dracotops_mods (dracotops_mods) wrote in dracotops_harry,

FIC: I Want You, I Need You, I Love You (PG-13)

Title: I Want You, I Need You, I Love You
Author: 9fn432
Prompt: # 36
Summary: When Draco discovers a new entry on the Malfoy family tree, he confronts Harry. Neither of them realised they would find happiness together after a random encounter with a stranger.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Warning(s): Mild coarse language.
Word Count: ~10.2K
Author's Notes: I think I delivered on everything you wanted, prompter! I wanted to do so much more with this story, but life and a severe case of writer's block got in the way. Thanks to my cheerleader Bekah for keeping me going, and Alison for stepping in at the last minute to beta.
Disclaimer: The title of this story is taken from Elvis Presley's song "I Want You, I Need You, I Love You", written by Maurice Mysels, Ira Kosloff, released by RCA Victor. No copyright infringement is intended.

"What the bloody fuck have you done, Potter?!" Draco Malfoy stormed into Harry's office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry looked up, over a pile of parchment on his desk, his face drawn, bags under his eyes. "Malfoy," he said resignedly. "Please, won't you come in?" the sarcastic invitation redundant. He was tired, he hadn't been feeling right for about three weeks, and an angry Draco Malfoy in his office was the last thing he needed. "What is it I'm supposed to have done?"

"Here," Malfoy spat harshly, thrusting a photograph under Harry's nose. "How in Merlin's name you managed this, I do not know, but fix it, and fix it now!"

Eyebrows drawing together, Harry moved the photo to a more respectable distance and examined it. He couldn't determine if it was a wizarding photo or just a regular Muggle one, as nothing moved. The tapestry depicted in the picture looked very similar to the one on the wall in Grimmauld Place, but he could see nothing untoward, so Harry passed it back to Malfoy. "Just tell me what it is. I don't have the patience for your games today." Harry hoped that over the past few years they would become something like friends, but Malfoy blew hot and cold, and Harry never could work him out.

"Look!" Malfoy thrust the photo back under Harry's face. "There!" He jabbed a finger at the bottom left corner of the tapestry. "So help me, if you do not fix this, I will kill you!"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be seeing here, Malfoy," Harry said tiredly, as a wave of nausea washed over him. He slid his wand from his sleeve and cast a magnification charm at the image, and suddenly the reason for Malfoy's agitation became clearer. "How the hell did my name end up on your tapestry?"

"You do know what that new branch signifies, Potter?" Malfoy ground out through clenched teeth. He continued without waiting for a response. "It means that somehow, you have managed to conceive the next Malfoy heir. HOW DID YOU DO IT?" His usually pale complexion was an ugly red, his eyes a dark stormy grey.

Harry just sat in his chair, dumbfounded. "I…" This time the wave of nausea was stronger, quicker, and he dropped the photo and lurched toward the pot plant next to his desk, losing his breakfast.

"Oh, for fuck’s…" Malfoy flicked his wand and vanished the offending stench from the pot plant. "How long?"

Taking a mouthful of water from the glass on his desk, Harry swished the liquid around his mouth and stared blankly at Malfoy. "How long what?"

"How far along are you? It may be too late to do anything to fix it."

Harry's expression remained confused. "Wait, what? Conceived the Malfoy heir? Are you mad? Wizards can't have babies!" Harry blinked.

"I assure you, Potter, they can. It's done in the normal way. One wizard gives it up the arse, the other one takes it up the arse. The one that takes it up the arse can get pregnant. Do you need me to draw you a diagram?" Malfoy’s voice was rising, and Harry could see his co-workers peering over their cubicle walls into his office. "My cock has never been near your arse, so HOW DID YOU DO IT?"

Harry twitched his wand to close the door, and cast a non-verbal Muffliato, effectively making their conversation private. "No diagram required. I know the mechanics of gay sex, Malfoy, but aren’t you forgetting some key anatomy?"

"Merlin, save me from ignorant, uneducated half-bloods," Malfoy said as he raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Potter, we are wizards, in case you didn’t notice. If you had been raised correctly," he ignored Harry’s bristling at this and forged on, "you would have been educated in wizarding sex, gay and straight. Granted, it’s harder for wizards to get pregnant, but if the conditions are right…" Malfoy let the words hang in the air, and then growled as Harry’s uncomprehending look remained.

"I’m still not sure I believe you, and as you rightly put it, your cock has never been anywhere near my arse. So I don’t see how you can be under the misapprehension that I’m somehow carrying your child." Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, he still felt ill, and he really could do without a raving mad Draco Malfoy accusing him of something so outlandish.

"This tapestry does not lie, Potter. It’s tied to my magic, to my life force. You have single-handedly ruined my chances to find a worthy pure-blood spouse." He stopped dead when Harry turned and started to dry heave into his pot plant again. "Oh, for fuck’s sake!" With that, Malfoy spun on his heel and left Harry’s office, slamming the door behind him. When Harry stopped retching, all he could do was sigh with relief when he realised that Malfoy gone.


Two weeks later, Harry was on his knees, elbows resting on the toilet seat while he emptied his stomach yet again.

He wished Hermione was home; if anyone could allay his fears, it was his best friend, but Hermione and Ron were spending eighteen months in Australia. He knew that if he owled them, they would come home in a heartbeat, but this opportunity for Ron to work with the Australian Quidditch League was something Harry could never begrudge his friend.

Once the worst of the heaving and retching was over, Harry sat back on his heels resignedly. There was no choice, he had to visit St. Mungo’s. The prospect of his health being splashed over tomorrow’s Daily Prophet was almost enough to start him throwing up all over again, and he had to gulp in several deep breaths to stave off the convulsions.

In the end, Harry opted to make a late night visit to the St. Mungo’s Admissions Department, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. He breathed a sigh of relief to note that the waiting room was almost empty, only three seats occupied. He spoke using hushed tones to the Admissions Clerk, and then took a seat in the corner, using a strange-looking cactus to hide behind.

The wait was not long, but it felt interminable to Harry. He flicked through a couple of magazines, both at least two years old; it seemed even in the Wizarding world, some things were always the same. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he spied a baby boy crawling as fast as he could away from his mother, who was looking tired and wrung out.

"Sebastian, stop!" the young woman cried out, just as the baby reached Harry’s feet and started to pull himself up on Harry’s trouser-legs. "Oh, I’m so sorry sir!" the woman offered a flustered apology, grabbing her son before looking up. "Oh! Mr. Potter!" A deep blush stole up her face as she realised who her son had accosted.

"Please, it’s no bother," Harry reassured. "Looks like you have your hands full." He nodded at the baby in her arms, who was now giggling and squirming. Harry’s eyes widened when he saw the pigs tail poking out from his romper-suit. "I’m sure the Healers will have him right in no time." He couldn’t help but remember when Dudley had sported the very same appendage.

"Thank you," she replied shyly, returning to her seat and nudging the man who was waiting with her. Harry sighed. He still couldn’t really spend any time out on his own without the stares and the whispers, and the "thank you, Mr. Potter"s. Fortunately the young couple and their child were called in next, so he didn’t have to endure the whispers for long.

Half an hour later, a tired looking Mediwizard ushered Harry into a consulting room. "Mr. Potter, I’m Mediwizard O’Rourke. Healer Cole will attend you shortly, I just need to take some details and check your vitals."

O’Rourke proceeded to conjure a piece of parchment and a quill, and jotted down the pertinent information, before another man entered the room. "Mr. Potter, I’m Healer Cole. What seems to be the problem?" Harry repeated what he had told the Admissions Clerk, and waited nervously as Healer Cole scanned the notes and the results of the tests the Mediwizard had performed.

"Well, this is unusual, but not unheard of." Harry’s heart sank. "I can’t say I’ve ever had a case since I became a Healer, I think the last case at St. Mungo’s was about thirty years ago. Congratulations, Mr. Potter, you’re pregnant."

Harry fainted.


The next time Harry saw Malfoy, Harry was leaning over a toilet in a hotel room in Paris. "You can't run away from this, Potter!" Malfoy declared. "Like it or not, you're somehow up the duff with my child."

"Go away," Harry croaked, feeling wretched after losing his breakfast for the twenty-third day running.

Malfoy huffed and didn't leave, so Harry decided to ignore him as another round of retching hit. He was startled a couple of minutes later when a wet flannel was pressed into his hand, less surprised when a glass of ice cold water followed another minute after that. "Potter, why did you run?" The tired and resigned tone made Harry look up.

Not knowing how to answer the question, Harry opted to ask his own. "How did this happen? We hate each other. I'm sure we've never had sex, so how the hell did I end up carrying your sprog?" He sagged back against the tile wall, relishing the chill that cooled his sweat soaked shirt.

Huffing again, Malfoy retrieved a couple of towels and started the shower. "Potter, freshen yourself up. I’ll wait out there. When you’re done, we’ll talk."

Harry watched Malfoy’s retreat from the bathroom before letting his head thud back against the wall. His right hand ghosted over his flat belly; surely it wasn’t possible that there was a life inside him. As steam filled the hotel bathroom, the prospect of standing under the stream of hot water grew more attractive, so Harry pulled himself up, stripped and stepped into the shower.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom, tightening the belt of the soft hotel bathrobe around his waist, a young man was arranging some covered dishes on the table in the corner. Malfoy tipped the man and ushered him out of the room. Harry inhaled the aroma of bacon and eggs and his mouth watered. When he removed the cover from one of the plates, Malfoy stopped him.

"Here," he indicated another dish, removing the cover to reveal a fresh fruit salad. "This will help settle your stomach. You shouldn’t be eating high fat foods if you’ve got morning sickness."

Harry choked. "Morning sickness?"

Malfoy dragged his hands roughly over his face. "Potter, I know you saw a Healer. St. Mungo’s had a duty to inform me when they detected my magical signature in the foetus." He looked up when he heard Harry land heavily on a chair.

"I get that I’m pregnant. What I don’t get is how it’s yours," Harry said timidly. This really was getting to be too much. He felt like his life was spiraling out of control.

Malfoy sank slowly into the other chair. "Eat. Rather than running away like you did, I’ve been trying to work out how you… how we got into this mess. I’ll tell you what I know." He pulled the plate of bacon and eggs toward himself, rolling his eyes when Harry looked at the hot breakfast longingly. "Trust me, the fruit will be better for you."

Half an hour later, Harry looked like he was going to lose his breakfast again. "The Ministry Masque," he said flatly. "The Ministry Masque? You can’t be serious."

"Potter, did you or did you not have sex with someone Glamoured as Elvis after the Masque?"

Harry blinked. "You? You were Elvis? You can’t be serious," he repeated.

Malfoy sighed. "You didn’t answer the question."

Swallowing nervously, Harry nodded. "But, you, went as Elvis? A Muggle?"

This time it was Malfoy’s turn to blink. "Elvis, a Muggle? What reality are you living in, Potter? Elvis is a wizard. He had to retreat from Muggle life when he broke the Statute of Secrecy." He shook his head. "But that’s beside the point. The point is that you and I had sex after the Masque, and somehow the conditions were just right for conception. Hence, you’re pregnant. Very original, you know, attending a Masque as yourself."

Harry snorted. "Well, there were about twenty other Harry Potters there, so it was nice just to be another wizard." His face fell as he looked down at himself. "I’m never going to just be another wizard, am I?"

"No Malfoy is ever just another wizard, Potter. And like it or not, you’re a Malfoy now, even if you are a half-blood."

Horror dawned on Harry’s face. "What? How the hell does me being preggers with your spawn make me a Malfoy? And quit disparaging my blood status. I’m as much a wizard as you."

"Merlin, you will be the death of me, Potter. Didn’t you listen to anything I said just now?"

Harry had the grace to look sheepish. "I’m still getting my head around the fact that we had sex. Harbouring a secret desire for Harry Potter’s arse, huh?"

"Don’t be such a child, Potter." The blush Malfoy was sporting belied his words. "And stop changing the subject. As I said before, it’s ancient pure-blood magic. Because wizard pregnancies are rare, if one of the wizards is a pure-blood, familia vinculo is activated. You’ll find that we’re already bonded according to Ministry records, unfortunately."

"You can’t be serious! Bonded? No." Harry stood from the table and started pacing the room. "How can a bond be formed without consent? This is insane! It’s archaic! I won’t… I can’t…" He stopped dead. "A divorce. I’ll get my solicitor onto it straight away. There has to be some way we can reverse or annul or sever this thing." His hair was standing on end, his fingers tugging the black strands.

Malfoy sat silently, twisting a napkin through his fingers. When Harry stopped, Malfoy looked up, resigned. "There’s no divorce, Potter. No annulment. This is old magic, there’s no counter-spell." He looked like he was about to comfort Harry, who was standing there with such a look of desperation on his face. "Potter, you’re carrying my child. A Malfoy heir. I know this situation is not ideal, but surely even you can appreciate that a child deserves both parents to be involved."

Harry felt like he was going to cry. "I don’t know what to do."

The last trace of the Malfoy façade vanished. "There are things about this situation we cannot change, but if we work together, we can try and work together to get through this. I’m not exactly happy about this either, you know. I had plans for my future, which are now pointless." After the admission, Malfoy avoided Harry’s gaze.

"What do we do now?" Harry said eventually.


Harry looked around, overwhelmed. It was New Year's Day, and he was standing in an opulent suite of rooms at Malfoy Manor. The past few weeks just felt surreal.

"This is your suite," Malfoy was saying. "Your bedroom is through that door, and your bathroom beyond that. Costanza has been appointed as your dedicated house elf, though any of the other elves will also fulfill any requests. Hephzibah is the Malfoy nanny-cum-nurse elf; she’ll become more involved as the pregnancy progresses."

Dumbfounded, Harry was left standing there mouthing "Costanza? Hephzibah?" while Malfoy prattled on about his rooms, Healer appointments, what Harry was expected to wear to dinner and a myriad of other things that Harry couldn’t follow. When he started in on how Harry must be instructed on parenting for pure-bloods, it was too much.

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted, overwhelmed. "Malfoy," he repeated, louder, when Malfoy continued to prattle on.

Malfoy blinked. "What?"

"I can’t do this. I’m going home," Harry declared firmly. "You can’t keep me here."

"I… no, I suppose I can’t. But Potter, be reasonable. We’re bonded. We have a duty to each other, and to our child." Malfoy’s tone was so reasonable, Harry had to stop and think a moment before responding.

"I can’t do this," he repeated. "Not now. I need time to get my head around what’s happened. I need to check with the Ministry Records Office; for all I know this talk about being bonded isn’t true." Harry had the grace to look sheepish when he realised he had outright accused Malfoy of lying. "Look, let me go home. Come around tomorrow, and we can talk, alright? I’ll change the wards to allow you access to Grimmauld Place."

Malfoy took a deep breath and held it, and Harry was impressed at how calm he seemed when he finally let the air out slowly. "One day. I will give you one day. Familia vinculo will not allow us to be apart for long. Get your friend Granger researching the spell if you don’t trust my knowledge. And if you do go inquiring about the bonding at the Records office, you can be sure this will be on the front page of the Prophet tomorrow morning. May I suggest you contact my solicitor, Richard Latham. He can request the relevant records under the Malfoy name, and no one will be any the wiser." Malfoy summoned an elegant business card and passed it to Harry.

Harry could see the sense in that suggestion. "All right," he agreed. "How about you come through to Grimmauld Place for dinner tomorrow night. We can talk then."

A muscle in Malfoy’s jaw twitched, but he nodded reluctantly. "On one condition; please take Hephzibah with you. She was my nurse-elf when Mother was pregnant with me. She’s trained to help with pregnancy and infants." He held up a hand when Harry started to protest. "I need this assurance, that no harm will come to our child while we are apart."

This time it was Harry’s turn to hold his breath. The intrusion on his life was almost too great, but he could understand Malfoy’s desire to ensure the safety of the baby. He nodded as he released the air from his lungs. "Have her bring any texts you have on this familia vinulco thing. Hermione’s in Australia and won’t be back until May next year. I… I didn’t want to worry her," Harry explained, when Malfoy quirked a sceptical eyebrow. "I’ll see you tomorrow, then?"


Holding the confirmation of their bonding in his hands, Harry decided to check one last thing. He reluctantly entered the drawing room and inspected the Black family tree. He traced back from Andromeda’s blackened scorch mark, and traced down to Draco Malfoy. Sure enough, "Harry Potter" was now attached to Malfoy’s spot on the tapestry, a branch extending further to indicate another generation on the way. There was no denying it any longer.

Harry leaned against an adjacent wall and let his head drop back. Yet again, his life was being dictated by some external force, and he felt like nothing was his own anymore. A chime sounded, indicating Malfoy was within the wards of the house, so Harry took a couple of steadying breaths, then went to meet his foreseeable future.

It took about three hours of negotiation, but Harry finally felt like he and Malfoy… no, Draco, had come to some form of agreement. Harry had spent the day reviewing the books Malfoy had sent with Hephzibah, contacting Draco’s solicitor, and being… mothered… by a house elf. He couldn’t deny that Hephzibah knew what she was doing; the food she had prepared was appetising, nutritious, and definitely seemed to help ease the nausea that had plagued him for the past few weeks. Kreacher wasn’t particularly welcoming to the new presence in his domain, until Harry explained that Hephzibah was from Malfoy Manor, at which point Kreacher started tripping over himself to make Hephzibah at home.

When Harry realised there was no way out of this situation – the prospect of ending any child’s life was something he couldn’t even contemplate – he had resigned himself to working with Draco to find some way to get through this together, which lead to the most reasonable discussion he could ever have expected from his former nemesis. Draco – it was going to take some time for him to get used to using Malfoy’s first name – had agreed to let Harry remain at Grimmauld Place, on the proviso that Harry spent one weekend a fortnight at Malfoy Manor, and Draco was allowed to stay at Grimmauld Place if he felt the familia vinculo was being strained by their separation.

Other agreements included Draco being permitted to attend Harry’s Healer appointments, though Harry refused to be pushed into using the Malfoy family Healer. They had also agreed that by the last six weeks of the pregnancy, Harry and Draco would cohabit full-time, in a home they would choose together, as neither would consent to moving into the other’s current home permanently.

The one sticking point was Draco’s insistence on maintaining pure-blood tradition, while Harry wanted their child to be raised with exposure to both the Muggle world and all facets of the wizarding world. Eventually the decided to postpone those negotiations to a time when Harry wasn’t so tired.

Draco rolled up a scroll where he had noted down everything they agreed on. "I’ll owl this to Latham on Monday, and have him draw up a formal document. I realise this isn’t ideal, for either of us, but I’m sure you agree that the best interests of our child are the priority here. Thank you for being reasonable."

Harry heard the "for the most part" that Draco mumbled as he began to clear the dishes from their dinner. He rolled rolling his eyes at Draco’s expression of disbelief that he wasn’t leaving it for Kreacher to take care of. "Despite what you might think of me, Malfoy," Harry rolled his eyes again when Draco cleared his throat. "Draco," Harry corrected, "despite what you might think of me, I can be a pretty reasonable fellow. Something you’ll have to get used to if we’re going to make this work. I didn’t grow up with a family, and I’m determined that any child of mine has every opportunity denied me. Having said that, neither will our child be spoilt."

"We still have several months to come to agreement on exactly how our child will be raised, Harry," Draco emphasised Harry’s name. "For the time being, we’ve agreed to work within the bounds of familia vinculo, let’s just leave it at that. I’ll have Latham send you a copy of the formal agreement when it’s ready, and I’ll expect you at the manor on Friday. If you feel any strain on the bond whatsoever, Hephzibah will alert one of the manor elves, and I’ll come to you, all right?"

"I’ll be fine," Harry insisted, then relented before Draco could protest, "but if I feel anything isn’t right, I’ll have Hephzibah contact you. Where on earth did you come up with that name anyway?"

Draco just huffed, and put the scroll in his bag. "Let me know if you need any more elves. I’m sure I can spare Costanza, and possibly even Roger…"

Harry snorted, and tried to cover up his laughter with a cough. "I’m fine. I’ve managed with just Kreacher for over five years. I’m grateful for Hephzibah though, she certainly knows about the right foods to help with the morning sickness." Harry accompanied Draco to the door. "I’ll see you next week."


Expecting things to continue to go smoothly was too much to hope for. When Hephzibah discovered Harry was returning to work on Monday morning, she summoned both Costanza and Roger to keep him at home until Draco could Floo through to Grimmauld Place. A heated argument ensued, which lead to Draco accompanying Harry to the Ministry, and an impromptu meeting with Auror Robards, Harry’s boss. On divulging his condition, Harry was restricted to desk duty for the next three months, after which he was placed on leave for at least a year. Harry argued hotly for about five minutes, trying to reclaim some hold on his future, until Draco reasonably pointed out that the safety of their child was at stake.

An unfortunate outcome of the showdown was that the pregnancy and bonding made the afternoon edition of the Daily Prophet, so effective was the Ministry gossip mill. The repercussions of the publicity resulted in Harry being put on administrative leave for a week, after a parade of Weasleys and Gryffindors invaded the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to confront him. Even Hermione sent a howler, which had Harry feeling guilty for keeping his best friends in the dark, and sending an impossibly long apology, along with page upon page of reassurances that she didn’t need to come back home, and that he was being well looked after.

Draco also suffered through a number of visits from his Slytherin friends, though they tended to be more understanding owing to their upbringing and knowledge of pure-blood bonds. It was still disconcerting for Harry, however, when several of them expressed their disappointment for Draco, lamenting his lost opportunity to make a respectable pure-blood marriage. Pansy Parkinson even went as far as to imply that somehow Harry had engineered the whole thing, and Harry was rather annoyed that Draco didn’t stand up to her.

After Hermione’s Howler, Harry shouldn’t have been surprised to get a visit from Hermione. He jumped in fright in a rather undignified manner when she strode into his office, looking tanned, with highlights in her hair from the Australian sun. "Harry James Potter, do you really think I would stay away and let this go?" Harry winced, as his best friend’s voice took on the familiar shrill tone usually reserved for Molly Weasley.

Hermione ended up staying for three weeks, only leaving when she was satisfied that Draco was not up to some nefarious plot, Harry was cared for adequately, and that she had started the process of healing the rift between Harry and the rest of the Weasley clan. Harry was unable to talk her out of promising she would be there for the birth, and was surprised when Draco suggested Hermione be the god-mother of their child.

"I’m perfectly capable of change, Harry. You’ve seen evidence enough over the past month. I no longer subscribe to the beliefs my parents tried to instill in me, and am capable of recognizing quality of character. I believe Granger would be an excellent role model." Draco quirked an eyebrow as Harry stood there, agape. "Close your mouth. It’s unseemly to be standing there gaping like a fish. No husband of mine will carry on in such a manner."

This was the first time Harry had heard Draco recognise their relationship as anything other than a bond. The word ‘husband’ sounded foreign, even when he tested it on his own tongue later when he was alone, but this was his new reality. Formal documents had been drawn up based on their earlier negotiations, but now Harry was spending every weekend at Malfoy Manor, and Draco was spending at least two nights a week at Grimmauld Place, the strain the separation placed on their bond becoming greater with each passing day.


By the middle of February, Harry noticed his clothes looked larger. He’d been surprised at not needing to adjust his clothing to make room for the slight swell now visible, until Hephzibah confirmed she had charmed his trousers to respond to the new growth. All Healer appointments today had pointed to a perfectly healthy pregnancy. Draco was now spending four out of five weekdays at Grimmauld Place; as the pregnancy progressed, the demands of the bond made it uncomfortable to be apart for more than a day.

This development prompted the search for a house they could share. It took about a month, but Harry was astounded, and incredibly grateful, when Draco agreed to the purchase of a family home on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow. "The proximity to family roots, even if deceased, is important to the development of our child," Draco explained. "Given the history of my family, I’m sure you’ll agree that your family roots are a better foundation?"

Harry couldn’t help but start to warm to his… husband, though Draco’s insistence on raising their child in pure-blood culture was at odds with his words about his family. He could think the word now, even if it was still difficult to say out loud. "Are you sure it’s big enough? I mean, it’s no manor. Nothing like you’re used to," Harry offered, unsure that the home would be adequate for the lifestyle Draco was accustomed to.

"I think we can agree that I’m not my parents," Draco responded, his voice tight. "Malfoy Manor will always be part of my… of our estate. It’s entailed. But I don’t need to live there. My parents aren’t around anymore to complain. I’m willing to work with you to provide a stable home environment for our child."

Lucius and Narcissa had been killed by a vigilante group wanting to purge the world of Death Eaters. While the group had been short-lived, and Draco could understand that it was their choices that made them a target, he was still bitterly angry at what had happened. Thinking it wise to leave the topic there, Harry just said a quiet "thank you, Draco" and after a moment’s hesitation, gave Draco a quick hug, before busying himself with preparing a pot of tea.

A week after settling on the house, Harry commenced his paternity leave from work. He was busy supervising as Costanza and Roger – Harry couldn’t get over the elves’ names – began packing the belongings from Grimmauld Place that was to be moved to the new house. He reached up to a shelf to grab some books to pass the elves, and paused when he heard Hephzibah’s tutting from the doorway. His frustration at not being able to do anything himself, however, was forgotten when he felt a light brushing sensation in his abdomen.

"Wow," he whispered reverently. The Healer had told him he could expect to feel movement from the baby around now, but the reality was so much more than he expected. Draco entered the room a moment later to check on the house elves’ progress, and was stunned when Harry grabbed his hand and placed it on his stomach. "Feel," Harry instructed.

Draco was unable to feel anything, but the intimacy of having his hand on Harry’s bump caused a flush to spread over his face. "Maybe next time," he offered gruffly, in an obvious attempt to cover up his reaction. "The Healer said it probably would be at least another few weeks before I’ll be able to feel anything."


The Daily Prophet had run articles and opinion pieces for about two months after the initial revelation about Harry’s pregnancy and his falling under familia vinculo to Draco. Public reaction had been mixed, with many people weighing in, until Hermione had come through with an open letter to the Daily Prophet, and a surprisingly factual article in the Quibbler, regarding familia vinculo and the implications of any perceived threat to the bond.

The move to the new house generated a new wave of interest, though of a more welcome nature. Harry and Draco had had some disagreements on how the house should be decorated, until Draco acquired the services of an interior decorator. Now, Magical Homes & Gardens was featuring articles on Saviour Style, Witch Weekly reported on the progress of their relationship, speculating whether their teenage enmity was actually unresolved sexual attraction, and the Quibbler ran a series on how the Potter-Malfoy home was state-of-the-art, owing to the various protections from Nargles, Wrackspurts and other fantastical creatures.

The prospect of merging their lives had caused Harry some stress, but he discovered that Draco was indeed a very reasonable man, and living together – though they had separate bedrooms at opposite ends of the house – was nowhere near as difficult as he had anticipated. Kreacher had remained at Grimmauld Place, and Harry had managed to get Draco to agree to only bringing Hephzibah, Costanza and Roger to the new home. The other Malfoy elves remained at Malfoy Manor, which would be maintained, but would no longer host Draco.

Harry found that Draco was actually quite pleasant company; stilted dinners became relaxed, Draco sharing what he had done with his day and bringing Harry up to speed on the Malfoy family business. On Harry’s part, he would talk about the latest thing he had done in the nursery; his nesting instinct had come to the fore, and Harry had been moving from room to room, reorganizing everything in sight. By late May, Harry found himself in the nursery most days, and the days he wasn’t there, he could be found in Diagon Alley, or high end stores in Muggle London, spending up big on just about every baby item in sight. Molly Weasley was eventually coopted to supervise Harry, when his excursions began to even alarm Draco.

As May drew to a close, Harry found Draco spending more and more time at home. "I don’t need supervision, you know," Harry said sullenly, tired of being hovered over by Molly, Hephzibah and Draco. Despite the fact they had been getting on well recently, Harry had become increasingly frustrated at being smothered. The change of weather wasn’t doing anything to improve his mood either, the cooling charms on the house not being enough to combat the oncoming summer and Harry’s hormones.

"I’m not here to supervise," Draco retorted. "Familia vinculo demands more from both parents the closer to the birth of a child. You’ll find that you’d be a lot more uncomfortable if I wasn’t at home."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, chastised. He remembered the research he had done on the bond early on, and vaguely recalled something to that end. "Oh!" Harry breathed again, his eyes lit up as he lifted his t-shirt and pressed a hand to his belly. "Here," he offered, grabbing Draco’s hand in a now familiar gesture and pressing it to the spot. Draco’s eyes widened as he felt the distinct movement under Harry’s warm skin. His eyes widened further when he realised he was touching Harry’s skin, and not just feeling the baby through clothes.

Harry felt a vibration thrum through his body as Draco’s thumb brushed the swell of his belly for a moment before he withdrew his hand. "She’s something special, isn’t she?" he offered tentatively.

"Of course he is something special," Draco replied, "he’s a Malfoy after all." Harry just smiled. At every scan, the baby had been protectively curled around its genitals, so they had no idea of the sex of the baby. Harry was convinced he was having a girl, while Draco insisted that first-born Malfoys were always boys. Harry was just relieved the earlier tension from their conversation had been diffused by the baby’s movement. He knew his hormones made him irrational at times, and really, Draco had been extremely supportive. Excepting that first confrontation in his office last December, Draco had done his best to work with Harry to make the transition to bonded couple as seamless as possible.

A wave of… something… washed over Harry in that moment. He was beginning to… to like Draco? This was more than just getting along; Harry could feel something warm fluttering through his veins, something he never expected to feel for Draco Malfoy. He glanced up shyly to look at the man in question, but Draco’s attention was already back on the pile of parchment on the coffee table. "I think I might go have a nap," Harry stated, levering himself off the couch.

"Want me to get Hephzibah to wake you?" Draco enquired absently, making a notation on a contract with his favourite eagle feather quill. "I think Costanza will have dinner ready at seven." A lock of hair fell over one eye, but he ignored the obstruction.

Harry resisted brushing Draco’s fringe aside. "Yeah, ask her to wake me at six?" When Draco nodded, he gave into the need to touch him, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "See you in a couple of hours."

Draco looked up in surprise at the contact. "See you," he replied breathlessly, and determinedly returned his attention to his work.


Harry eventually found himself listening and absorbing Draco’s instruction on pure-blood society. Draco’s expectations for raising their child were not unreasonable. Harry could now understand the desire for a good grounding in wizarding culture and history. In rare moments of frustration or agreement, though, it still disheartened Harry to hear Draco bemoaning the fact that he could never fulfill the expectations he had held to for so long.

As Harry’s feelings toward Draco shifted and evolved, he found his frustration with the growing heat and his growing belly eased. The baby moved more frequently, and Harry used this excuse more and more to get Draco to touch him. They became more easygoing with each other in the house, evenings often seeing them both on the sofa, Draco reviewing papers from the family business, Harry reading a Quidditch or child rearing magazine, feet resting on Draco’s lap.

This was how Hermione found them when she arrived in late June, though Draco was busy with rubbing Harry’s feet, his profit and loss sheets lying forgotten on the coffee table. Harry’s head was thrown back on the arm of the couch, a groan escaping his parted lips. "You’re so good at that," he moaned. "Feels so good."

"Well, don’t you look comfortable?" Hermione said with a grin, stepping out of the fireplace. She looked even more tanned than last time she visited. "No, don’t get up, Harry," she protested as he made to lever himself off the sofa. Draco, however, did rise, and called for Roger to take her bags.

"Hermione, welcome to our home," Draco offered graciously. "I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled, and have Costanza prepare some tea."

"Costanza?" Hermione mouthed to Harry, behind Draco’s back. He just shrugged and grinned at her.

When Hermione joined Harry again in the living room, Draco left them to catch up. "I’m sure you have lots to talk about. I’ve had a long day, and have a meeting early tomorrow morning. Harry, don’t forget we have an appointment with Healer Cole at half past one." He squeezed Harry’s shoulder, bid them both goodnight and left them to it.

Hermione examined Harry, a speculative gleam in her eye. "You two look a lot more… comfortable with each other," she said eventually, as she picked up her tea cup to take a sip. "Have things progressed?"

Harry blushed, drinking from his own cup which contained a herbal blend Draco had concocted for him. He had looked on the nettle tea with suspicion initially, but had grown used to the taste, and did indeed find it soothing. "We’re… getting along," Harry allowed eventually.

"Sounded like more than getting along," Hermione smirked. "That groan you let out when I arrived sounded more like that foot massage was heading north!"

"No," Harry said, somewhat regretfully.

Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. "You’d want it to?"

"Maybe?" he acknowledged sheepishly. "He’s not who I thought he was. He’s… different. He’s nice," Harry allowed eventually. "I think I like him. A lot."

"I think I can see that," Hermione smiled. "Be careful, though, Harry. This could be great for you, or you could bollocks it up royally. There’s no escaping this bond, even if you end up hating each other."

"I know." Harry frowned, absorbing the truth of his friend’s words, but then he suddenly twitched. "Come here," he said eagerly, reaching for her hand. When she was close enough, he pressed her hand to his side. "Feel," he instructed.

"Wow," she whispered, eyes widening. "Is that… a foot?"

"Or elbow. This little munchkin gets very active at night. Most evenings, Draco sits there with one hand on my stomach, so he can feel the movement, while he works."

"Sounds like you’re getting pretty domestic." Hermione shifted her hand, following the movement of the baby. "That feels incredible," she said, awed.

"Yeah, it is. Except when it’s a kick to the bladder," he laughed. "Speaking of which…"

"Come on! I’ll give you a hand up." Hermione stood, offered Harry a hand, and helped him get off the sofa. She walked with him to his bathroom, which was situated between his bedroom and the guest room. "Where does Draco sleep?" she asked curiously.

"His room is at the other end of the house. That’s the nursery," Harry indicated with a nod to the door across the hall from his.

"Won’t that make it difficult for him, looking after the baby at night?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hephzibah will look after the baby at night," he explained.

"I still can’t believe you have house elves called Hephzibah, Costanza and Roger!"

"I know!" Harry agreed. "At least you’re not trying to free them anymore, though."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, well, once I spent some time…"

"In the library," Harry finished for her.

"Understanding house elf culture and history, I get it now. I don’t like it, but I get it."

Once Harry had relieved his bladder, he showed her around his end of the house, leaving his favourite room, the nursery, until last. Hermione oohed and ahhed, commenting on all of the finer details that Harry was so proud of. They eventually settled in Harry’s room, when Harry started wincing and rubbing his back.

Hermione caught Harry up on what she and Ron had been doing in Australia while Harry prepared for bed. "He’s loving working with the AQL. They have a totally different approach to organised sport. Ron’s going to prepare a submission to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, proposing some sweeping reforms, and he’s also going to push for a sister team program, where new British recruits spend some time with the sister team in Australia and vice versa. It will give them more exposure to different styles of training and strategies." Harry listened avidly, but was unable to prevent a yawn escaping. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’m still pretty wired from the time difference, so I’ll be up for a while." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then pressed a kiss to his belly. "Good night, baby."


Harry’s time with Hermione during the lead up to his due date was good, marred only by two major disagreements with Draco. Hermione wisely stayed out of these arguments, knowing that the issues needed to be resolved by the couple, and her interference would not be welcome.

The first disagreement occurred when they began discussing the baby’s god-father. "What about Ron?" Harry asked, knowing Draco would never agree, but wanting to try for his friend anyway.

"No," Draco replied flatly. "I’ve made a concession offering Granger the role of god-mother. She isn’t even a half-blood," Harry bristled but Draco forged on, "so I insist we balance it out by having a pure-blood. Zabini?"

"No," was Harry’s sullen response. "Why not Ron? He’s pure-blood," he argued, clinging to a faint hope.

Draco’s jaw tensed, and Harry could see a muscle twitch. "You know the value I place on having a good grounding in pure-blood culture and tradition. The Weasley family abandoned their roots long before they brought children into the world. Nott," was his next offer.

"MacMillan," Harry counter-offered. He and Ernie had developed a strong camaraderie working in the Ministry together in MLE.

"Pompous arse," Draco breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Flint," was his next suggestion.

Harry scrunched up his eyebrows trying to recall the name. "Oh wait, buck teeth, on the Slytherin Quidditch team?"

"You’re right," Draco sighed, "not really an aesthetically pleasing prospect for god-father."

Harry snorted. "Wait, what about Neville?"


"Yes, pure-blood as they come, but without the stigma of being on the wrong side of the war." Harry grimaced apologetically at Draco’s frown.

"That could work. Have him and Lovegood come over for dinner next week. We can ask them then."

Harry smiled.

The second disagreement occurred when they began discussing baby names. Harry wanted to honour his parents, and use James if they had a boy, or Lily for a daughter. Draco, however, was insisting on the Malfoy tradition of using a constellation. "We are not calling our child Cassiopeia or Scorpius!" Harry growled.

"Well I could insist on Lyra, or Cygnus… or Hercules," Draco all but shouted back. "You agreed to bring the baby up with wizarding culture and tradition! On this I will not budge!"

"Oh for Merlin’s sake! At least Lyra is somewhat acceptable." Harry stopped for a moment, trying to tamp down his anger and slow his breathing, no easy feat when the baby was squashing his diaphragm and lungs. "What about Sirius, then? At least that’s a star."

Draco scowled and stomped out of the room. "I’m going to Pansy’s," he called out. "Owl me when you’ve come to your senses!"

They were both too angry to consider the consequences of their actions.

The following morning, a distinctly grumpy and uncomfortable Harry was eating his breakfast and reading the Daily Prophet. "Hey, Hermione, did you know that Marlon Brando was a wizard?"

"Really?" she replied absent-mindedly as she flicked through one of Draco’s tomes on pure-blood bonds.

"Yes, apparently he and James Dean were both pure-bloods. Marlon Brando died yesterday. There’s a great big spread in the Prophet, apparently Brando left the wizarding world because his parents disowned him for wanting to become an actor. He befriended James Dean when Dean saw him in a play on Broadway," Harry explained as he read. "Oh, Merlin! So James left the wizarding world to be with Brando, apparently it was a huge scandal. He would have been what… thirteen? Fourteen?"

Interest piqued, Hermione turned her attention to Harry. "Seriously? I knew there were rumours about them, but for it to go back that far? And be in the wizarding world?"

"You’d be surprised how many famous people you think are Muggles are actually witches and wizards. I told you about Elvis. Draco’s been quite enlightening on the topic. Did you know Mozart, Chopin, Da Vinci, and even more recent, Elizabeth Taylor…"

Hermione snorted. "Well, she sounds a bit like Zabini’s mother, with all of the husbands she went through!"

"I think they were related," Harry laughed, and then gasped, pressing a hand to his side.

"Kick?" Hermione enquired.

"No, something doesn’t feel right." He gasped again, this time grimacing in pain. "’Mione, something’s wrong."

Hephzibah was there in a flash. "Mistress Granger be summoning Master Malfoy!" she instructed. "Hephzibah will be summoning Healer Cole." Even the house elf looked worried, as she took in the pallor of Harry’s face. "Master Malfoy should not have been leaving Master Potter," she fretted.

Less than half an hour later, Healer Cole, Hermione and Hephzibah rushed a very distressed Harry to St. Mungo’s, while Hermione’s Patronus made its way to Draco with a brief message: "St. Mungo’s. Come quickly."

By the time Draco made it to the hospital, Healer Cole was prepping Harry for surgery. It was rare that the wizarding hospital used Muggle methods on patients, but due to the special nature of male pregnancy, Healer Cole had determined it the safest route forward. "Mr. Malfoy, the placenta as detached. Harry is losing a lot of blood, and the baby is in distress. You will need to wait outside, I’m sorry."

"But," Draco protested, looking distraught, "familia vinculo, isn’t it better for me to be closer to him? Won’t that improve the baby’s chances of survival?" Hermione hesitantly put a hand on Draco’s arm, trying to reassure him.

"Even the bond can’t help now, Mr. Malfoy. Now the placenta is detached, the bond will consider the baby a separate entity. Please, wait here. I’ll send someone out with news as soon as we know more." With that, Healer Cole left a very shaken Draco standing in the hallway of the maternity ward of St. Mungo’s.

Hermione eventually managed to guide Draco to a row of uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. In one corner, an excited group of friends and family were just receiving news of the successfully delivery of twins. Draco just sat, and stared at his hands. "I never told him," he whispered quietly.

"You’ll get the chance. Harry defeated Voldemort. He beat the odds and got pregnant. He can conquer this, and any baby of his will survive too. That’s just what he does," Hermione insisted, though she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as well. Draco just looked at her helplessly, before returning to looking at his hands.

Ninety minutes later Draco was going spare. The staff had moved Draco and Hermione to a private waiting room, after his pacing became too disruptive for others in the main waiting room. "Why won’t they tell us something?" he repeated for the tenth time.

Hermione just sighed. No answer was enough for Draco, and she had eventually given up trying to placate him. He was really just asking the same questions that were running around in her head anyway.

A frazzled looking Healer Cole stepped into the room. "Finally!" Draco cried. "Tell me!" he demanded, and paled when he saw the look on the Healer’s face.

"The baby is fine. She’s being moved to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. She’s very small, only four pounds, two ounces, but she’s strong."

Draco sagged with relief, and then tensed up again. "And Harry?"

Healer Cole took a fortifying breath. "He lost a lot of blood. We’ve got him on blood replenishing potions and are trying to stabilise him, but it doesn’t look good. He’s asking for you." Draco made for the door, Hermione in tow. "I’m sorry Ms. Granger, I can only allow immediate family."

"I’ll just wait here then," she assured Draco. "Go, tell him."

Draco steeled himself before he entered Harry’s room. A sob caught in his throat to see the man he had grown to care for looking so lifeless. Harry twitched at the noise, and opened his eyes.

"Draco," he called out, his voice raspy.

Walking to the bed, Draco brushed Harry’s fringe off his face. "Harry," he choked out.

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed. He reached for Draco’s hand. "I know my chances aren’t good. No," he stopped Draco from interrupting, "Healer Cole said I’ve lost too much blood. I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," Draco eventually breathed out, his throat tight.

"Promise me you’ll look after her. Promise me you’ll give her the upbringing we agreed on. Promise me you’ll give her a good family." Harry smiled as Draco nodded reluctantly. "Tell her I love her, and I’m sorry I couldn’t stay." Tears were rolling down both their cheeks now. "You’re free now, Draco. You can have the future you wanted. You can marry your pure-blood." The last words were barely a whisper, and quickly drowned out by the cacophony of alarms set off by the monitoring spells.

Healer Cole and half a dozen other staff surrounded Harry, firing off spells rapidly and trying to stabilise him as he lost consciousness. No one heard the "but I only want you," that Draco whispered as he was pushed out of the way.


Draco barely spoke over the next seven days. For the most part, he seemed lifeless, lost. The only time he came alive was when he held his daughter, though even then he was a hollow shell of the man he’d been before. It took both Hermione and Pansy two days to convince him to even go and see his daughter in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, and another day before they could draw him away from Harry’s bedside long enough to take a shower. Healer Cole had eventually managed to stabilise Harry, but the blood loss had been enough to put him in a coma.

"You need to give her a name," Hermione prompted. "Ministry law requires that she has a name within a week of birth. You have to put something down on the birth certificate." She sighed, resigned, when Draco ignored her and continued to stare at Harry, periodically stroking his hand. "Draco…"

"Lily. Lily Carina Malfoy-Potter."

Hermione looked up, surprised. "That’s beautiful. I’ll get the registrar to draw up the certificate."

It was as the registrar left the room, that Draco placed Lily onto Harry’s chest and holding her there. "Harry, I’d like you to meet your daughter, Lily Carina Malfoy-Potter." He gently stroked her brow, and then reached up to do the same to Harry. "Harry, I need you to come back. I can’t do this without you. Lily needs you. I need you." As with every other time Draco had spoken to Harry, there was no movement, no indication of response. "They say you can sometimes hear people," Draco went on, "so I need to tell you, I’m sorry. Every time I told you I should have married a pure-blood, I’m sorry for every time." He choked back a sob. "Lily is so beautiful. She’s so very small, but she’s strong. Just like you. I need you to be strong, Harry."

He cleared his throat and began to sing softly, tears periodically making tracks down his face.

There was a knock on the door before a young nurse entered. "Mr. Malfoy, I need to take Lily back to NICU."

Draco nodded, and went to gather his daughter up into his arms. "I’ll bring her back later," he whispered to Harry, picking up Lily and handing her to the nurse. A movement caught his eye. Harry’s right hand twitched, twitched again, then moved up to his chest where Lily had been resting. "Call Healer Cole!" Draco urged the nurse.

She flicked her wand, setting an alarm outside the room. Soon, Healer Cole was in the room with a Magi-neuro specialist, performing checks on Harry and questioning Draco and the nurse about what they had observed. "This is good news, Mr. Malfoy."

"But why isn’t he waking up?"

"Coma patients rarely wake up immediately. Signs of movement and response," he demonstrated by asking Harry to squeeze his hand, which resulted in a weak flexing of Harry’s hand, "will increase over time. We’ll need to wait for him to emerge further before we can measure whether the blood loss has had any lasting effect."

Draco deflated. The initial rush of relief from Harry’s movement was replaced by worry that Harry could suffer a permanent disability.

The Magi-neuro specialist interjected, "Wizarding treatments for brain damage have advanced significantly in recent years. Even if there is damage, I see no reason why Mr. Potter won’t be able to live a fulfilling life. He was only in a coma for a week, so his chances are good."


It took Harry another six weeks before he was recovered enough to go home. Lily thrived, despite her early start to life, and Draco had been able to take her home when she was three weeks old. He took her to St. Mungo’s every day to visit Harry, and it seemed that seeing his daughter and husband helped Harry with his recovery.

Other than some reduced motor skills and occasional aphasia, Harry recovered well, and the Magi-neuro specialist, Draco eventually learned his name was Hercules D'Angelo, expected Harry would make a fully recovery in a matter of months.

Draco hired a physical therapist to help Harry with his recovery at home, rather than having to attend St. Mungo’s on a regular basis. Francis Costello lived with them for the first month. Draco moved into the guest room that Hermione had been occupying, while Francis stayed in Draco’s room. Most nights, however, found Draco sleeping on the armchair next to Harry’s bed, or in the rocking chair in Lily’s nursery. "Draco, go to bed," Harry urged one night. "That chair can’t be good for your back."

"It’s fine," Draco assured him. "I just… after what happened, I just don’t want to be too far away."

Harry sighed. "I thought you would have preferred for me to have left the door open for your…" frowned, searching for the word, "you know, the type of person you wanted to marry."

"Pure-blood?" Draco clarified. "Harry, I only want you," he admitted in a rare moment of raw honesty. "When you told me I was free, I realised that I didn’t want to be free. I only want you."

"I’m dreaming," Harry said, somewhat randomly.

"Dreaming? Why?"

"Did you really say you want me?" Draco nodded. "Draco, you prat! I’ve been falling in love with you for months! Ever since that first time you felt Lily move."


"Draco Lucius Malfoy, I love you."


"I really, really, love you. Now either get in this bed, or go to your own."

Draco remained sitting on armchair for a moment before he was suddenly galvanised into action. Harry shuffled over in the bed to make room, holding up the sheet. "Are you sure this is okay?" Draco asked uncertainly.

"It’s fine," Harry insisted. "Please, we’ve shagged, gotten bonded, had a baby… not necessarily in the normal order, mind you, but I think it’s fine if two husbands share a bed."

"Oh," Draco breathed, and suddenly relaxed, lying back on the pillows. His breath hitched when Harry snuggled in and put his head on Draco’s chest.

"Is this okay?" Harry asked, peering up at him.

"Fine," Draco replied, "more than fine. Oh, and I think I love you too."

"That’s nice."

Draco chuckled. "Just nice?"

Harry replied by stretching up to kiss Draco on the mouth, missing slightly and getting his chin instead. Draco shifted, and brought their lips together properly. "More than nice," Harry admitted.


Draco pulled on the red leather jacket and adjusted his collar. The blue denim jeans hugged his arse tightly. "You look good," Harry murmured, running his eyes over Draco’s form.

One side of his mouth lifting in a smirk, Draco waved his wand to cast the Glamour. "How about now?"

"Very… rebellious! Do me?"

"I’ll do you later," Draco growled, nipping at Harry’s jaw.

"No! You daft sod," Harry grumbled playfully. "My Glamour!"

"Oh!" Draco drew out the vowel. "You need me to do your Glamour?" His tone was all practiced innocence, but disconcerting when matched with a face that wasn’t his. He performed the same charm on Harry and watched as the familiar jagged scar disappeared and his face filled out a bit more. "You look like you should be on a motormike," he said appreciatively.

"It’s motorbike, not motormike." Harry put on the hat. "How do I look?"

"Gorgeous, but not as gorgeous as my husband."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Harry laughed. "Are you sure Lily will be all right? I…"

"Harry, Lily will be fine. This is our first night out alone, and we’re going to enjoy it. Besides, we have reason to celebrate, don’t we?"

"I think I’d rather do what we did last year; I’ll go as Harry Potter, you go as Elvis."

"But Harry, they all know the story now. We’ll never get a moment to enjoy ourselves. Come on, I want to go and have a good night. Then, I’ll bring you home, and we’ll have a good night. No Glamours, no interruptions from Lily; just you and me."

"Just you and me huh? I think I could get on board with that."

They were preparing to Apparate to the Ministry Ballroom when Harry started humming.

"What are you singing?" Draco asked, curious.

"No idea," Harry admitted. "The tune just pops into my head every now and then. I don’t know why, and I don’t know all of it."

"Hum it again," Draco prompted, an odd look on his face, which became more pronounced as Harry hummed louder.

"Draco, are you all right?" Harry asked, concerned.

"Come sit down," Draco urged. When they were settled on the sofa, Draco withdrew his wand and ended the Glamours. "Harry, when you were in the coma," he paused, choking up a little. Harry just twined his fingers with Draco’s and waited. "When you were in the coma, just before you started to wake up, I sang to you."

"What did you sing? Was it that tune?" Draco nodded. "Sing it to me again?"

They were late to the Ministry Masque.


Hold me close, hold me tight
Make me thrill with delight
Let me know where I stand from the start
I want you, I need you, I love you
With all my heart

Ev'ry time that you're near
All my cares disappear
Darling, you're all that I'm living for
I want you, I need you, I love you
More and more

I thought I could live without romance
Before you came to me
But now I know that
I will go on loving you eternally

Won't you please be my own?
Never leave me alone
'Cause I die ev'ry time we're apart
I want you, I need you, I love you
With all my heart…"

Tags: [admin] fest-2013, author: 9fn432, fic length: medium, fic length: one shot, genre: mpreg, rating: pg-13, type: fic

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