Chapter Six: Dream a Little Dream for Me
Author: pokeystar
Beta:dormiensa
A/N: Names of stars found at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_proper_names_of_stars
“Betelguese? Askella? Nunki? Girtab? Peacock?” Granger’s eyes were alight with unholy glee.
Draco reached over and pinched her thigh.
“Ow! Stop doing that! I’m going to get a bruise.”
“It’s a dream. It’s only a dream,” he murmured, clutching the sofa cushion tightly to his chest.
He couldn’t believe his parents still did that sort of thing. And why, oh why had they never told him he was part-Veela? Apparently, the Veela biological drive demanded multiple progeny, and so when his parents had reunited, post-war, that drive had kicked in. With a vengeance. A vivid visual of his parents, mid-coitus, slipped into Draco’s mind, and he recoiled in horror, whimpering. He wished he was blind.
“We’re still here, darling.” Narcissa said, ruffling Draco’s hair.
He squeezed the sofa cushion, which threatened to burst at its seams, and started rocking slightly.
Lucius frowned at his son. For Merlin’s sake, it was only a tiny baby. The boy need not make such a fuss. The world did not revolve around his highness, the drama princess, and it was high time Draco realised it and grew up. This juvenile display was clearly Narcissa’s fault. The entire Black line was too high-strung and self-involved, by half. “I think the boy might be in shock.”
Draco stopped rocking with a jerk. He thrust the cushion from his body with enough velocity that it landed on Crookshanks, lounging by the fireplace. He ignored the disgruntled half-Kneazle and glared at his father. “Man.”
“Boy.”
“Man.” Draco said through clenched teeth.
The ladies rolled their eyes at each other behind the wizards’ backs.
This again.
“Boy!” Lucius declared triumphantly. “Who bought a Muggle zoo last year, hmmm? Do you realise how many breadnut leaves a Guatemalan Black Howler monkey can consume in one day?”
“Concessions have a two thousand per cent mark up! What we charge for chips covers filet mignon for the lions twice over!”
Lucius patted his chest as if his heart just gave a twinge. “The lions eat filet mignon?”
Draco snorted. “It was a hyperbolic example given to illustrate how obscene our profit margin is.”
“Ah ha!” Lucius narrowed his eyes, abruptly changing tactics. “If Malfoy Industries is making so much money, why do you still live here?”
His dismissive glance swept the lounge of his son’s shared… abode. He couldn’t abide homey cheerfulness. Lucius eyed the abundance of framed photos, sentimental knick-knacks, the detritus of daily living in evidence-a bowl sticky with melted ice cream, a pair of dirty socks underneath the sofa table, a fuzzy, well-loved cat toy lying on the hearth rug-and shuddered in horror. Give him polished black granite floor to ceiling, so shiny one could see his reflection in it, any day.
“That is beside the point,” said Draco, refusing to answer.
Draco had moved in right after the completion of his Ministry-enforced “eighth” year at Hogwarts. He’d been assigned partnership with Granger in Arithmancy, and eventually she became one of the very few friends he could count on. With his family’s assets frozen and his parents in Azkaban for five years, he’d had no place to go, until Granger had offered her spare bedroom. A series of menial jobs had ensured his survival. When prodded by acquaintances, Draco claimed he was still sharing a flat with Granger out of sheer laziness. But the truth was, he didn’t think she could get by without his contribution. The woman thought three fuzzy Knuts constituted a week’s lunch money, for Merlin’s sake. His staying on had nothing to do with nightly glimpses of creamy, lick-able Granger skin either. Nothing whatsoever. Draco, by dint of willpower, did not think of the resultant permanent crick in his neck or the Magical chiropractic bills that totalled far more than his share of the rent.
Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but Narcissa laid her hand on his arm, quelling him with a light touch.
“Draco is of age and, therefore, a man.” said Narcissa, giving Lucius a pointed look at his muttered, “Boy.”
“And you’re going to be a big brother!” Hermione exclaimed, beaming at Draco.
His stomach lurched at the reminder. Draco breathed deeply, trying to stave off a panic attack. His father was pregnant. He couldn’t be. He could not be. It was not possible. It’s just a dream. It’s only a dream. As if it had a mind of its own, Draco’s hand moved to pinch Hermione’s thigh again.
“Oh, yes! Thank you for reminding me,” said Narcissa, pointing her wand at Draco’s stomach. “The sexing charm didn’t work for you, Hermione, because Miss Lovegood neglected to mention that you must be related to the charmee, either by blood or by marriage. It’s a common requirement of such intimate spells.”
“But,” Hermione bit her lip in thought, “what about mediwitches? They diagnose pregnancies all the time.”
“Diagnose, yes. Reveal the sex of the baby? Never. Unborn male infants were often used in rituals of Dark Magick long ago. The relationship requirement was a safeguard against such sensitive information falling into the wrong hands.” Lucius explained.
“Erm… ” Hermione bit her lip again.
Draco interceded, grateful for the distraction. “What if a family member is evil, or say, bat-shite insane?”
“Draco! Language!” Hermione said, blushing in discomfort.
He rolled his eyes at her admonishment. “You wouldn’t invite them round and hope for the best.”
“There was a reason why witches went into confinement.” added Narcissa. She raised her wand and executed a complex series of movement with an elegant flair. “Gravidanza Uomo Rivelare.”
Draco’s abdomen glowed red.
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