14/15/16/17

Chapter Fourteen: Peace In the Midst of Storm

Harry wondered what was wrong. For the past several days Draco had been-"subdued" was a good word. "Distant" was another. So was "detached." He'd tried talking to Draco, and they'd even met last night, but Draco had merely stated that, "No, I'm not getting cold feet," and "No, the baby's doing well," and "No, I'm in no danger from my House." This last one had been added because Harry had noticed how attentive and solicitous Draco's gang of Slytherins had been. Crabbe in particular had stayed as close to Draco as possible, even waiting at the doorway at the end of the classes they didn't have together.

"Why is Crabbe acting like he'd wipe your arse if you asked?" he'd finally asked, blunt but frustrated.

"Penance," Draco had answered and left it at that.

So it was understandable that Harry was worried. He'd gone so far as to ask Madam Pomfrey if Draco was just being "hormonal." After advising him never to ask that question directly to Draco, she'd explained that Draco was "in flux." Everything around him and inside him was changing, and Harry should have patience with him.

"Ready to go?"

He smiled at Hermione. They were going to Diagon Alley to shop for robes for the binding ceremony. Ron had bowed out, citing that he needed to study for the N.E.W.T.s It was an obvious lie, but Harry didn't mind. Ron would've been a complete bitch while they were shopping, and Harry just didn't have the patience for it. Besides, now he could get Ron new dress robes and present them as a done deal just before the binding ceremony.

The ceremony was scheduled for the fourth day of the Spring Holidays. Ron and Hermione were going home but would be back for the ceremony and stand with Harry. Since this would be the last time some of them would ever be with their families, all of Draco's friends were going home and only Snape would be there to stand for Draco. Draco had been rather lackadaisical when he mentioned it to Harry, but Harry figured being without his friends had to sting just a little.

"I want to buy Draco a gift while we're out," Harry said as they walked to the outskirts of Hogwarts to apparate, one of the perks of being of age.

"Why? I mean, is this a wedding present or something?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "He's a little down. Hasn't insulted me the whole week."

She placed a hand on his arm to stop him. "This can't be a healthy relationship, Harry."

You have no idea, he thought. "The situation is rather bizarre, and we're doing the best we can. Neither of us expected to be together."

"Forcing the two of you to get married or whatever is simply archaic," she fussed.

He laughed and they continued toward the front gates. "The entire Wizarding world is archaic. Surely a smart witch such as yourself has figured that out."

She nodded, frowning. "I don't understand why they are a century or so behind us in so many areas. They are just as smart and capable as we-"

"You're switching your 'we's and 'they's," Harry warned.

"What?"

"We are the 'we' you're complaining about, Hermione, not 'they.'"

It took her a minute to figure out what he was rattling on about, and then she grinned sheepishly. "I do just the opposite with my parents. At home, I'm so obviously a witch and here, I'm just as obviously a Muggle-born. It's a dichotomy I don't think I'm ever going to transcend."

"Welcome to my world," Harry said sympathetically. "There are so many times, especially when I'm with Ron, that I feel so out of place here. My relatives kept me in the dark, and even after I found out, I still had to 'forget' everything each summer. I don't think I'll ever be completely comfortable with being a wizard."

"It's one of the reasons I study so hard," Hermione confided. "I always feel like I'm playing catch-up to everyone else."

"You are, and all the rest of us who weren't brought up in this world. But I hate to tell you, you're not going to find every answer in a book. There are little things wizards take for granted that they wouldn't even think about putting into a book. It's like if we were trying to make a manual for wizards about the Muggle world, we'd probably forget to tell them about common things like how to flick a light switch." They reached the gates and went through. Drawing his wand, he said, "Meet you in front of Madam Malkin's."

He grinned as he appeared at his destination. God, he LOVED apparating. A loud crack signaled Hermione's successful trip.

"So is that why you're acquiescing to Malfoy about everything? Because, you know, the books say that a binding won't work between you two," Hermione said, continuing the conversation as if they hadn't stopped.

"Think about it for a minute. Can you honestly say you've met someone who's more a wizard than Draco? Ron, at least, had some exposure to the Muggle world from his father. The Wizarding world is the only one Draco knows. I would be a fool not to follow his lead when it comes to something like this. I mean, you saw Ron's face when he said the word 'bastard.' Legitimacy is a big deal around here and neither of us knew that. Think of my little boy being ostracized just because I was too much of an idiot to listen to his other father.

"I can't afford to stumble around on my own anymore, getting by just on luck. I'm going to have a son, someone depending on me to make the right choices, the right decisions."

Hermione gave his shoulder a squeeze and rested her head against his arm. "I think that's the same in both worlds, Harry. And you're right; we should let the purebloods in our lives guide us through the tricky parts of this world."

"And then we can take them to the other-and let them flounder around for awhile," Harry said impishly.

Hermione laughed. "I think I'm starting to see what Malfoy sees in you."

Draco sat studying in the Slytherin common room for one reason-if he was in his dorm he'd fall asleep. He was exhausted, and not just because of the baby. Well, it was because of the baby in a way. He was doing a marathon study session because he had to take the N.E.W.T.s over Spring Holidays due to his pregnancy. By the time the rest of the students took the exams, in two months time, he'd be six months gone, which meant practicals were out of the question and the theory, written, parts-well, there was a concern that the magics of his particular pregnancy might affect his memory.

Most of the concerns stemmed from the fact that very little was known about a Progenitor pregnancy. After there were enough witches to sustain the population, being a Progenitor fell out of favor and was looked upon negatively. Being homosexual was fine-love was love. But a pregnant man was unnatural and frowned upon until recently, after potions and spells made male pregnancy more acceptable. So the few legacy Progenitors that appeared sporadically through history were well-kept secrets, the knowledge of their confinements shared only with family members and very much undocumented. For all Draco knew, he could turn purple and grow wings.

He really should have done more research.

Damn Voldemort.

"Draco."

He looked up to see Pansy standing before him. "I'm awake." He'd asked his friends to keep a check on him. He wasn't really worried about passing the N.E.W.T.s; between having the best Dark professors every summer and wintering with the best of the Light, he was certain there wasn't much he couldn't handle. The only reason he was studying so diligently was to keep his mind off the fact that he now cared about the life growing inside him. It was a complication that he didn't need, and it made him...uncomfortable. The only reason his father cared for him at all was the opportunity to make a living image of himself. If what he was feeling now was because he knew he had a son to mold into himself... He shuddered.

"Potter's outside making a nuisance of himself trying to contact you."

"He's here in the dungeons?"

"He was, but I sent him out to the lake. I thought you could use the break," Pansy said, concern in her eyes. "You know this information inside and out. Why are you pushing yourself so hard?"

"It's a distraction."

She nodded as if she understood. "Go see Potter."

Straightening his robes, he left the common room and headed toward the lake. It was a warm, early spring Saturday, something he'd failed to notice earlier. Soon it would be summer and everyone would figure out that he'd switched sides. Hopefully by then, Potter and Dumbledore would have him stashed somewhere safe.

"Draco."

"Harry." Silence. "Pansy said you wanted to see me?"

"Here."

He looked at the slim, silver-wrapped package Potter held out. If it was some cute, baby something, he was going to kill him. The baby was already too real; he didn't need any more reminders. He ripped off the paper and revealed a book of blank pages.

"It's a journal," Potter said, his hands crammed into his pockets in an undignified manner. "It's charmed to become invisible at the password you set and it will only open at your touch. I thought that since you can't talk about certain things even with your friends, that maybe this would help."

Certain things. The rape. Which he would never talk about even if he could because...well, just because. "Thank you, Harry." He stuck the book in the folds of his robes. "So, is there some muggle gift-giving opportunity that I've missed?"

Potter gave him an unreadable smile and motioned for him to sit down. They sat beside each other, resting against the wide trunk of a tree. "No, Draco, I just thought-you needed cheering up."

"I'm okay, just tired."

"Because of the baby? Have you told Madam Pomfrey or Snape?"

He shook his head and yawned politely into his hand. "I'm taking the N.E.W.T.s next week."

"What?"

Draco explained to him why his exams had been moved up. "Some of the practicals will have to be altered, of course, but they'll still show I have mastered the principals of the magic."

"What's this about your memory?"

"A wizard's magic is intrinsically bound to his physical being. Any break in the normal flow of my magic, additions or subtractions, could cause things to go wonky. I could lose control of my magic, control of my body, or control of my mind. The odds are great that none of these things will occur, but I guess it's best to err on the side of caution."

Potter's eyes widened. "And you're not-frightened?"

Draco laughed, then yawned. "Scared shitless." Potter reached out toward him, but pulled back sharply. Draco sighed. "According to the gossip we planted, we're supposed to be lovers. You can touch me, Potter, just don't make sudden moves, all right?"

Potter touched his hair. "You're growing it longer."

"The girls say my face is going to get fat. Even though it makes me look more like my father, I'll need it to hide behind."

"Why hide? You're beautiful."

Draco felt the warmth of a blush touch his face and scowled at the absurdity. He'd been told he was beautiful before. Why the hell was he reacting this way? "Yeah, well, tell me that again when I'm all swollen and looking like Goyle."

Harry laughed. "You'll never look like Goyle." He glanced at Draco, then pulled out his wand. "Can I...?"

Draco leaned back against the tree and nodded. "But shield us first."

Harry nodded. "Privatus." The area around them shimmered, then steadied. "Manifesta germen."

"He's so much bigger," Harry said after studying the image.

"Babies grow, Potter." At least it sort of resembled something similar to a human being now.

"But he's our growing baby," Harry commented softly.

Draco couldn't come up with a good counter-argument so he just sat there and let Harry do his communing thing. After a while, the warmth of the afternoon and the shade of the tree proved to be too much, and as Harry continued to coo at the oddly-formed lump, Draco fell asleep.

Chapter Fifteen: Pick On Draco Day

Harry ended the spell and glanced at the man sleeping beside him. He didn't like the faint smudges beneath Draco's eyes, and when he noticed Draco's body was slouching towards him, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and urged his tired companion to lean on him.

Our first hug, he thought. We've had sex but never hugged. I've stuck my dick up his arse and my tongue down his throat, but I've never touched him with any tenderness. This is so incredibly wrong, even though it sort of feels right. I mean, shouldn't it be making me crazy that I have to marry Malfoy? Shouldn't I be looking for someway to escape this fate? Why aren't I? Why do I like the weight of his head on my arm? Why can't I wait to see his stomach swollen with our baby? Why am I as happy about this as I would've been if it had been planned, if we were really lovers, if he actually liked me?

Out of all the things he'd done and had done to him, this had to be the worst/best. Raping Draco was definitely the worst. Sirius' fall and Cedric's death had both been quick, over in seconds. The rape had gone on and on. Draco's heart had felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. There had been blood on his lips where he'd bitten them in what was to be a futile attempt to keep from crying out. He remembered forcing Draco to open his eyes so he could see the fear in them, whispering threats in his ear so that the fear would grow. Every night he seemed to remember more and more, and unlike with Sirius and Cedric, it wasn't just his imagination playing tricks on him. It was real. He'd been that cruel. He'd been that sadistic.

He'd been just like Voldemort.

But it was the best thing, too. He was going to have a child. No matter what Voldemort did to him or the rest of the world, the Potter line would go on. Sure, Draco pretended that he needed Harry and Dumbledore to protect him, but Harry knew that Draco was perfectly capable of protecting himself and his child. Draco had chosen the baby, which meant he wouldn't care about fair play, whether magic was dark or light, to whom he had to lie, or who he had to betray. Draco would fight to save their baby no matter what, and Harry not only respected that, but was counting on it. If Voldemort ultimately won, only a Malfoy would be able to turn it around to his advantage. Harry was absolutely certain that no matter the outcome, Draco would survive and so would their child.

"Harry? Malfoy?"

Harry looked around in search of the familiar voice. Ron. He'd run into him and told him about Parkinson getting Draco for him. Ron was standing almost right in front of him and Harry grinned; his privatus spell must be pretty damn decent. Picking up his wand, he called softly, "Resero! Ron, we're here."

He watched his friend do a doubletake when he saw Harry was right there at his feet. Ron did another when he saw Draco draped against him. Harry put a finger to his lips, signaling Ron should talk quietly.

"Sorry, mate. We're getting together a pick-up Quidditch match. Thought you might want to play."

That sounded good to Harry. Flying always took his mind off his troubles. "Sure. Give me a few minutes with Draco and I'll meet you on the pitch." Ron nodded, turned to walk away, then turned again. "What is it, Ron?"

"I didn't-" Ron began. "I thought it was just about getting off between you two. But it's not, is it?"

Harry looked at the blond head resting on him. "I'm not sure what it is between us."

"It's like that, then? He does it for you?" Harry nodded. It was like that. And he was tired of trying to make sense of it. "He's certainly fit," Ron continued, "although I don't envy you none. He's high maintenance, that one. But if he's the one you want, bun in the oven aside, I'll not be an arse about it."

"Thanks, mate."

"I'll see you on the pitch."

Ron was halfway back to the castle when Draco spoke. "What's the whole 'arse' thing? I thought he was going to stand for you at the ceremony?"

"He was-is. But I think it was with reservation and now it's not."

"Because I fell asleep and drooled on your arm? I'll never understand you people," Draco added as he sat up.

"I am sorry about that, you know."

"About what?"

"About you having to understand us, about you having to give up so much because of what I did to you." He looked at Draco shyly. "Everybody's looking for me to be their hero, but I want you to know that you're mine. You're strong, powerful, and I think you would've made a very good Dark wizard, Draco Malfoy."

Draco stared at Potter in horror, then scrambled to his feet. "You're a fucking piece of work, do you know that, Potter? A bloody fucking piece of work." How dare he compare him to those spineless, baby-raping, arse-lickers!

"I was trying to give you a compliment," Harry said, confused.

"By assuming I wanted to be a Dark wizard? For your information, I never intended to become a Dark wizard." Well, that was a lie, but only a partial one. He'd never intended to be a Dark wizard once he had all the facts and was old enough to not automatically believe what his father told him. And once he figured out a way of not becoming a Dark wizard. "I don't need to kill mudbloods to know I'm better than they are. I don't need to bow to some snake-eyed Dark lord, who's no more than a half-blood himself, to validate my superiority. I AM superior, damn it!" He brushed off the back of his robes with a furious gesture. "You know, you're about as fucking bigoted as my father. I don't need his shit, nor yours. I have revision to do. Have fun with your high and mighty Gryffindors, Potter."

He stomped off, cursing Potter under his breath. Why was he such a bullock-brain? He let him point his stupid wand at his stomach any time he wanted. He hadn't hexed him for all the stupid staring the Boy-Who-Didn't-Have-Sense-Enough-To-Die had been doing all week. He hadn't even rejected the bloody diary he'd given him. As if he'd be foolish enough to write anything down.

Arsehole!

He walked impatiently through the Slytherin Common Room and into his dormitory. Before he could slam the door shut, Pansy and Blaise were in the room with him.

"Draco?" Blaise asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"

"Harry Fucking Scarhead Potter is what's wrong! Stupid prat!"

Pansy sighed. "What did he do?"

"He said I'd have made a very good Dark wizard."

"That's it?" Blaise shared a glance with Pansy and Draco tossed a pillow in his direction.

"He hurt your feelings," Pansy said sympathetically.

Draco nodded. "Not to mention...it's such a lie. I don't like killing. It's messy, even using Avada Kadavra. And I...I threw up for days after the Revelry."

Pansy gave him a shrewd look. "Is that the real reason behind this plan of yours?"

Draco sneered at her. "It'd take more than a weak stomach to make me give up everything I've been expecting all my life, Parkinson. You don't get it yet, do you? This-war is wrong. There's no reason for it, no real reason why we or our parents should be running around in white masks killing and maiming and terrifying the countryside. The Dark Lord has made us into muggle-style monsters. Scaring children and animals should be beneath us. If we rule, we rule by power, by might, by right, but not by fear. That's how they rule, not us."

"They are powerful," Blaise argued.

"And they show this how? By attacking the helpless? By leaving floating skulls in the sky? By imagining Potter's death over and over, yet fucking up every attempt? Sure, Potter's an arsehole, but he's a powerful arsehole who won't scuttle around in the dark like a cockroach. The Dark Lord is turning our parents into caricatures-buffoons and cartoons. Yes, I hate killing, but if I thought it was making a point, the point I wanted to make, then I'd suck it up and go ahead with being a Death Eater. But I'm not going to kill just because He likes seeing his name in the press." Draco took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"You talk a good game now, Draco, but what happens when your father finds out?" Blaise challenged.

What was it? Pick on Draco day? "Fuck my father and fuck you!" he growled. "You think this was an easy decision for me? You think I didn't go over this again and again in my head? My life, as I once knew it, is over! My parents are fucking dead to me. There will be people-multiple people-after me because in their opinion I've betrayed them. I will be despised by the Dark and distrusted by the Light. Even having Harry Potter's child is only going to give me so much slack. So yeah, Zabini, this is just a lark for me. Next time I see my father, I'll tell him I was 'just kidding,' and we'll both have a good laugh," Draco spat out, disgusted with his so-called friends and life in general.

"This is a big deal for us, too," Pansy warned.

"And you think I don't fucking know that? You are the ones who made the deal, not me. If you're that scared, back the fuck out. I'm trying to save your arses and all I'm getting is grief. I don't need this. Not today. Not this week. Not fucking ever." He fell back across his bed and buried his head in his pillows. What good was staying awake? If he wanted to feel fucked over, he could always just let his dreams have at it.

"We're sorry we upset you, Draco," was Pansy's tentative reply. "It's just that we got to talking today and realized that next week's holidays may be the last time we see our families-not across a battlefield."

"I know." Draco's voice was muffled by fabric. He knew how hard it was to turn against family. He knew how hard it was to look at your mother and try to imprint her voice, her mannerisms, her scent...into your mind so that you wouldn't ever forget her. He knew the difficulty in picturing the disappointment and possible disgust in your father's eyes when he discovers you aren't following in his footsteps, that you're actively going against everything he stands for, everything he's taught you...

"Our position in the Light depends mainly on you."

Fuck. They were trying to make him into a Slytherin-style Potter. Didn't they know him well enough to realize he wasn't doing shit for them? It was all for him. The fuckers should know that. "I know," was his soft reply. And speaking of soft, his pillow was very inviting.

"We had to be sure you were sure."

"Uh-huh." Damn it! Hadn't he just woke from a nap-drooling on Potter's shoulder no less? Why was he still so sleepy?

"We are sure now," Blaise said.

"Uh-huh," Draco managed to utter.

"We won't question you again."

"Uh-huh."

"Want me to draw your bed curtains so the light doesn't disturb you?"

That was a bad idea. Wasn't it? "I have more revision to do," he rallied enough to say.

"It can wait. We'll wake you for dinner, okay?"

Wait. Sleep. Dinner. "Uh-huh."

He heard the curtains close around him and sank into the silence the darkness offered.

Chapter Sixteen: Some Days Just Suck

"So how are you going to spend the time without us, mate?" Ron asked as he, Harry, and Hermione stood next to the Hogwarts Express, which was idling in Hogmeade Station. As soon as all the students going home for the Spring holidays were loaded, it would make its way to King's Cross Station.

"He has the N.E.W.T.s to study for, Ron," Hermione said in exasperation.

Ron rolled his eyes. "So what are you going to be doing?" he asked again.

Harry laughed. "Actually, I am going to be studying, Ron. I have to memorize the binding ceremony."

"It's just one line," Hermione pointed out.

"Draco said he chose a simple one for me."

"There's simple, then there's ridiculous. You're just as bright as he is, Harry. But it doesn't matter, anyway. There's no way that you and he can have a binding ceremony."

"Draco-" Harry began.

"Yes, I know. Draco is a pureblood and thus knows more about magic than I, a Muggleborn, will ever know," she said scornfully.

"I'm impressed, Potter. At least you're teaching your faithful little band of groupies something useful. Draco will be pleased," Pansy said as she approached the trio.

"We're not-"

"They're not-"

Pansy cut them all off. "Potter, a word with you in private."

Harry looked at his friends and shrugged. Since Draco had been deliberately un-rude to his friends lately, he figured he should do the same. "See you in three days. Enjoy yourselves."

"And you take care," Hermione reminded him, looking pointedly at Pansy.

He assured them he would be careful, then followed Pansy off to the side. She handed him a rolled piece of parchment.

"Here's everything you need to know and the password to the common room is 'Draco's Pet'-we thought it fitting."

Harry gave a disgusted snort. "So why do I need the password and what is this?"

"Directions for Draco's care, of course. Surely you weren't thinking you'd allow him to languish in the dungeons by himself while we were gone, did you, Potter?"

"Um..." He hadn't really thought about it. Sure they were getting REALLY married in three days, but he figured Draco had as much stuff that needed doing as he did. Actually, even more because he was taking the N.E.W.T.s.

"So The-Boy-Who-Lived is just a typical wizard. Knock up your partner, then turn the other way," she accused. "I would hex you, but Draco needs you too badly. Don't cock this up, Potter. Despite popular Gryffindor opinion, Slytherins are human. We feel pain. We feel hurt-just like Draco felt last week when he came from that assignation with you."

Harry was still confused about that. He didn't know why Draco had reacted the way he did. He'd finally decided it was just "hormones" and left it at that. But if Pansy knew... "I still don't understand why he got so bent over what I said."

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, Potter, I can't figure it out either. If someone had told me I'd make a good mass-murdering arse-kisser I think I'd be delighted."

Oh. He hadn't thought of it that way. "I didn't think-"

"Well, it's past time for you to start! Stop comparing Draco to his past. It's not his fault. Children emulate their parents-oh, but you wouldn't know about that, would you? For your information, Potter, children believe the carefully crafted stories whispered in their ears at night. They overhear conversation at the dining table and vaguely understand. They know the words and deeds that make their parents proud of them, that earn them a smile or a hug. Then, they grow up and make decisions for themselves. Have you grown up, Potter? Are you yet making decisions for yourself, or are you merely aping back the words and deeds of your mentors?" The train whistle blew, signaling imminent departure. "Grow up. Learn to think. Stop hurting Draco, or the Dark Lord will be the least of your worries. Do you understand?"

He nodded as she boarded the train, too overwhelmed to make a verbal reply. The threat was easily dismissed, but not the words about children and parents. Once he'd learned the truth about his parents, he'd tried his best to do what he figured would please them. Their memory was always in the back of his mind, prodding him toward this action or the other. He only had pictures and memories to please. Draco had living parents who had guided him and filled his mind with their own desires and views.

I never intended to become a Dark wizard. I don't need to kill mudbloods to know I'm better than they are. I don't need to bow to some snake-eyed Dark lord, who's no more than a half-blood himself, to validate my superiority. I AM superior, damn it!

Not exactly the words of someone who fully embraced the Light, but also not the words of a future Death Eater. Draco was now thinking for himself...and for their child. Was Harry doing that? Or was he just spouting back what would make Dumbledore and Sirius and his parents proud? Did he believe in this fight/war/whatever, or was it just reflex? Killing was wrong, especially the ethnic cleansing type of killing the Dark was doing. That much he was sure of. But even though Voldemort's methods were wrong, did that mean his message was, too? He had proof that the shit about Muggleborns was wrong. There wasn't a finer, more capable witch than Hermione. And no one was truly superior to anyone else. That was just pureblood bigotry. But what about the unfairness of forcing wizards and witches to suppress themselves in order to blend in with the Muggle world? Why should they have to blend? Why did they have to make the sacrifices, hiding what they were just to get along with the Muggles? Muggles ridiculously outnumbered them. Those of wizarding blood were the endangered species, not the Muggles. They should have the special protection. The Muggle Ministry should be making allowances for them, like they did for the whales or whatever, not the other way around.

Look at what he'd had to put up with living with his "family." He'd been kept in a cupboard and hidden away like a bad secret. He'd been lied to and labeled a freak. Why had the Ministry called him on a couple incidents of "underage" magic, when the Dursleys had treated a lump of dog shit better than they'd treated him? He hadn't even had anything to do with the stupid pudding and he'd saved Dudley from Dementors, but the Ministry had birthed cows. However, when Uncle Vernon hasd barred and locked him in his room, and only the Weasleys had cared enough to get him out, where had the Ministry of Magic been then, or even the Muggle Ministry? Apparently, Aunt Marge was more valuable as a person than he was. After all, she was human and he was just a wizard...a freak. Fuck. No wonder Voldemort had such a following.

He blinked when he realized the gates of Hogwarts were just in front of him. He couldn't remember the walk back, so lost he was in his thoughts. Why hadn't he had these thoughts before? Why hadn't he examined the other side of the war? Hadn't Ron taught him anything about strategy? To outthink his opponent, he needed to understand his opponent. But he hadn't tried to understand Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He hadn't tried to understand Draco and the Slytherins. He'd just blindly followed Hagrid and Ron and Dumbledore, making their opinions his opinions. They treated him differently than the Dursleys had and that had made them right by default.

Damn it. Did this mean he was he fighting Voldemort just because everyone was expecting him to? Was it all just because he was The-Boy-Who-Lived? Sure, Voldemort killed his parents, but Voldemort had killed a lot of parents, and he didn't see any other guys queuing to be drilled in how to kill the fucker. This-this wasn't going to work. To defeat Voldemort he needed more than just mere revenge pushing him. He needed more than just the expectations of the Light. He needed more than just guilt. He needed to know that what he was doing was right, that he was fighting because he BELIEVED in the cause he was fighting for.

And since he'd never questioned it, the question remained. He faced the cool dungeon wall.

"'Draco's pet.'"

Not normally a heavy sleeper, Draco had been sleeping like a log ever since his second month of pregnancy. So he was very surprised when he woke as someone entered his room.

But since he was the only Slytherin remaining over the holidays, maybe he was right to awaken.

With a subtle movement, he drew his wand from underneath his pillow, then sat up suddenly. Potter, sitting backwards against a chair next to the bed, didn't even blink. "What are you doing here?" he asked, lowering the wand.

"Draco, why do you think purebloods are better than everyone else?"

Draco sank back against his pillows. It was too bloody early to deal with Potter. "How did you get in here?"

"Pansy gave me the password. Cute."

"Why did she give you the password?"

"So I could tend to the duties she gave me."

"Which are?"

"Making sure you eat, rest, and get to your exams on time. She even gave me a daily schedule."

"Fuck."

"Probably that, too."

Draco grimaced, then yawned. "Am I supposed to be up yet?"

Potter consulted a piece of parchment. "No. You have a short while."

"Then go the fuck away."

"Not until you answer my question."

Whatever Potter was on about, he was looking all stubborn about it. Fuck, what could he say that wouldn't get him into too much trouble? "Fine. I didn't say purebloods were better-I said I was. After all, Weasley is a pureblood and everyone knows Granger is slumming as his girlfriend." He hazarded a look at Potter. His answer hadn't been the most diplomatic, but what did one expect early in the morning. Snape had informed him that the reason why the Hogwarts Express left so early was not because it took all day to get to London, but it was because the students soon fell asleep, which kept trouble to a minimum. Potter shouldn't be expecting him to function properly. However, Potter was showing no outward signs of anger. Strange.

"So you don't believe in Voldemort's main arguments?" Potter prodded.

"How many times do I have to tell you-"

"I know you weren't going to become a Dark wizard, and I'm sorry I implied that you were, but are you saying you don't believe in any of Voldemort's arguments for Wizardry purity?"

Draco sighed. Potter was determined to make him think-or blow the whole Plan. "Muggles have treated wizards and witches like shit throughout history. At some point in time, we could have possibly taken them. As it is now, we are seriously outnumbered. I believe our best chance at not dying out is to isolate ourselves-draw up the bridges and practice several centuries of inbreeding. I believe that getting the muggles involved in a matter that should be settled among those of Wizardry blood is sheer stupidity and more of a case of showy grandstanding than a strategic battle plan. But what do you expect when the leader of the Dark is nothing more than a half-blood himself?"

"So that's common knowledge among the Death Eaters?"

"Yes, it's right up there with 'do not say his name.' A rather dramatic bastard, isn't he?" And why was he telling Potter all of this? Oh, yeah. It was morning and Potter had ambushed him. Half-blood prat.

"You don't know the half of it when it comes to Voldemort's dramatics," Potter mumbled.

He waited for Potter to explain further, but the bloke remained quiet. Fine. He had better things to do. Like sleep. He closed his eyes.

"Draco?"

"What the fuck do you want now?"

"According to the schedule, you have to get up now."

Well, fuck.

Chapter Seventeen: So Very Screwed

Draco knew he should get up and leave. The exam was over, all his exams were over. Three days of transfiguring and charming and manipulating runes and manipulating numbers and plotting star movements and fighting his father (also known as Defense Against Dark Arts)... His brain hurt to remember his other subjects. Why had he decided to go for thirteen? Because the mudblood was going for twelve and when he'd set this particular academic course, he'd still been trying to impress his father. If he knew then what he knew now, he would've stuck with just Potions, Arithmancy, and Runes. He liked how "pure" those subjects were. Numbers were right or wrong. Potions were right or wrong. Runes were interpreted right or wrong. There was no leeway, no points given for "good effort," no points taken away because of "attitude." Which was why this last Transfiguration N.E.W.T. had completely wiped him out. The old Gryffindor bag, McGonagall, ignored the fact he was pregnant with the Golden Boy's child and had worked him until his wand arm trembled.

Bitch.

"Draco?"

Potter. He was always there after each exam to either take him to one of the meals or to escort him to his room for mandatory rest periods. At night Potter "tucked" him in, then sat next to the bed in a transfigured chair. It was an odd piece of furniture: fat and squishy and when a lever was tugged, it fell back and the bottom came up to support legs and feet. Against his will (damned curiosity) he'd asked Harry about it.

"Hermione says it's called a recliner chair. I've never actually seen one, mind you, so I might have things a bit muddled. But I've wanted one ever so much after seeing it in Aunt Petunia's Argos catalogue. It's sort of a bed and chair, you see, and would have fit nicely into my cupboard."

Draco had no idea why Potter would want a chair in his cupboard. Where were his clothes to go-around the dining table? However, the chair did look as comfortable as a bed and he wondered if Potter slept there. He'd tried to stay awake to see if Potter indeed stayed the entire night in the chair, but the Slytherin couldn't manage past five minutes before he dozed. By the time Potter woke him each morning, the squishy chair was back to being Zabini's trunk and the Gryffindor was freshly dressed and urging him to breakfast. And lunch. And dinner.

He was going to kill Pansy when she got back.

"Your head of House is an evil, sadistic bi-witch," he said in answer to Potter's hail. Potter seemed to take the insults to his friends well enough, but he wasn't confident enough to try anything extreme about one of his mentors.

Harry laughed. "She can be a bit-thorough, but it's because she wants to make sure we know the material. Especially now. With Voldemort hanging around."

Seeing that he was getting no sympathy, he tried to stand and failed. "I think she broke me."

Harry snorted and grabbed Draco's elbow. "Come on, you faker. I'll help you toddle back to your room for a rest."

"This is all your fault," Draco whined, then muttered a curse when he felt Potter stiffen. "You know that's not what I meant, Potter, and I refuse to monitor what I say just because you like to indulge your guilt. I've told you that I don't blame you for that. I'm not going to repeat myself anymore. All right?"

Potter nodded.

"But I am going to blame you for knocking me up. It's a standard and acceptable practice among witches to blame the bloke who did the impregnating. I get to call you all sorts of names, whine, nag, etc., and all you can do is ask if I need a foot rub. I knew there had to be an upside to this or no self-respecting witch would go through with it," Draco added with a smirk.

"You are so full of yourself," Potter said as they started out of the room at a slow stroll.

"Are you insulting me? I think that requires," Draco yawned, "a foot rub."

"If you stay awake long enough," Potter muttered.

"I-"

"Draco!"

He looked down the hall to see Pansy running towards them. "Pansy, what are you doing back? Afraid Potter wasn't up to the job of taking care of me?"

"Draco, he knows!" she wailed as she drew closer.

"Who knows what?"

"Your father." Pansy stopped to take a breath. "He knows about you and Potter."

Harry was glad he had a grip on Draco's arm, because that was the only thing that saved the blond from collapsing to the floor. Instead, he slowly sank down, Harry going with him.

"Draco! You okay?"

"Just a bit dizzy. It'll pass. Tell me, Pansy. Who talked?"

Harry wasn't about to say, "I told you so." But he wanted to. Badly. Draco's friends should've never been told.

"Mitchell Flint. Apparently he was pissed about your retribution and so he sat about spying on the Seventh Years. When he got home, his father started in on him for the incident, how he had violated the Slytherin House rule and got what he deserved. So to make his arse look better, he wanted to bring you down. Then Mr. Flint decided to use the information to score points with your father."

"What-what did Mitchell say?"

"That you and Potter have been sneaking off together and doing 'things' behind a privacy shield."

"Harry, I'm going to be sick."

Harry managed to transfigure one of Draco's books into a basin just in time. A few spells got rid of the mess but Harry didn't like how clammy Draco's forehead felt. "Come on. We're going to see Madam Pomfrey, then we'll talk to Professor Dumbledore."

"And Snape," Draco said, and Harry knew he must be feeling bad if he wasn't complaining about a trip to the infirmary. "Snape can handle Father better than the Headmaster. How did you find out, Pansy?"

"My dad was with yours when Mr. Flint told him. He couldn't wait to come home and ask me about it." She walked along with them. "I told him you were probably just having some kind of private altercation, that you'd learned fighting Potter in public only got you into trouble, not him."

"You think he bought it?" Harry asked eagerly. If Mr. Parkinson bought it, then maybe they could sell the same thing to Mr. Malfoy.

"Dad thinks women are completely daft and the only thing they're good for is procreating, so probably not. I apparated to the gates as soon as Dad went back to work after lunch."

"Any hint about...you know?" He pointed at Draco's stomach.

"No. Mitchell wouldn't have even known to look for something like that."

"Whatever he was looking for, I hoped he looked well," Draco snarled. "Because by the time I get through with him, he won't have eyes to look anywhere."

"Speaking of looking, you look like shit, Draco," Pansy said, "and you looked like that before I told you about your father. Are you going to make me hurt you, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't blame me; blame the professors."

"Thank you for the hint, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said, and that was when Harry realized they'd reached the infirmary. "You look like an albino thestral that's had a bad day, Mr. Malfoy."

Harry took a quick glance at his...whatever Draco was. He was pale and slightly skeletal as he removed his robes, displaying bony wrists. He was pregnant. Shouldn't he be-fatter?

"I've had a bad day, Madam," Draco replied wearily. "And I'm afraid it's only going to get worse."

"Nonsense," the nurse scoffed. "I warned your professors that this could happen. The magics initially used to create Progenitors were bordering on the dark end of the spectrum."

"Blood magic," Draco said as he sat on the bed Pomfrey indicated.

"Yes...among other things. Several of the spells and charms were dedicated to protecting the baby at all costs."

"You said something about that when Draco fell," Harry said. "But he didn't fall or anything today." He looked sharply at Draco. "Did you?" Draco shook his head.

"The baby, by design, Harry," Pomfrey explained, "is very, very selfish. It will take what it wants from you, Mr. Malfoy. Your physical, magical, and mental energies are now controlled by the will of the child inside you. He does not care that you have spent your reserves taking exams from professors who are going to have a good talking to once I get through with them. Your son wants what he wants when he wants it."

"Is that because of the magics, or because he's a Malfoy?" Draco asked with a tired smirk.

Pomfrey smiled. "Maybe a little of both. Let's see about getting you some restoratives." She marched over to her shelves and began pulling down flasks and jars.

Pansy stood at the end of the bed. "I need to go back before I'm missed, Draco. Potter, the next time I see my friend, he better be in the pink of health. Do you understand?"

Harry opened his mouth to say that he'd followed her instructions to the letter, but thought better of it. He would learn how to get along with Slytherins, even if it killed him. And really, he and Pansy had the same goal: taking care of Draco. He nodded to the witch and watched her leave.

"You need to go tell Dumbledore about our problem," Draco said, frowning at the pajamas Pomfrey tossed in his direction. "Apparently, I'm not going to be going anywhere for a while."

"You need to rest, Mr. Malfoy."

"But he'll be out tomorrow?" Harry asked. The binding ceremony was scheduled for twilight the next day, a time divined by Professor Trelawney and seconded by Professor Sinistra.

"If Mr. Malfoy follows my orders, your ceremony will take place as scheduled, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened. "You know?"

"The Hogwarts staff would never miss a celebration-especially in these troubled times. The Headmaster is very excited to be officiating."

Harry groaned. His entire life was apparently cursed to be one public spectacle after another. People would no doubt transfigure chairs and blankets so they'll be comfortable watching him and Voldemort go at it. Taking one glance at the horrified look in Draco's eyes, he decided it was time to see Dumbledore. Carefully, he began backing out of the room. "I'm off to the Headmaster's office."

"Don't forget Professor Snape," Draco called after him.

Harry sighed and slowed to a walk.

Draco drifted off to sleep, still tasting the foul potion Pomfrey had forced down his throat. He decided right then and there if he ever went into potions-making, it would be with the intent of making palatable medicines. The current ones were simply disgusting.

When he woke up, he was instantly aware that he hadn't slept long and that he wasn't alone. Hoping it was just a bothersome, lurking Harry and not a potion-wielding Pomfrey, he cracked open an eye. Years of training kept him from gasping aloud, but it didn't matter. His visitor knew he was awake and greeted him with a stern look.

"Hello, son."