Fic - Revelations H/D
Title: Revelations
Author: dacro
Remix of: Genesis (primarily part two) for the hd_remix exchange.
Author of the Original: akahannah
Pairing: H/D
Rated: R (mild - for language and implied sex)
Disclaimer: The world belonging to JKR and her lawyers is not mine.
Betas: saladbats and moonlight_tryst. Thank you, ladies!
Summary:When his ex-lover - his enemy - passes out on the door step of Number Four Privet Drive, Harry is torn between contacting St Mungo's or Azkaban. His decision changes their lives forever.
Notes: The original (part one) parallels HBP from Draco's POV. I chose to jump into part two and write from Harry's POV. I had a blast adding in some scenes that would have happened while Draco was still sleeping, and showing how Harry was coping (or not). I enjoyed the original so much that I was thrilled when akahannah mentioned that this was the one she would like to see remixed. Thank you for allowing me to play in this universe.
It was a joy and an honour to be involved in this exchange. Thanks to coffeejunkii for organising!
Comments are always welcome. *hugs*
Enjoy!
~*~
Revelations
Harry reaches for the front door, trying to ignore his aunt's hushed hisses and the irritation of an endless morning's worth of weeding and mowing. He's still grumbling when the shadow in the doorway takes on meaning.
Malfoy.
Harry blinks stupidly a few times, wondering why someone would be wearing full length black robes on such a sticky day.
"I need your help, Potter," Malfoy says weakly. "Please. I didn't know where else to go."
Harry studies him coldly, not for one minute believing that Malfoy would ever say 'help' and 'please' in the same sentence. He grabs the thin arm, prepared now to see the Mark of the master behind the puppet. Malfoy doesn't resist, and Harry is puzzled momentarily by the lack of fight.
A week of self isolation after walking away from Hogwarts has given Harry too much time to think - too much time to relive the overwhelming emotions and images of that night and the numbing day that followed. The final words of a dying old friend echo in his ears constantly, and the wavering wand of an enemy interrupts his sleep every night.
He stares up from the Mark with a look of disgust, secretly wishing he could let go the 'I told you so' Ron and Hermione deserved to hear.
"If you're going to turn me in to the Ministry, get it over with, all right?" Draco reclaims his arm, swaying dangerously as Harry studies him, making his decision.
"I'm not going to turn you in to the bloody Ministry," He throws back, his irritation showing more than he intends. The next moment he notices the strange tinge of Malfoy's sallow skin, and asks if he's alright.
Less than a minute later, he's swearing at himself - dragging dead weight into the house - troubled by the wave of concern that gripped him the moment he realised Malfoy was falling.
His Aunt yells her disapproval (once the door is closed) of the unconscious boy lying on the newly steamed hall carpet as Harry sprints up to his room, taking two steps at a time, heart pounding in his ears, and Dobby's name on his lips.
A few hours and a million unanswered questions later, Harry slouches into an uncomfortable chair in an empty office and lets his head fall back. The speckled ceiling holds as many answers as the line of Healers running in and out of Malfoy's room, so he closes his eyes and tries to focus instead on how to figure out if Nagini really is a Horcrux or not. The soft clicking of the office door steals his attention.
"Harry?" Hermione calls softly before entering. He manages to smile at her distorted hair through the frosted glass. She returns the smile briefly, but it's controlled, tight.
"You know something," Harry says as she takes a seat in the opposite chair and begins wringing her hands in her lap.
"Yes. Healer Thompson..."
"Hermione..."
She sighs, "He's stable, but still unconscious. They're surprised that he's made it this far on his own, without any..."
"Oh yeah, one week. Brave Malfoy," Harry says, squeezing the arms of the worn chair.
"Harry's that's not..."
"What? Snape's cooking is so bad that he ran away?" Harry tried not to enjoy the tiny thrill that stirred in his chest at the look of shock on Hermione's face. "It was a bad potion, right? Bloated his stomach, and made his skin that dull colour..."
Hermione shot to her feet, disappointment clearly written over every inch of her frown.
"He nearly died today, Harry." Her eyes kept staring as he looked away, suddenly ashamed.
"But," she said in a softer tone, "because you acted quickly, the healers believe that both he and the baby should make a full recovery in a few days."
Harry sat frozen in the ugly orange chair with the words the baby playing in and around the sound of Hermione's retreating steps.
Baby.
He lunges for the bin beside the desk as his breakfast churns threateningly.
~*~
Ten minutes later she returns with two cups of tea and another one of her worried half-smiles.
"Ready to talk now?"
He runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly more edgy with her return. "God, Hermione, I didn't need this on top of everything else. He's really having a baby?"
She nods. "Harry, why would he come to you for help?"
The headache that had been prickling all day finally crosses the line into 'pounding' as Harry sinks lower into the chair and rubs his temples. "How did he - why is he pregnant? He's a - not a girl."
"It's not common, but it does happen occasionally. It's really rather fascinating. Instead of the sperm and egg, a merging of two magical signatures - both of the wizard's magical…DNA, I suppose you could call…" She pauses her teaching to look closely at her friend. "You didn't answer my question."
He lifts his glasses and rubs at his eyes, trying to find something she'll believe. He gives up, and tells the truth.
"We were sort of seeing each other at the beginning of the year." He says softly. Hermione begins to say something, but stops just as suddenly, mouth and eyes wide open. He gestures around the office, searching for the right words. "It wasn't like - it was just about - we still hated each other, still do, but it was…stress relief." he finishes lamely.
"But you did have sex with him?"
"Yeah, but just the once."
"Oh." She says, eyes darting toward the door. "Well then I think you should go talk to Healer Thomson, and give her a blood sample."
Her words make him get to his feet too quickly. His head continues to pound. "Is he that bad- is he losing blood? Are other people donating too?"
"No. He's stable. Unconscious, but stable." She touches his arm. "That's not my point, Harry."
He knows something's not right in the way she's watching him with that sad expression, but he's never been good at knowing what was behind it.
"I'm tired, Hermione, just tell me."
"A blood test will determine if you're the father."
Harry gives a sharp laugh. "Of course I'm not the…"
"I'll come with you if you like, but you should really eat something first Harry, you're not looking well."
"Really? I wonder why that is?" he snaps, feeling the worse for yelling, but wanting to make it clear he was not giving in or going anywhere.
He needs to think.
~*~
An hour later he's alone again in the too-small office with a cup of cold tea and stacks of information on male pregnancies - courtesy of his friend, who left looking as if it was her turn to use the bin by the desk. He wanted to apologise for not telling her and Ron about his - whatever it was he had with Malfoy - sooner, but her soft words and insistence that he submit to the paternity test made it hard to even look at her.
The end of their talk had gone badly.
He takes a moment to stretch his legs remembering some of the nasty words he had used to describe Malfoy to the Healers - before he knew the truth about the baby's father. It had felt so good at the time. Justifiable. After all, if Malfoy spread his legs for Harry, then who's to say he wouldn't have for someone else as well? He didn't care that the Mediwizards shushed him, and he sure as hell didn't care about the other occupants of the wing. He wanted Draco to wake up and hear the trouble he'd caused.
He looks down at the worn bit of parchment between his palms, uncurls the edges and reads it again. The words haven't changed.
Sample from Harry J. Potter and 'baby' Malfoy:
Probability of Paternity --- 99.9986%
"Fuck."
Fear and anger twist with warmth and sadness, making his stomach turn in on itself and his jaw ache uncomfortably. His head falls between his knees as his complicated life crowds in on him.
~*~
He's told Draco is still unconscious, but he doesn't care. He needs to have a few words, and it's all the better that Malfoy can't talk back. He's careful enough closing the door to Malfoy's room, but the door handle rattles with his impatience. Only a few steps and he's close enough to touch - or hit, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers clamp down on the footboard of the bed. When the words come, they slip out in a dangerously low whisper - cold and empty.
"I told you to stay away from me, but you couldn't manage even that, could you, Malfoy? Is this what it's going to be like? You'll leave, my life will go back the way it should be, and then in a few months, you'll turn up again with another surprise?" He pulls himself to his full height and tries on his best mock-Malfoy drawl. "Oh, by the way, Potter, I've given up our child to the Dark Lord's service - I didn't think you'd mind." His voice creeps higher, and the glass bottles on the bedside table clink their accompaniment. "Why don't you come for Christmas tea, Harry? We'll be one big happy family!"
His colour rises as he drops act and begins shouting in earnest. "I should have just sent you to Scrimgeour - to Azkaban, instead of St Mungo's! I hear they have plenty of room now that your father's gone. And where's Snape, Malfoy? Too much for him, were you? You're pathetic!" he yells. His fingers tighten on the bed, and he hopes that somewhere under the sleep and potions, his words find their way to Malfoy.
He hears voices and footsteps in the hall but he ignores them, leaning forward.
"I don’t care that he threatened your family! They already belong to him as far as I know, so why didn't you just keep running - save your own hide like a good little Slytherin? Like Snape did! You brought Death Eaters into a school, Malfoy! People died and it's your fault! You could have done anything else, gone to Dumbledore - came to me!"
He hears the door swing open and four men in Healer's robes approach slowly with their palms facing him - no wands. Harry whips back around and glares at Malfoy's face, and then quickly to the lump around his middle.
"I hate you, Malfoy! I bet you planned this whole thing! I wish I had - Hey! Let go of me!"
Strong hands grip his arms from both sides and drag him - struggling and swearing - back into the corridor.
He stops his ranting when Hermione's hand leaves a burning sting on his cheek.
~*~
Harry and Hermione sit outside Malfoy's room, absently flipping through the pregnancy books when approaching footsteps draw their attention.
"A word, if you wouldn't mind, Potter? Good afternoon, Miss Granger."
"Um, sure," says Harry.
"Good afternoon, Headmistress."
McGonagall leans close to Harry. "I would like to ask you a few questions concerning Draco Malfoy. You may decide if Miss Granger joins us or not."
Harry glances over at Hermione - who's already biting her lip in worry. "It's fine, she can stay."
"Very well." Her wand draws a circle in the air around them. "Muffliato."
Hermione gasps. "Professor! Use of unauthorized magic in Hospital…"
"Is perfectly permissible in the corridors - within reason of course."
Hermione's gaze drops suddenly. "Oh, of course, sorry."
"Now Harry, as you know, Draco has been missing since…"
"Yeah, I know."
"We're fortunate Healer Thompson is a member of the Order, and contacted us before the Aurors were informed. I'm sure you noticed the lack of press and Ministry officials?"
"Oh, yeah." Harry says, gazing at the empty hallway. In truth, he hadn't noticed.
"He's accused of a great many things, and I'm afraid with Professor Snape still at large, the Ministry will come hunting for Draco - and his child - unless we can find a reason to protect them. What can you tell me, Harry?"
And there it was - Malfoy's life and future sat in Harry's hands. He briefly thought about revenge. There were plenty of good reasons why Malfoy deserved to suffer: his unfair prejudice and bullying, worshiping his Death Eater Father, taking the Mark himself, and nearly killing Ron, Katie, and Dumbledore, but there was also something else eating at Harry.
When the bad attitude and pride was stripped away, Malfoy was just a pregnant teenage boy with nowhere to go.
Harry's mouth went dry as he met McGonagall's gaze - the word 'Sectumsempra' poking a sharp stick into his guilty conscience.
"I don't know where he's been since, but the last time I saw him, he was running out the front gates with Snape." Harry notices that one of his trainers is untied. "He was being blackmailed by Voldemort - he said Draco's mother and father would be killed unless he…got rid of Dumbledore."
McGonagall frowned. "Why didn't you tell us this earlier?"
"Because I - because it was Snape who killed him. Draco couldn't do it, not even with Dumbledore defenceless. He just talked and…"
"And what, Harry?" Hermione urges, laying a hand on his shaking arm.
"Dumbledore offered a way out, protection for Malfoy and his mother…"
"And did Draco accept this offer?"
Harry swallows and avoids her eyes. He's looking through the window in the door - watching Draco's chest move up and down slowly as he sleeps.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice again.
"He was furious, and maybe a bit scared, but he listened anyway. Then when he started lowering his wand…" Harry thinks he sees movement from the lump of Draco's stomach and it steals his attention away for a brief moment. "There wasn't enough time. Snape and the other Death Eaters were suddenly there, and then…" A flash of green blinds Harry's memories. He takes a breath and looks back at McGonagall. "It was over."
"And do you believe Mr Malfoy would have used the killing curse on Dumbledore if Professor Snape had not shown up?"
"He's never been nice, or fair, but I was there the whole time, and he couldn't make himself kill - he wouldn't kill…" Suddenly ready to be done with the 'talk', Harry gently removes Hermione's hand and slumps into the empty chair by the door.
"Thank you, Harry. He'll have to answer for his involvement, but considering the Dark Lord's influence over his father, and the Auror's views on the Malfoy family, I can see why he didn't believe any options of escape were open to him."
Harry nods.
"Now, how are you holding up?"
"Oh, fine," he answers pitifully. McGonagall lowers her head and gives him a pointed look over the top of her glasses. "Better, thank you," he amends.
She gives a weary smile to Harry and a nod to Hermione before removing the spell.
"Oh, one more thing, Potter."
"Yes?"
"Congratulations," she says, turning to leave. "I hear your daughter is quite resilient."
"Thank you." Harry answers politely, giving a feeble wave as she climbs into the lift. The doors begin their closing routine when her final words hit him.
"Wait! My what?"
~*~
Ron finds Harry in the chair beside Malfoy's bed, eyelids slowly falling.
"Hot chocolate?" He offers a cup and Harry accepts, inhaling deeply.
"Mmm, thanks. They didn't have any when I asked this morning. Where'd you get this?"
"Mum. She's here, talking with Hermione and a few of the Healers."
"Oh. So she knows?"
"Yeah, but she's not mad or anything. You know her, she hears the word baby and…"
Harry takes another sip, watching the rise and fall of Malfoy's chest, wondering exactly how many people know about them now. The warm drink makes him realise how tired he is.
"So. It's really yours then?" Ron asks, gesturing at Draco's belly.
"Yeah."
Silence stretches as they both turn their attention to their drinks.
"I - I didn't know you liked blokes."
Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment and takes a deep breath. He wants to tell Ron - needs to have this conversation - but doesn't think he has the energy for it at the moment. "I don't, I - Ron, this isn't a good - I really don't want to talk about this right now. I'm sorry I kept it…"
"Then when, Harry? I'm only asking because I'm your best friend, and for some reason I just found out you have a - a bloody Malfoy for a boyfriend, and he's up the spout with your kid!"
The paper cup finds the bin as Harry gets to his feet. "Don't start with me, Ron. I couldn't tell you about Malfoy. You would have - it was over almost as soon as it started. And I didn't know about the baby."
Ron eyes him warily over his cup. "And what about Ginny?"
"What about her? Malfoy and I weren't even - and Ginny and I..." Harry shakes his head in frustration, trying to keep his voice down.
"How do you think she's going to feel when…"
Harry's fists slam into the top of the chair. "Damn it, Ron! I don't bloody care! I've got other things to think about!"
Ron sets down his drink on the tray beside Malfoy's bed and raises his palms in a 'calm down' sort of way. "Listen, Harry. I know you've been through a lot this term, but you can't just…"
"No, you listen to me!" Harry thrusts a finger towards him and watches the splotches on Ron's cheeks spread. "Voldemort's still out there, Ron, remember him? He's not stopping for my little crisis with Malfoy. If I don't find those last few Horcruxes before he figures out what I'm doing and attacks the school again - or somewhere else - there might not be any Ginny, Malfoy or baby to worry about! Get it? He'll hurt anyone who's close to us - to me until he wins. You know that."
Ron was suddenly quite pale, but he took a breath and one shaky step toward his friend. "Harry, I…"
Harry pushed past him. "Just get away from me, Ron. I need some sleep."
~*~
Six days feel more to Harry like twelve, and the routine of sitting with Malfoy, eating, sleeping, avoiding the Healers and then sitting with Malfoy again, wears at his patience as well as being a week behind in his search for the remaining Horcruxes.
After patching things up with Ron over a good amount of butterbeer and a tub of Molly's strawberry ice cream, he spent any time away from Malfoy in Healer Thompson's office with his head in either stuck in a book, or in the Floo. Hermione is teaching him the importance of 'research before action', but all the reading and interrogating makes his eyes hurt and his goal seem farther off than ever.
He closes Dark Objects of the Sixteenth Century and the Wizards who Possessed Them, and holds his throbbing head in his hands, muttering to himself: The locket, the cup, the snake - something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's. The locket, the cup, the snake, and something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's.
He gets to his feet and stretches out his sore muscles when his wand makes a soft buzzing noise, reminding him that it's his turn to sit with Malfoy.
The rotation is Harry, Hermione and then Ron. He wonders why they volunteered, and yet somewhere inside, he knows the answer. During his time by Malfoy's bed, he thinks and sometimes talks - talks to himself, to Draco, (no shouting, he promised) or reads out loud from something - anything to keep from nodding off.
On the sixth day Draco's stomach moves as if he's a giant bowl filled with water. The movement goes from side to side, like a wave - like the slow swing of a hammock. Harry realises what must be happening as he gets to his feet and reaches out his hand. He freezes, unable to close the distance between him and his child; Malfoy's in the way.
~*~
The night brings a series of bad dreams filled with images of Malfoy handing their child over to Voldemort, but very little sleep. He gives up on resting, and arrives at the room earlier than usual.
The news that Malfoy is awake takes Harry by surprise.
With one last warning about what will happen if Harry starts shouting - and on the condition he keep the door open - the Healers step back and allow him into the room.
He can't help the frustration that builds with all the questions that he still needs answered. He sits because Malfoy's watching, waiting for him to do something - waiting for him to explode. Expecting it.
"So you're pregnant," Harry says, not knowing what else to say.
Malfoy rubs his obvious belly and makes a smart remark.
After that, the blame starts to fly, tension building with each nasty glare and snide comment. Through it all, Harry holds on to his volume, but his white knuckles and clenched teeth tell a different story. Once the sweat appears on Harry's forehead, Draco calls him on it - tells him to go ahead and yell.
Harry's anger deflates as his promise to the Healers slips out, as well as a mumbled confession of being on his last warning.
Somehow the irony of it all lifts the tension slightly, and the visit ends on a strangely civil note.
~*~
The second visit starts with an apology from Malfoy that takes Harry by surprise. He takes his regular place in the chair and listens to the calm, sad voice coming from the bed. He means to look up, but can't seem to manage it.
Malfoy asks how he feels about the baby - about becoming a father.
Harry wants to throw back a clever comment - something biting that will tell Malfoy exactly what he feels about the whole mess - when the light suddenly catches the scars on the back of his own hand, drawing his eyes to it. I must not tell lies. He quietly admits to Malfoy that he's never really given it much thought - the baby thing. Voldemort has become his main focus. The future seems worlds away.
Once the Dark Lord is mentioned, the conversation becomes a combination of insults and hurtful insinuations that build until a bottle on Draco's bedside table explodes.
Harry's anger and confusion burn him from the inside, and he forgets any promise he made to keep his voice at an acceptable level. "Don't you get it? I don't care! Not about you, not about any of this!" he shouts , then turns quickly, needing to escape.
"You liar!"
Harry stops moving, and begins gathering more words for another attack. The rage feels good, something he's been surviving on - more nourishing than food or sleep.
Hermione steps into his sight out in the corridor, a look of disappointment clear on her flushed face.
Harry walks out of the room without looking back, and slams the door. A bottle hits it from Malfoy's side, as Hermione drags Harry away from the stern-looking Healers.
There's no point in resisting.
~*~
On the third attempt, they have a chaperone.
Hermione sets up another chair beside Harry's as he and Malfoy exchange uneasy glances. When she looks up at Draco, he plasters on a charming smile; the falseness of it makes Harry's skin crawl. He folds his arms across his chest and wishes Draco would give him something to work with - a good reason to trust, to try, but the hidden Mark on his arm and the polite garbage spilling from his mouth only add fire to Harry's irritation.
Hermione decides a book would be better company, and leaves with a promise to be 'back in a few minutes', and with an order to talk.
In the time it takes to find a few words, Harry's frustration fades slightly, and he talks about the night on the tower, about Dumbledore, and about the Headmaster's ridiculous need to see the best in people.
Harry watches the remaining colour fade from Draco's face when he hears that Harry was there - heard everything. Saw everything.
"You saw how much of a coward I was then," Malfoy whispers, refusing to look up.
Harry has quite a few labels he would like to attach to Draco, but in light of his choosing not to kill a weakened, unarmed man, Harry doesn't think he'll add 'coward' to the list.
"I'm going to give you a chance, Malfoy. One chance. I think that's what Dumbledore would have wanted. So don't fuck it up."
Malfoy looks like he's just taken a stunner to the chest, but he utters 'thank you' anyway.
They are still watching each other silently when Hermione returns.
It's the first time Harry doesn't storm out - the first time he wouldn't mind staying a little longer.
~*~
An hour of Ron's mum's sexual history and details of every one of her pregnancies is worse than Harry had imagined, but at least he's not alone. Malfoy squirms at the mention of the placenta, stretch marks, and post-natal sex. They share looks of disgust and embarrassment, silently teaming up against a jolly monster set on elaborating on the unfortunate reality of haemorrhoids.
She casually touches Malfoy's stomach and Harry catches Draco's brief look of panic and slight flinch. A strange need to protect him rises without Harry's permission, but he stays where he is. The moment passes.
She finally leaves after patting them both on the head and offering her support once the baby arrives.
Harry falls into the chair and notices how the flush of embarrassment staining Draco's cheeks makes him look better, healthier. Attractive, he tells himself before looking away.
They talk for a while, united in their new-found fear of Molly's teachings, even laughing occasionally. It's an vast improvement on past visits.
~*~
He steps out of the fire place at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and shakes the soot from his cloak. He needs clothes and a shower, but has no intention of going to Privet Drive at such a late hour - or ever again. Ron and Molly had offered the Burrow, but Harry politely declined, needing some time alone - time to think about being someone's father - someone's partner.
Molly's talk had made everything seem very real. Immediate. He could have done without all the physical details, but some of what she had said stuck with him - the parts he imagines any parent looks forward to; he was suddenly curious about what the baby would look like, and at the same time worried about whether or not she would be whole and healthy.
At sixteen, having a child was unimaginable, and yet it was going to happen whether they were ready or not.
He picks up a small cushion from the sofa and holds it like he had seen mothers holding their children. He instantly feels ridiculous, and throws it back down again. Still, the thought of holding his baby - meeting her for the first time - won't let him go.
He climbs the stairs, avoiding the creaky ones and thinks of Draco, remembering the way he looked after Molly's speech - flushed and sort of stunned-looking.
He lies back onto the slightly dusty sheets of his bed and takes a trip back in his mind to a much dustier broom cupboard, and hears himself breaking it off with Malfoy, telling him that 'everything will go back to normal, and it'll all be fine'. He throws an arm over his eyes remembering how his hands itched to touch Malfoy - his irrational addiction building against words that were trying to communicate the opposite message his body was projecting. Once Draco was locked against him, it seemed impossible to slow down - to think about any consequences. His heart races as the feel of Draco under him - around him - comes swimming back to the surface, warming his skin, reminding him of the shudders and sweat.
Reminding him of their mistake.
No.
Their second chance.
~*~
Draco is grumbling and shifting restlessly when Harry walks in the next morning.
A glance at the pouting lips and swollen belly start something stirring in Harry that he can't find a word for, so he distracts himself with looking at the chair that has become 'his', until a pained gasp pulls his attention back to the bed. Draco's face is scrunched up in discomfort.
Before he can stop himself, Harry is asking if he's all right, and building a pile of pillows under Draco's lower back to make him more comfortable. The sigh of contentment once Draco settles in, makes Harry assume that he's been suffering for a while.
Harry suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He reaches forward to make sure the bump under the blankets is still safe when the reality of his actions hit him like a snow ball to the face. He picks at a thread on one of the sheets instead, not yet ready to take his seat.
They talk calmly for a while about denial and fear until Harry feels unsatisfied with the distance between them. But instead of leaning in, he mutters something about food and leaves with a promise to bring back chocolate.
It was typical that the gift shop didn't have anything half-decent in the way of sweets. Grabbing some courage and an armful of Chocolate Frogs, he makes his way back to the room.
He watches as Draco devours the little legs first, the head, and then the body of the frog. His eyes follow past Draco's fine jaw and bobbing adam's apple and down his chest, and lower to where he imagines the baby waiting patiently for the treat that's on the way.
He stares at the round curve - his mouth suddenly dry - this time tomorrow they'd be holding…
"A baby," he whispers as Draco follows his gaze. "A baby."
The thought suddenly occurs to him that Draco might be as scared as he is, just as nervous about what to do with the baby once she comes. Without giving himself time to change his mind, Harry reaches over Draco's belly and asks if he can see - touch the skin under the blankets.
Draco makes a nervous joke about ugly stretch marks, but Harry can only stare as the covers are rolled down, and the thin shirt is pulled up. His hand hovers just over the smooth skin, and he can feel the heat from it rising up, but he can't make himself close the distance.
Draco helps him the rest of the way, and suddenly Harry's hand is closer to his child than it's ever been. He worries when he doesn't feel any movement.
"Probably asleep. Resting up before the trauma of getting hacked out of me tomorrow."
Harry feels his stomach drop. He doesn't like the idea of the surgery required to deliver their baby, but he's done enough reading that he knows at least Draco won't remember any of it.
Draco tells him that he's more afraid of what will happen after the baby arrives, than he is about the operation; Harry tries out a reassuring smile.
"It'll be ok. We'll figure it out," he says as Draco looks up.
"Thought you didn't want to be involved."
Harry resumes the gentle circles over Draco's stomach. "I'm here, aren't I?"
~*~
The colour rises up past his collar as yet another Healer tells him that 'No one is allowed in the operating area except certified personal.' Hermione and Ron each take one of his arms and lead him to the waiting area, where most of the Weasley family is talking to him all at once; he only stays long enough to steal a chair to bring back to the operating corridor.
Molly is a blur as she passes in front of him. "Harry, take some tea. It will help, dear."
"No thank you," he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the door that separates him from Draco and the baby. Time slows down, and yet the conversations buzz over and around him.
"…dad says, and that trade to the Falcons has been the talk around the lunch tables at the Ministry…"
"Have you and Draco picked out a name, Harry?"
"…don't want him to lose too much weight afterwards. I know he's not going to like…"
"…only the forty-sixth baby delivered to a wizard in St Mungo's. You should feel prou…"
"Mr Potter, you may come in now."
~*~
Molly takes a bundle of white fabric from Healer Thompson and walks toward Harry slowly, like in a dream.
A baby is crying, but it's a strange sound - so new. He sees her then, scrunched face surrounded by the blanket - little tufts of dark hair poking out. He stares in awe as she squeezes her eyes and tiny fists.
"Put your hands out, Harry," Molly says softly. Harry looks up at her blotchy face and notices the tears. "That's it, dear, hold her head." His hands shake as he brings the bundle closer, still keeping a reasonable distance in case he needs to give her back suddenly. She weighs almost nothing and looks so fragile. His jaw tightens as he feels the little legs kick against his wrist.
Mrs Weasley comes up behind his chair and tells him to hold his daughter closer. He worries about dropping her, losing her tiny body through the folds of the blanket and not being able to catch her in time. Molly helps. Soon the baby is resting in the crook of his elbow, tucked warmly against his chest. He stares down into his daughters eyes and sees his life, his family.
The baby stops crying.
Molly kisses the top of his head and leaves them alone together.
Making sure her head is supported, Harry takes a shaky breath and carefully peels away each fold of blanket until she's left in nothing except gooseflesh and a nappy.
"Ten fingers, ten toes," Harry reassures himself, and exhales his relief.
He wraps her up again and stares until her small eyelids close.
"Are you tired? You've had a long day, haven't you?" he asks in a whisper.
It hits him then, the enormity of what his parents must have felt when they held him for the first time. He finds comfort in the thought of his own father counting his fingers and toes while his mother slept off the exhaustion of the delivery. A pang of regret follows quickly and his vision blurs as he understands - at last - how much of a sacrifice they made for him - how much was lost.
He felt the blood run from his face at the thought of failing his daughter - leaving her in a world where Voldemort lived unchallenged.
"That's not going to happen," he says, lifting his head to look at Draco, and then back down again to whisper to their daughter. "We won't let that happen."
~*~
Harry nearly jumps when a tired voice calls his name, and he looks up as relief settles over him. There is so much he wants to say, and yet he blurts out the only thing his tired mind comes up with:
"It's a girl."
Draco struggles to sit up and Harry wants to help, but his arms are occupied. He's already getting up from the chair when Draco asks to see her, and repeating Molly's instruction about head support, surrenders her into her other father's arms, carefully trying to avoid bumping Draco's still slightly swollen belly.
Harry takes a step back, not wanting to interfere with the moment. His arms feel oddly empty, even though he hasn't been holding her for very long - a half hour, maybe.
She opens her blue eyes and stares up at Draco. They watch each other, but Draco's expression is unreadable. Harry gets ready to leave them alone for a while longer when Draco suddenly looks up and asks him what he thinks of her.
"I think she's beautiful," he says instantly.
"Really?"
Harry takes a step closer and glances at the bundle. "Look at her," he whispers. "Really look."
Draco looks - studies his daughter, and Harry watches silently as the changes unfold. At first Draco seems puzzled, as if he still doesn't know the answer to the question he was asking, next a look of concern flashes in his eyes as he watches the chubby exposed arm, and Harry can only imagine what he must be thinking. Lastly he moves a finger to push the little hand back under the blankets - and gasps.
Harry smiles at the sight of Draco's long finger held captive in her miniature fist.
When Draco's eyes meet his, Harry knows that they're both in love - maybe not with each other - not yet, but with the little person they created. For now, that's enough.
"She's not beautiful, she's perfect."
Harry covers their fingers with his own and agrees.
~*~
Original post with comments from the hd_remix community.
Master list of Remix fics found here
Author: dacro
Remix of: Genesis (primarily part two) for the hd_remix exchange.
Author of the Original: akahannah
Pairing: H/D
Rated: R (mild - for language and implied sex)
Disclaimer: The world belonging to JKR and her lawyers is not mine.
Betas: saladbats and moonlight_tryst. Thank you, ladies!
Summary:When his ex-lover - his enemy - passes out on the door step of Number Four Privet Drive, Harry is torn between contacting St Mungo's or Azkaban. His decision changes their lives forever.
Notes: The original (part one) parallels HBP from Draco's POV. I chose to jump into part two and write from Harry's POV. I had a blast adding in some scenes that would have happened while Draco was still sleeping, and showing how Harry was coping (or not). I enjoyed the original so much that I was thrilled when akahannah mentioned that this was the one she would like to see remixed. Thank you for allowing me to play in this universe.
It was a joy and an honour to be involved in this exchange. Thanks to coffeejunkii for organising!
Comments are always welcome. *hugs*
Enjoy!
~*~
Revelations
Harry reaches for the front door, trying to ignore his aunt's hushed hisses and the irritation of an endless morning's worth of weeding and mowing. He's still grumbling when the shadow in the doorway takes on meaning.
Malfoy.
Harry blinks stupidly a few times, wondering why someone would be wearing full length black robes on such a sticky day.
"I need your help, Potter," Malfoy says weakly. "Please. I didn't know where else to go."
Harry studies him coldly, not for one minute believing that Malfoy would ever say 'help' and 'please' in the same sentence. He grabs the thin arm, prepared now to see the Mark of the master behind the puppet. Malfoy doesn't resist, and Harry is puzzled momentarily by the lack of fight.
A week of self isolation after walking away from Hogwarts has given Harry too much time to think - too much time to relive the overwhelming emotions and images of that night and the numbing day that followed. The final words of a dying old friend echo in his ears constantly, and the wavering wand of an enemy interrupts his sleep every night.
He stares up from the Mark with a look of disgust, secretly wishing he could let go the 'I told you so' Ron and Hermione deserved to hear.
"If you're going to turn me in to the Ministry, get it over with, all right?" Draco reclaims his arm, swaying dangerously as Harry studies him, making his decision.
"I'm not going to turn you in to the bloody Ministry," He throws back, his irritation showing more than he intends. The next moment he notices the strange tinge of Malfoy's sallow skin, and asks if he's alright.
Less than a minute later, he's swearing at himself - dragging dead weight into the house - troubled by the wave of concern that gripped him the moment he realised Malfoy was falling.
His Aunt yells her disapproval (once the door is closed) of the unconscious boy lying on the newly steamed hall carpet as Harry sprints up to his room, taking two steps at a time, heart pounding in his ears, and Dobby's name on his lips.
A few hours and a million unanswered questions later, Harry slouches into an uncomfortable chair in an empty office and lets his head fall back. The speckled ceiling holds as many answers as the line of Healers running in and out of Malfoy's room, so he closes his eyes and tries to focus instead on how to figure out if Nagini really is a Horcrux or not. The soft clicking of the office door steals his attention.
"Harry?" Hermione calls softly before entering. He manages to smile at her distorted hair through the frosted glass. She returns the smile briefly, but it's controlled, tight.
"You know something," Harry says as she takes a seat in the opposite chair and begins wringing her hands in her lap.
"Yes. Healer Thompson..."
"Hermione..."
She sighs, "He's stable, but still unconscious. They're surprised that he's made it this far on his own, without any..."
"Oh yeah, one week. Brave Malfoy," Harry says, squeezing the arms of the worn chair.
"Harry's that's not..."
"What? Snape's cooking is so bad that he ran away?" Harry tried not to enjoy the tiny thrill that stirred in his chest at the look of shock on Hermione's face. "It was a bad potion, right? Bloated his stomach, and made his skin that dull colour..."
Hermione shot to her feet, disappointment clearly written over every inch of her frown.
"He nearly died today, Harry." Her eyes kept staring as he looked away, suddenly ashamed.
"But," she said in a softer tone, "because you acted quickly, the healers believe that both he and the baby should make a full recovery in a few days."
Harry sat frozen in the ugly orange chair with the words the baby playing in and around the sound of Hermione's retreating steps.
Baby.
He lunges for the bin beside the desk as his breakfast churns threateningly.
~*~
Ten minutes later she returns with two cups of tea and another one of her worried half-smiles.
"Ready to talk now?"
He runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly more edgy with her return. "God, Hermione, I didn't need this on top of everything else. He's really having a baby?"
She nods. "Harry, why would he come to you for help?"
The headache that had been prickling all day finally crosses the line into 'pounding' as Harry sinks lower into the chair and rubs his temples. "How did he - why is he pregnant? He's a - not a girl."
"It's not common, but it does happen occasionally. It's really rather fascinating. Instead of the sperm and egg, a merging of two magical signatures - both of the wizard's magical…DNA, I suppose you could call…" She pauses her teaching to look closely at her friend. "You didn't answer my question."
He lifts his glasses and rubs at his eyes, trying to find something she'll believe. He gives up, and tells the truth.
"We were sort of seeing each other at the beginning of the year." He says softly. Hermione begins to say something, but stops just as suddenly, mouth and eyes wide open. He gestures around the office, searching for the right words. "It wasn't like - it was just about - we still hated each other, still do, but it was…stress relief." he finishes lamely.
"But you did have sex with him?"
"Yeah, but just the once."
"Oh." She says, eyes darting toward the door. "Well then I think you should go talk to Healer Thomson, and give her a blood sample."
Her words make him get to his feet too quickly. His head continues to pound. "Is he that bad- is he losing blood? Are other people donating too?"
"No. He's stable. Unconscious, but stable." She touches his arm. "That's not my point, Harry."
He knows something's not right in the way she's watching him with that sad expression, but he's never been good at knowing what was behind it.
"I'm tired, Hermione, just tell me."
"A blood test will determine if you're the father."
Harry gives a sharp laugh. "Of course I'm not the…"
"I'll come with you if you like, but you should really eat something first Harry, you're not looking well."
"Really? I wonder why that is?" he snaps, feeling the worse for yelling, but wanting to make it clear he was not giving in or going anywhere.
He needs to think.
~*~
An hour later he's alone again in the too-small office with a cup of cold tea and stacks of information on male pregnancies - courtesy of his friend, who left looking as if it was her turn to use the bin by the desk. He wanted to apologise for not telling her and Ron about his - whatever it was he had with Malfoy - sooner, but her soft words and insistence that he submit to the paternity test made it hard to even look at her.
The end of their talk had gone badly.
He takes a moment to stretch his legs remembering some of the nasty words he had used to describe Malfoy to the Healers - before he knew the truth about the baby's father. It had felt so good at the time. Justifiable. After all, if Malfoy spread his legs for Harry, then who's to say he wouldn't have for someone else as well? He didn't care that the Mediwizards shushed him, and he sure as hell didn't care about the other occupants of the wing. He wanted Draco to wake up and hear the trouble he'd caused.
He looks down at the worn bit of parchment between his palms, uncurls the edges and reads it again. The words haven't changed.
Sample from Harry J. Potter and 'baby' Malfoy:
Probability of Paternity --- 99.9986%
"Fuck."
Fear and anger twist with warmth and sadness, making his stomach turn in on itself and his jaw ache uncomfortably. His head falls between his knees as his complicated life crowds in on him.
~*~
He's told Draco is still unconscious, but he doesn't care. He needs to have a few words, and it's all the better that Malfoy can't talk back. He's careful enough closing the door to Malfoy's room, but the door handle rattles with his impatience. Only a few steps and he's close enough to touch - or hit, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers clamp down on the footboard of the bed. When the words come, they slip out in a dangerously low whisper - cold and empty.
"I told you to stay away from me, but you couldn't manage even that, could you, Malfoy? Is this what it's going to be like? You'll leave, my life will go back the way it should be, and then in a few months, you'll turn up again with another surprise?" He pulls himself to his full height and tries on his best mock-Malfoy drawl. "Oh, by the way, Potter, I've given up our child to the Dark Lord's service - I didn't think you'd mind." His voice creeps higher, and the glass bottles on the bedside table clink their accompaniment. "Why don't you come for Christmas tea, Harry? We'll be one big happy family!"
His colour rises as he drops act and begins shouting in earnest. "I should have just sent you to Scrimgeour - to Azkaban, instead of St Mungo's! I hear they have plenty of room now that your father's gone. And where's Snape, Malfoy? Too much for him, were you? You're pathetic!" he yells. His fingers tighten on the bed, and he hopes that somewhere under the sleep and potions, his words find their way to Malfoy.
He hears voices and footsteps in the hall but he ignores them, leaning forward.
"I don’t care that he threatened your family! They already belong to him as far as I know, so why didn't you just keep running - save your own hide like a good little Slytherin? Like Snape did! You brought Death Eaters into a school, Malfoy! People died and it's your fault! You could have done anything else, gone to Dumbledore - came to me!"
He hears the door swing open and four men in Healer's robes approach slowly with their palms facing him - no wands. Harry whips back around and glares at Malfoy's face, and then quickly to the lump around his middle.
"I hate you, Malfoy! I bet you planned this whole thing! I wish I had - Hey! Let go of me!"
Strong hands grip his arms from both sides and drag him - struggling and swearing - back into the corridor.
He stops his ranting when Hermione's hand leaves a burning sting on his cheek.
~*~
Harry and Hermione sit outside Malfoy's room, absently flipping through the pregnancy books when approaching footsteps draw their attention.
"A word, if you wouldn't mind, Potter? Good afternoon, Miss Granger."
"Um, sure," says Harry.
"Good afternoon, Headmistress."
McGonagall leans close to Harry. "I would like to ask you a few questions concerning Draco Malfoy. You may decide if Miss Granger joins us or not."
Harry glances over at Hermione - who's already biting her lip in worry. "It's fine, she can stay."
"Very well." Her wand draws a circle in the air around them. "Muffliato."
Hermione gasps. "Professor! Use of unauthorized magic in Hospital…"
"Is perfectly permissible in the corridors - within reason of course."
Hermione's gaze drops suddenly. "Oh, of course, sorry."
"Now Harry, as you know, Draco has been missing since…"
"Yeah, I know."
"We're fortunate Healer Thompson is a member of the Order, and contacted us before the Aurors were informed. I'm sure you noticed the lack of press and Ministry officials?"
"Oh, yeah." Harry says, gazing at the empty hallway. In truth, he hadn't noticed.
"He's accused of a great many things, and I'm afraid with Professor Snape still at large, the Ministry will come hunting for Draco - and his child - unless we can find a reason to protect them. What can you tell me, Harry?"
And there it was - Malfoy's life and future sat in Harry's hands. He briefly thought about revenge. There were plenty of good reasons why Malfoy deserved to suffer: his unfair prejudice and bullying, worshiping his Death Eater Father, taking the Mark himself, and nearly killing Ron, Katie, and Dumbledore, but there was also something else eating at Harry.
When the bad attitude and pride was stripped away, Malfoy was just a pregnant teenage boy with nowhere to go.
Harry's mouth went dry as he met McGonagall's gaze - the word 'Sectumsempra' poking a sharp stick into his guilty conscience.
"I don't know where he's been since, but the last time I saw him, he was running out the front gates with Snape." Harry notices that one of his trainers is untied. "He was being blackmailed by Voldemort - he said Draco's mother and father would be killed unless he…got rid of Dumbledore."
McGonagall frowned. "Why didn't you tell us this earlier?"
"Because I - because it was Snape who killed him. Draco couldn't do it, not even with Dumbledore defenceless. He just talked and…"
"And what, Harry?" Hermione urges, laying a hand on his shaking arm.
"Dumbledore offered a way out, protection for Malfoy and his mother…"
"And did Draco accept this offer?"
Harry swallows and avoids her eyes. He's looking through the window in the door - watching Draco's chest move up and down slowly as he sleeps.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice again.
"He was furious, and maybe a bit scared, but he listened anyway. Then when he started lowering his wand…" Harry thinks he sees movement from the lump of Draco's stomach and it steals his attention away for a brief moment. "There wasn't enough time. Snape and the other Death Eaters were suddenly there, and then…" A flash of green blinds Harry's memories. He takes a breath and looks back at McGonagall. "It was over."
"And do you believe Mr Malfoy would have used the killing curse on Dumbledore if Professor Snape had not shown up?"
"He's never been nice, or fair, but I was there the whole time, and he couldn't make himself kill - he wouldn't kill…" Suddenly ready to be done with the 'talk', Harry gently removes Hermione's hand and slumps into the empty chair by the door.
"Thank you, Harry. He'll have to answer for his involvement, but considering the Dark Lord's influence over his father, and the Auror's views on the Malfoy family, I can see why he didn't believe any options of escape were open to him."
Harry nods.
"Now, how are you holding up?"
"Oh, fine," he answers pitifully. McGonagall lowers her head and gives him a pointed look over the top of her glasses. "Better, thank you," he amends.
She gives a weary smile to Harry and a nod to Hermione before removing the spell.
"Oh, one more thing, Potter."
"Yes?"
"Congratulations," she says, turning to leave. "I hear your daughter is quite resilient."
"Thank you." Harry answers politely, giving a feeble wave as she climbs into the lift. The doors begin their closing routine when her final words hit him.
"Wait! My what?"
~*~
Ron finds Harry in the chair beside Malfoy's bed, eyelids slowly falling.
"Hot chocolate?" He offers a cup and Harry accepts, inhaling deeply.
"Mmm, thanks. They didn't have any when I asked this morning. Where'd you get this?"
"Mum. She's here, talking with Hermione and a few of the Healers."
"Oh. So she knows?"
"Yeah, but she's not mad or anything. You know her, she hears the word baby and…"
Harry takes another sip, watching the rise and fall of Malfoy's chest, wondering exactly how many people know about them now. The warm drink makes him realise how tired he is.
"So. It's really yours then?" Ron asks, gesturing at Draco's belly.
"Yeah."
Silence stretches as they both turn their attention to their drinks.
"I - I didn't know you liked blokes."
Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment and takes a deep breath. He wants to tell Ron - needs to have this conversation - but doesn't think he has the energy for it at the moment. "I don't, I - Ron, this isn't a good - I really don't want to talk about this right now. I'm sorry I kept it…"
"Then when, Harry? I'm only asking because I'm your best friend, and for some reason I just found out you have a - a bloody Malfoy for a boyfriend, and he's up the spout with your kid!"
The paper cup finds the bin as Harry gets to his feet. "Don't start with me, Ron. I couldn't tell you about Malfoy. You would have - it was over almost as soon as it started. And I didn't know about the baby."
Ron eyes him warily over his cup. "And what about Ginny?"
"What about her? Malfoy and I weren't even - and Ginny and I..." Harry shakes his head in frustration, trying to keep his voice down.
"How do you think she's going to feel when…"
Harry's fists slam into the top of the chair. "Damn it, Ron! I don't bloody care! I've got other things to think about!"
Ron sets down his drink on the tray beside Malfoy's bed and raises his palms in a 'calm down' sort of way. "Listen, Harry. I know you've been through a lot this term, but you can't just…"
"No, you listen to me!" Harry thrusts a finger towards him and watches the splotches on Ron's cheeks spread. "Voldemort's still out there, Ron, remember him? He's not stopping for my little crisis with Malfoy. If I don't find those last few Horcruxes before he figures out what I'm doing and attacks the school again - or somewhere else - there might not be any Ginny, Malfoy or baby to worry about! Get it? He'll hurt anyone who's close to us - to me until he wins. You know that."
Ron was suddenly quite pale, but he took a breath and one shaky step toward his friend. "Harry, I…"
Harry pushed past him. "Just get away from me, Ron. I need some sleep."
~*~
Six days feel more to Harry like twelve, and the routine of sitting with Malfoy, eating, sleeping, avoiding the Healers and then sitting with Malfoy again, wears at his patience as well as being a week behind in his search for the remaining Horcruxes.
After patching things up with Ron over a good amount of butterbeer and a tub of Molly's strawberry ice cream, he spent any time away from Malfoy in Healer Thompson's office with his head in either stuck in a book, or in the Floo. Hermione is teaching him the importance of 'research before action', but all the reading and interrogating makes his eyes hurt and his goal seem farther off than ever.
He closes Dark Objects of the Sixteenth Century and the Wizards who Possessed Them, and holds his throbbing head in his hands, muttering to himself: The locket, the cup, the snake - something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's. The locket, the cup, the snake, and something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's.
He gets to his feet and stretches out his sore muscles when his wand makes a soft buzzing noise, reminding him that it's his turn to sit with Malfoy.
The rotation is Harry, Hermione and then Ron. He wonders why they volunteered, and yet somewhere inside, he knows the answer. During his time by Malfoy's bed, he thinks and sometimes talks - talks to himself, to Draco, (no shouting, he promised) or reads out loud from something - anything to keep from nodding off.
On the sixth day Draco's stomach moves as if he's a giant bowl filled with water. The movement goes from side to side, like a wave - like the slow swing of a hammock. Harry realises what must be happening as he gets to his feet and reaches out his hand. He freezes, unable to close the distance between him and his child; Malfoy's in the way.
~*~
The night brings a series of bad dreams filled with images of Malfoy handing their child over to Voldemort, but very little sleep. He gives up on resting, and arrives at the room earlier than usual.
The news that Malfoy is awake takes Harry by surprise.
With one last warning about what will happen if Harry starts shouting - and on the condition he keep the door open - the Healers step back and allow him into the room.
He can't help the frustration that builds with all the questions that he still needs answered. He sits because Malfoy's watching, waiting for him to do something - waiting for him to explode. Expecting it.
"So you're pregnant," Harry says, not knowing what else to say.
Malfoy rubs his obvious belly and makes a smart remark.
After that, the blame starts to fly, tension building with each nasty glare and snide comment. Through it all, Harry holds on to his volume, but his white knuckles and clenched teeth tell a different story. Once the sweat appears on Harry's forehead, Draco calls him on it - tells him to go ahead and yell.
Harry's anger deflates as his promise to the Healers slips out, as well as a mumbled confession of being on his last warning.
Somehow the irony of it all lifts the tension slightly, and the visit ends on a strangely civil note.
~*~
The second visit starts with an apology from Malfoy that takes Harry by surprise. He takes his regular place in the chair and listens to the calm, sad voice coming from the bed. He means to look up, but can't seem to manage it.
Malfoy asks how he feels about the baby - about becoming a father.
Harry wants to throw back a clever comment - something biting that will tell Malfoy exactly what he feels about the whole mess - when the light suddenly catches the scars on the back of his own hand, drawing his eyes to it. I must not tell lies. He quietly admits to Malfoy that he's never really given it much thought - the baby thing. Voldemort has become his main focus. The future seems worlds away.
Once the Dark Lord is mentioned, the conversation becomes a combination of insults and hurtful insinuations that build until a bottle on Draco's bedside table explodes.
Harry's anger and confusion burn him from the inside, and he forgets any promise he made to keep his voice at an acceptable level. "Don't you get it? I don't care! Not about you, not about any of this!" he shouts , then turns quickly, needing to escape.
"You liar!"
Harry stops moving, and begins gathering more words for another attack. The rage feels good, something he's been surviving on - more nourishing than food or sleep.
Hermione steps into his sight out in the corridor, a look of disappointment clear on her flushed face.
Harry walks out of the room without looking back, and slams the door. A bottle hits it from Malfoy's side, as Hermione drags Harry away from the stern-looking Healers.
There's no point in resisting.
~*~
On the third attempt, they have a chaperone.
Hermione sets up another chair beside Harry's as he and Malfoy exchange uneasy glances. When she looks up at Draco, he plasters on a charming smile; the falseness of it makes Harry's skin crawl. He folds his arms across his chest and wishes Draco would give him something to work with - a good reason to trust, to try, but the hidden Mark on his arm and the polite garbage spilling from his mouth only add fire to Harry's irritation.
Hermione decides a book would be better company, and leaves with a promise to be 'back in a few minutes', and with an order to talk.
In the time it takes to find a few words, Harry's frustration fades slightly, and he talks about the night on the tower, about Dumbledore, and about the Headmaster's ridiculous need to see the best in people.
Harry watches the remaining colour fade from Draco's face when he hears that Harry was there - heard everything. Saw everything.
"You saw how much of a coward I was then," Malfoy whispers, refusing to look up.
Harry has quite a few labels he would like to attach to Draco, but in light of his choosing not to kill a weakened, unarmed man, Harry doesn't think he'll add 'coward' to the list.
"I'm going to give you a chance, Malfoy. One chance. I think that's what Dumbledore would have wanted. So don't fuck it up."
Malfoy looks like he's just taken a stunner to the chest, but he utters 'thank you' anyway.
They are still watching each other silently when Hermione returns.
It's the first time Harry doesn't storm out - the first time he wouldn't mind staying a little longer.
~*~
An hour of Ron's mum's sexual history and details of every one of her pregnancies is worse than Harry had imagined, but at least he's not alone. Malfoy squirms at the mention of the placenta, stretch marks, and post-natal sex. They share looks of disgust and embarrassment, silently teaming up against a jolly monster set on elaborating on the unfortunate reality of haemorrhoids.
She casually touches Malfoy's stomach and Harry catches Draco's brief look of panic and slight flinch. A strange need to protect him rises without Harry's permission, but he stays where he is. The moment passes.
She finally leaves after patting them both on the head and offering her support once the baby arrives.
Harry falls into the chair and notices how the flush of embarrassment staining Draco's cheeks makes him look better, healthier. Attractive, he tells himself before looking away.
They talk for a while, united in their new-found fear of Molly's teachings, even laughing occasionally. It's an vast improvement on past visits.
~*~
He steps out of the fire place at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and shakes the soot from his cloak. He needs clothes and a shower, but has no intention of going to Privet Drive at such a late hour - or ever again. Ron and Molly had offered the Burrow, but Harry politely declined, needing some time alone - time to think about being someone's father - someone's partner.
Molly's talk had made everything seem very real. Immediate. He could have done without all the physical details, but some of what she had said stuck with him - the parts he imagines any parent looks forward to; he was suddenly curious about what the baby would look like, and at the same time worried about whether or not she would be whole and healthy.
At sixteen, having a child was unimaginable, and yet it was going to happen whether they were ready or not.
He picks up a small cushion from the sofa and holds it like he had seen mothers holding their children. He instantly feels ridiculous, and throws it back down again. Still, the thought of holding his baby - meeting her for the first time - won't let him go.
He climbs the stairs, avoiding the creaky ones and thinks of Draco, remembering the way he looked after Molly's speech - flushed and sort of stunned-looking.
He lies back onto the slightly dusty sheets of his bed and takes a trip back in his mind to a much dustier broom cupboard, and hears himself breaking it off with Malfoy, telling him that 'everything will go back to normal, and it'll all be fine'. He throws an arm over his eyes remembering how his hands itched to touch Malfoy - his irrational addiction building against words that were trying to communicate the opposite message his body was projecting. Once Draco was locked against him, it seemed impossible to slow down - to think about any consequences. His heart races as the feel of Draco under him - around him - comes swimming back to the surface, warming his skin, reminding him of the shudders and sweat.
Reminding him of their mistake.
No.
Their second chance.
~*~
Draco is grumbling and shifting restlessly when Harry walks in the next morning.
A glance at the pouting lips and swollen belly start something stirring in Harry that he can't find a word for, so he distracts himself with looking at the chair that has become 'his', until a pained gasp pulls his attention back to the bed. Draco's face is scrunched up in discomfort.
Before he can stop himself, Harry is asking if he's all right, and building a pile of pillows under Draco's lower back to make him more comfortable. The sigh of contentment once Draco settles in, makes Harry assume that he's been suffering for a while.
Harry suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He reaches forward to make sure the bump under the blankets is still safe when the reality of his actions hit him like a snow ball to the face. He picks at a thread on one of the sheets instead, not yet ready to take his seat.
They talk calmly for a while about denial and fear until Harry feels unsatisfied with the distance between them. But instead of leaning in, he mutters something about food and leaves with a promise to bring back chocolate.
It was typical that the gift shop didn't have anything half-decent in the way of sweets. Grabbing some courage and an armful of Chocolate Frogs, he makes his way back to the room.
He watches as Draco devours the little legs first, the head, and then the body of the frog. His eyes follow past Draco's fine jaw and bobbing adam's apple and down his chest, and lower to where he imagines the baby waiting patiently for the treat that's on the way.
He stares at the round curve - his mouth suddenly dry - this time tomorrow they'd be holding…
"A baby," he whispers as Draco follows his gaze. "A baby."
The thought suddenly occurs to him that Draco might be as scared as he is, just as nervous about what to do with the baby once she comes. Without giving himself time to change his mind, Harry reaches over Draco's belly and asks if he can see - touch the skin under the blankets.
Draco makes a nervous joke about ugly stretch marks, but Harry can only stare as the covers are rolled down, and the thin shirt is pulled up. His hand hovers just over the smooth skin, and he can feel the heat from it rising up, but he can't make himself close the distance.
Draco helps him the rest of the way, and suddenly Harry's hand is closer to his child than it's ever been. He worries when he doesn't feel any movement.
"Probably asleep. Resting up before the trauma of getting hacked out of me tomorrow."
Harry feels his stomach drop. He doesn't like the idea of the surgery required to deliver their baby, but he's done enough reading that he knows at least Draco won't remember any of it.
Draco tells him that he's more afraid of what will happen after the baby arrives, than he is about the operation; Harry tries out a reassuring smile.
"It'll be ok. We'll figure it out," he says as Draco looks up.
"Thought you didn't want to be involved."
Harry resumes the gentle circles over Draco's stomach. "I'm here, aren't I?"
~*~
The colour rises up past his collar as yet another Healer tells him that 'No one is allowed in the operating area except certified personal.' Hermione and Ron each take one of his arms and lead him to the waiting area, where most of the Weasley family is talking to him all at once; he only stays long enough to steal a chair to bring back to the operating corridor.
Molly is a blur as she passes in front of him. "Harry, take some tea. It will help, dear."
"No thank you," he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the door that separates him from Draco and the baby. Time slows down, and yet the conversations buzz over and around him.
"…dad says, and that trade to the Falcons has been the talk around the lunch tables at the Ministry…"
"Have you and Draco picked out a name, Harry?"
"…don't want him to lose too much weight afterwards. I know he's not going to like…"
"…only the forty-sixth baby delivered to a wizard in St Mungo's. You should feel prou…"
"Mr Potter, you may come in now."
~*~
Molly takes a bundle of white fabric from Healer Thompson and walks toward Harry slowly, like in a dream.
A baby is crying, but it's a strange sound - so new. He sees her then, scrunched face surrounded by the blanket - little tufts of dark hair poking out. He stares in awe as she squeezes her eyes and tiny fists.
"Put your hands out, Harry," Molly says softly. Harry looks up at her blotchy face and notices the tears. "That's it, dear, hold her head." His hands shake as he brings the bundle closer, still keeping a reasonable distance in case he needs to give her back suddenly. She weighs almost nothing and looks so fragile. His jaw tightens as he feels the little legs kick against his wrist.
Mrs Weasley comes up behind his chair and tells him to hold his daughter closer. He worries about dropping her, losing her tiny body through the folds of the blanket and not being able to catch her in time. Molly helps. Soon the baby is resting in the crook of his elbow, tucked warmly against his chest. He stares down into his daughters eyes and sees his life, his family.
The baby stops crying.
Molly kisses the top of his head and leaves them alone together.
Making sure her head is supported, Harry takes a shaky breath and carefully peels away each fold of blanket until she's left in nothing except gooseflesh and a nappy.
"Ten fingers, ten toes," Harry reassures himself, and exhales his relief.
He wraps her up again and stares until her small eyelids close.
"Are you tired? You've had a long day, haven't you?" he asks in a whisper.
It hits him then, the enormity of what his parents must have felt when they held him for the first time. He finds comfort in the thought of his own father counting his fingers and toes while his mother slept off the exhaustion of the delivery. A pang of regret follows quickly and his vision blurs as he understands - at last - how much of a sacrifice they made for him - how much was lost.
He felt the blood run from his face at the thought of failing his daughter - leaving her in a world where Voldemort lived unchallenged.
"That's not going to happen," he says, lifting his head to look at Draco, and then back down again to whisper to their daughter. "We won't let that happen."
~*~
Harry nearly jumps when a tired voice calls his name, and he looks up as relief settles over him. There is so much he wants to say, and yet he blurts out the only thing his tired mind comes up with:
"It's a girl."
Draco struggles to sit up and Harry wants to help, but his arms are occupied. He's already getting up from the chair when Draco asks to see her, and repeating Molly's instruction about head support, surrenders her into her other father's arms, carefully trying to avoid bumping Draco's still slightly swollen belly.
Harry takes a step back, not wanting to interfere with the moment. His arms feel oddly empty, even though he hasn't been holding her for very long - a half hour, maybe.
She opens her blue eyes and stares up at Draco. They watch each other, but Draco's expression is unreadable. Harry gets ready to leave them alone for a while longer when Draco suddenly looks up and asks him what he thinks of her.
"I think she's beautiful," he says instantly.
"Really?"
Harry takes a step closer and glances at the bundle. "Look at her," he whispers. "Really look."
Draco looks - studies his daughter, and Harry watches silently as the changes unfold. At first Draco seems puzzled, as if he still doesn't know the answer to the question he was asking, next a look of concern flashes in his eyes as he watches the chubby exposed arm, and Harry can only imagine what he must be thinking. Lastly he moves a finger to push the little hand back under the blankets - and gasps.
Harry smiles at the sight of Draco's long finger held captive in her miniature fist.
When Draco's eyes meet his, Harry knows that they're both in love - maybe not with each other - not yet, but with the little person they created. For now, that's enough.
"She's not beautiful, she's perfect."
Harry covers their fingers with his own and agrees.
~*~
Original post with comments from the hd_remix community.
Master list of Remix fics found here