brushed some hair away from his eyes.
Colour flooded his cheeks when she began to straighten out his cummerbund and collar of his shirt. "He's been a complete prat recently."
"You mean there are times when he isn't?" Ron chipped in, earning himself two angry scowls. "Sorry," he mumbled, glancing into the mirror hanging on the wall.
"I'm sure he's just as nervous as you," Hermione reassured him, running her fingers through his hair in methodical swipes. He grimaced and held still as she did so, knowing there was no hope for it. "Mrs. Malfoy seems over the moon about this."
"She just wants a grandchild," Harry mumbled, staring at the ground. "But she's been awfully helpful regardless."
Hermione nodded while adjusting the single pale flower in her hair. Her dress, not as frilly as most of the bridesmaids, carried a certain amount of dignity which commanded attention whenever she was near. It didn't hurt that the material flowed off her lower back and across her bottom. Ron certainly didn't seem to mind, Harry noticed. He didn't think it would take too long for Hermione to notice Ron's attention.
"Is everything going well back here?"
Narcissa Malfoy ducked her head out from behind a thick blood red drape to survey the room. Harry grinned in her direction but could tell it wasn't as bright as normal when her smile dimmed in reaction.
"How's Draco?" he asked, instead of answering the original question.
A smirk touched the corner of Narcissa's lips and her eyes glittered in amusement. "His father is helping him get dressed. They both banished me when I laced up the corset of the dress too tightly. As if I would ever endanger my future grandson in that manner."
"I'm sure they're both scared to death."
"Lucius has been dealing with this affair better than I could have hoped," Narcissa confided when she laced her arm through Harry's. She led him for a small walk around the antechamber. "Draco is not, however."
"Is he …?" Harry didn't dare finish asking the question.
Narcissa patted his arm reassuringly. "Oh he's quite all right, I assure you. Just a touch of morning sickness combined with nerves."
"Where is --"
Harry tried to pull away suddenly. He craved to touch Draco's skin, to reassure himself that his fiancé was in fact all right. Narcissa had no reason to lie to him that he knew of, but he'd feel better if he were able to see Draco. Trying not to attract attention to himself, he gently disengaged Narcissa's hold on him and edged towards the door leading out into the hall.
"Harry, you'll see him in two minutes," murmured Narcissa as she picked at his robes in much the same way Hermione had earlier. He held up his hands to get her to release him when she began pushing him backwards. "Which is really why I came back here, after all. We can't have the groom late for his own wedding."
The words hung thickly around Harry's head as he stumbled out of the door in front of a large crowd. Ron stepped out behind him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder while he steered him to the proper spot in the center of the room. His heart beat a rapid rhythm in his chest that he knew everyone around him could hear. He wiped his sweaty palms against his robes in a surreptitious movement that he hoped no one caught. It wouldn't be good if he appeared too nervous. Many of these people, Harry knew, were just here in the hopes that some huge calamity would occur.
Few things could cause such a disaster. The biggest was Draco and how poorly he'd been dealing with his pregnancy recently. Narcissa may not have been lying, but she certainly knew how to fabricate the truth. They were in a dangerous period for male pregnancies. Though rare, there had been enough cases of it in the wizarding world that the Healers could explain to them why the fourth month needed to be monitored with extreme caution.
Draco's morning sickness had come back with a vengeance the week before, and Harry could only hope it was a lingering stomach bug. Food poisoning would have passed within two days, he knew, and if it was anything more. Draco would be too weak to move.
So caught up in his own thoughts, he nearly missed Draco's entrance into the ballroom of Malfoy Manor.
~*~
It wasn't the stares that bothered him; it was where the stares were centred.. Draco brushed his hand over his slightly bulging stomach with a shuddering sigh. He couldn't hide behind less than fitted shirts here, never mind the dress he was currently wearing. Months of press reports and gossip made his midriff the most exciting part of his person. Protectiveness welled up within Harry as he glared at the nearest row of guests. If they so much as touched him, they'd regret it. Immediately.
Throwing his slender, bare shoulders back, Draco tipped his chin in the air and sniffed. Let them stare. He was proud, despite not having acted like it at first. The position of female was degrading in the extreme, but never once had Harry rubbed it in his face. In fact, of everyone he'd interacted with in the past few months, Harry had been the only one to act normally around him. Well, as normally as Harry ever acted around him. Harry's excitement was palpable every time Draco was near him and he wondered if maybe the Healers had gotten it wrong. Draco's sex drive hadn't changed, but it seemed Harry couldn't keep his hands off him.
Draco stepped forward with the hope that he could make it to the center of the room without passing out. His father stood next to him looking anything but happy about this day, but he was there. If there was ever a surer sign that Lucius Malfoy agreed with a situation it was his presence in it. Draco silently accepted the consent for what it was and hid his gratefulness for his father's imposing stance as they made their way down the clear aisle.
For the first time since he'd entered the ballroom, Draco locked eyes with Harry. He almost stumbled to a halt then and there and fled the hall. His mouth went dry as he tried to retain his balance in the elegant, silk dress without toppling forward straight into Harry's arms. Harry's eyes roved over him like he was on display, and as he drew nearer the darkened green told him exactly what Harry wanted to do ... and it certainly was not appropriate for this setting.
Harry held out his hand with a smug smirk and when Draco rested his hand in Harry's he swore he saw a spark. His eyes shot up to Harry's face, and he was momentarily stunned by the possessiveness he saw there. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he gazed over at the official, urging him to get this over with as quickly as possible.
For months to come, people would talk about the speed of the ceremony, but for Draco it had gone on too long. A man could only stand being undressed in his lover's mind so long before he snapped, or before said lover snapped.
~*~
It amazed Draco that neither he nor Harry stuttered when repeating their vows -- not that he could recall what they were at any rate. Pushed up against the wall of the antechamber, legs wrapped around Harry's waist, and the skirt of his wedding gown lying severed on the ground, he really couldn't bring himself to care. He'd find out later, because right then and there it truly didn't matter.