10/11/12/13

Chapter Ten: Awakenings

Harry stared in surprise at the progress the moon had made in the sky and knew it was long past curfew. With a sigh, he stood and stretched. Although it was late spring, the huge stone steps still retained some of their damp, winter chill.

"Potter! There you are! I've looked everywhere for you."

He jerked around to see Pansy Parkinson standing in the doorway. "What do you want?" Damn it. He really didn't need detention from the prefect this week.

"It's Draco. He's in the hospital wing!"

Harry froze. "What happened?"

"Mitchell Flint. He's a Sixth Year who thought he'd get a leg up on being head Slytherin next year by making Draco fall like a prat."

"He fell?" Oh, hell, the baby! He scooted past her in the doorway and started to run.

"Gregory and Vincent took him to the wing, while Blaise and I sorted out Mitchell," Pansy said as they raced toward the infirmary. "I think-I think the baby's okay, Potter. Draco's head took the brunt of the impact."

Harry stopped running. "You know?" He knew Draco had told them that they were, um, shagging, but telling them about the baby was totally unexpected. And worrisome.

She nodded and didn't stop running so Harry had to catch up to her. "All the Seventh Years in our House know," Pansy explained when he was beside her again. "That's why I was sent after you."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

She shrugged. "Draco is capable of making his own decisions."

Stunned, he barely kept up with her.

Crabbe and Goyle were standing at the entrance of the infirmary, and opened the door to let Harry pass. "Madam Pomfrey! How is he?"

"Shh! He has a nasty bump on his head and doesn't need loud noises," the nurse scolded.

"Sorry. How is he?" Harry questioned again, this time in a whisper as he neared the bed in the back. Draco looked like he was sleeping and there was a big red splotch on his forehead.

"I just have to-" She waved her wand and the splotch disappeared. "There. He's going to be fine. I would let him go back to the dormitory, but because of his delicate condition, I'm going to keep him overnight."

"The baby?"

"Fine, Mr. Potter. Most of Mr. Malfoy's magical powers are focused on protecting the baby, which is why he probably fell like he did. Instead of his arms going forward to catch himself, all his actions were directed at guarding his abdomen."

"So you're saying Draco won't protect himself, only the baby?"

"Yes. You have to remember that when Progenitors first came into being, the emphasis was on maintaining the wizarding line. The babies were what was most important."

But Draco's important to me. He startled at the thought. "Can I sit here and wait for him to wake up?"

"Ordinarily, I'd say no. But I know how worried you are, so I'll let you stay only until he wakes. You must promise me you'll go back to your dormitory afterwards. This has been a very trying day for you as well, and you need your rest." She put a flask on the table. "Make sure he drinks this when he wakes."

Harry nodded. He went out and told Draco's friends what was going on, then pulled up a chair and stared at Draco. There was no tell-tale bulge yet, but his baby was there inside this boy-man. The man he was engaged to. The man he had insulted and frightened earlier. The man he should be protecting and...hadn't.

Who was this Flint character and why had he attacked Draco? Could Draco's friends be trusted? God, he'd told them about the baby. What if-How many junior Death Eaters were in Hogwarts? Could he and Dumbledore protect Draco until the end of the year? Maybe Draco should be sent into hiding or something.

Harry sighed and rested his head in his hands, his shoulders curling under the weight placed upon them.

Draco opened his eyes and scanned the room. The infirmary. Harry Potter seated next to his bed, looking lost and sad. With a gasp, he grabbed his stomach. "The baby!"

"Is fine," Harry quickly assured him. "You're supposed to drink this." Harry helped him sit up and drain the flask. Then he lay back weakly against a rather unfluffy pillow.

"What happened, Potter?" Had he fainted?

"Some Sixth Year-a Flint, I think-tripped you. You hit your head, but Madam Pomfrey's taken care of that. She's keeping you overnight, just as a precaution."

Draco blinked, letting his anger push aside his disorientation. "Mitchell Flint is a dead man."

Harry shrugged. "Probably. Pansy said that she and Blaise sorted him out afterward."

"Good." Pansy could be a real bitch when she wanted to and Blaise could go toe-to-toe with Greg and Vince when he was angry.

"So, you told them? What happened to 'I can handle them'?"

Told- Oh. Potter knew his friends knew about the baby. And of course, he was going to be a baby about it. Draco rolled his eyes. "I told them to handle them. By telling them myself, I controlled what they learned and their perception of the facts."

"What exactly did you tell them-so we don't get our lies confused and stuff. You Slytherins probably don't believe in passion and the likes."

Prejudiced much? "I told them we shagged, and I got knocked up." He gave his visitor a tolerant smirk. "The key to successful lying, Potter, is not to do it unless you have to-and if you have to, keep the embellishments down to a minimum."

Potter grimaced. "The wisdom of Slytherins?"

"Unlike you Gryffindors, rushing off to save the day, we save ourselves. By any means necessary. You like to call that evil. We call it survival."

"Supporting Voldemort is survival?" Skepticism dripped from Potter's voice.

"For those who are already pledged to him? Yes. For those living in the households of his supporters? Yes. For those few who have a choice? A decision is made and our subsequent choices match accordingly."

Potter cocked his head to one side, probably straining against thinking so much. "Your decision was our baby."

"Yes."

"But what about the people you've told? What if they haven't really decided? What if they run off and tell their parents about the baby, and their parents tell your parents, and your parents tell Voldemort?"

Well, that was-insulting. Draco sat up. "Are you accusing me of something, Potter? Are you accusing me of putting my child in danger?"

"I'm just saying that maybe telling your dorm mates might not have been...wise?"

"I sincerely hope that Gryffindor stupidity is not a hereditary trait," Draco scoffed. "Do you actually think I would have told anyone without being utterly sure that I wouldn't be betrayed? My friends would have been curious, Potter. They would've followed me, cast listening spells, set charms in my room. They would've discovered my secret and used it against me because it was my secret. Now, it's their secret, which they are bound to protect. Do you get it now, Potter?"

Potter stared at him, his eyes wide behind the round lenses and dark frames. "You Slytherins are a complicated lot," he mumbled.

"And you Gryffindors are not." Draco fluffed his pillow and leaned back. Then he sat back up, fluffed again, then settled with a satisfied sigh. "Now that you've grasped the basic tenets of life, tell me why you are here."

"When you got hurt, Pansy came and told me because of the baby."

"But the baby's fine?" Potter nodded. "Then why. Are. You. Here?"

Potter looked puzzled. "I didn't want you waking up alone. Madam Pomfrey told me I could stay until you woke up, but I had to promise I'd go back to the dormitory as soon as that happened. So I can't stay, but I'll be back in the morning, okay?"

Draco nodded, his turn to be dazed and confused. Why did Potter care if he woke up alone? He wasn't in any danger in the infirmary, and Pomfrey had wards up to let her know when her patients woke. Why had Potter wasted time sitting beside him? Uncomfortable with his lack of understanding-how the hell did Snape put up with these Gryffindors year in and year out-he turned his head and closed his eyes.

"Goodnight, Draco," Potter called softly as the door closed behind him.

"Goodnight, Harry," Draco said to the empty room. Maybe tomorrow he would make sense of Potter's actions. Maybe tomorrow he'd have brilliant insight into the workings of the Gryffindor brain. Maybe tomorrow he'd grow wings and turn into a snitch, and then Harry would catch him and cradle him in his big hands and...

And maybe tomorrow he'd find out what batty Pomfrey had slipped him to cause such weird thoughts. From now on, he was only accepting potions from Snape.

Chapter Eleven: That's Our Baby!

Despite his late arrival to bed, Harry was up long before his fellow Gryffindors. He smiled as he passed by Ron's bed. Last night he'd thrown back his curtains when Harry came in and mumbled a, "Harry, that you, mate? All's right?"

"Everything's good, Ron. Go back to sleep."

"'Kay."

Maybe Draco had the right of it, Harry thought as he showered. The baby should be Ron's secret, too. Hadn't Ron proven himself by not freaking out about Harry's supposed relationship with Draco? And if there was something Ron knew about, it was the responsibility of a parent to a child. Ron had told him that because Weasleys were so virile (Mr. Weasley's word), his dad had sat down each of his sons when they'd reached puberty to explain to them about the need to be cautious as they "explored" (another Mr. Weasley's word, complete with quotation marks). Ron had excitedly passed on the information he'd learned, and the varied contraceptive spells taught to him by his brothers, to his best friend. Which Harry hadn't thought to use when he-oh, yeah, he hadn't had sex with Draco; he'd RAPED him.

Harry hurried through his shower and dressing. In less than fifteen minutes he was riding the staircase up to Dumbledore's office. A knock got him a quick, "Come in, Harry. Top of the morning to you."

"Good morning, sir."

"I hear Mr. Malfoy is doing well. I'm glad he was not seriously injured." Dumbledore motioned him into a chair.

"Me too. That's why I'm here."

"You're worried about his safety?"

Harry shook his head. After going over his conversation with Draco, he'd concluded that if Draco trusted his fellow Slytherin Seventh Years with the truth about the baby, then it was reasonable to assume they would protect him within his House. "Before the accident, Draco wanted me to ask you if you would officiate at our binding ceremony. Oh, yeah, and if we could use your office for it."

"A binding ceremony?" Harry nodded. Dumbledore, instead of taking his normal seat behind the desk, sat in the chair next to Harry. "What do you know of bindings, Harry?"

"Wizards have bindings instead of marriage like Muggles, right?"

Dumbledore gave a small smile. "Not quite, my boy. Wizards usually marry exactly like Muggles."

"So what's the difference?"

"A wedding is a legal and spiritual commitment between two people who agree to the dictates of such an arrangement. A binding is a magical occurrence, whereby Magic itself decides whether to unite the witches or wizards present. If Magic doesn't approve, the binding doesn't happen and that is not only costly, but embarrassing. These days most of the Wizarding world just goes with the safer and more reliable option of marriage. I'd be proud to officiate at a marriage between you and Mr. Malfoy."

Harry frowned. "You don't want to bind us?"

Dumbledore's hand patted his shoulder. "It's not a question of 'want', Harry. There has to be certain conditions met for a binding to occur."

Harry knew he had to be firm, and explain his request clearly. "Draco stated a binding, not a marriage, so he must believe the conditions will be met because, you know, he wouldn't humiliate himself like that-not even to get back at me."

"Harry-"

"I'm sorry, sir, but when it comes to Wizarding ritual, especially old, traditional ones, I'll have to trust Draco's judgment over yours. He's been trained up in them all his life." And while he had no doubt that Dumbledore was well-versed in archaic Wizarding code, or whatever the hell all this ritual shit was based on, knowing such shit and living such shit like Draco had, were two different things. In other words, Draco had to be an expert.

"That may be so, Mr. Potter, but-"

Harry shook his head, not really wanting to argue with the Headmaster. "No 'buts', sir. If you won't do the ceremony, I'll just have to find someone who will. Draco wants a binding, so I'll give him a binding."

Dumbledore stared at him, eyes suddenly going from saddened to twinkling. "Well," he said heartily after a moment, "perhaps you're right about Mr. Malfoy being more astute in these matters. Tell him I'll gladly officiate at your binding, and I'll even have the house elves decorate the office a bit."

Harry gave a sigh of relief. He hadn't wanted to face Draco with Dumbledore's refusal. "Thank you, sir. Here's the ceremony he wants done. I don't have a copy for you to keep-I have to memorize my lines-but if you can do a magical copy real quick..."

Dumbledore peered over his glasses at the offered parchment. "This is what Mr. Malfoy wants?"

Harry nodded. "He said it was the simplest he could find. And that I need new robes." He eyed Dumbledore's garish purple and orange garment. "I think I'll ask Hermione to help me with that."

Dumbledore waved his wand and the parchment duplicated itself. "Very well, Harry. If this is what Mr. Malfoy wants..."

Smiling, Harry stood. "He's very clear on that, sir. That's one of the things I admire about him. You don't have to guess with him."

"I'm sure that's very refreshing in a relationship," Dumbledore agreed. "But I have a feeling that there are layers to Mr. Malfoy, and the only thing clear about him are his mysteries."

Harry shrugged. Dumbledore wouldn't be Dumbledore if he didn't add something cryptic at the end of every conversation. "Do you know a good date for this?"

"Mr. Malfoy didn't say?"

"No, but it probably needs to be as soon as possible."

"The new moon is a wonderful time to start such an adventure as this, Harry."

"I'll discuss it with Draco. Thank you for your help. I'm going to the infirmary now to see if Madam Pomfrey has released him yet."

"Tell him I said good morning and congratulations."

"I will. Talk to you later."

Feeling accomplished, Harry headed to the infirmary.

Draco was knotting his Slytherin tie as Harry burst through the infirmary doors, obviously excited and eager to share.

"Draco, he said yes! The Headmaster will perform the ceremony and let us use his office."

"That's wonderful, Potter. Planning to announce it to the whole school, are you?" Draco said dryly, pleased that Potter was being so obedient. Quite different from the Potter of the night before.

"Sorry about that," Potter said in a much quieter tone as his eyes scanned the large room.

"Thankfully there are no other patients here, but really, Potter, do be careful."

Potter bounced onto the bed, lying in the exact spot Draco had vacated. Draco found the sight...distracting. "I promise. And oh, he suggested we do it during a new moon. He says that's a good time for stuff like that."

Draco tsked. "How many years have you taken Astronomy? Of course the best time to start a new adventure would be during a new moon. If I'm not mistaken, the next new moon will be in a favorable lunar mansion as well. It's decided then: the ceremony will take place during the next new moon. Which is good-I won't be fat yet."

"It won't be fat; it'll be our son or daughter."

"Says the guy who won't be waddling around in a few months. And it's our son."

"What?"

Draco stopped in the middle of putting on his robes. Potter's tone sounded odd. "It's a boy. Madam did the Revelo Genus spell earlier this morning."

"Oh."

Draco frowned. "What's the matter? You wanted a girl?"

Harry quickly shook his head. "Girl or boy didn't make a difference to me."

"So why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset!"

"Well, something has your knickers in a knot! Spill, Potter. I haven't time for this." And the books had said he would be the moody one.

"Neither of us do. Not if we're to have breakfast before lessons start. Besides, it's stupid," Potter concluded with a shrug.

"Don't make me have to explain to my son why I had to kill his father before his birth." Draco sat heavily on the bed, waiting for the Gryffindor to clear up this mystery.

"I just wish I'd been there-when she told you, that's all."

"Why? She pointed her wand, said the spell, and the symbol for a male appeared. Nothing spectacular about that."

"I told you it was stupid. I'll head down to breakfast first so we don't arrive at the same time." Potter stood and took a step toward the door.

Shit. Somehow he'd fucked up, but Draco had no idea how. There was a long way to go in the pregnancy and he needed-no, had to have Potter's full cooperation and protection. Okay. Potter was upset because he wanted to be there when Pomfrey found out the baby's sex. Did that mean Potter expected to be there when anything was found out about the baby? Was that what he was pouting about? "Stay," he quietly ordered Potter, then turned around and called out, "Madam Pomfrey?"

She appeared immediately. "Are you ready to leave, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Not quite. You said I could see the baby whenever I wanted to? Could you do it now, with Pot-with Harry here?"

Pomfrey gave a wide smile. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Come here, Mr. Potter, and I'll show you how to do this so that you and Mr. Malfoy can see your child whenever you like. Lift your shirt, Mr. Malfoy. Although the spell can be done through clothing, the image is often clearer without the extra layers."

Potter stood slowly and drew his wand. "Are you sure about this, Draco?"

Draco nodded and unbuttoned the lower part of his shirt, lifting it and the jumper to bare his stomach.

"All right, Mr. Potter. Hold your wand as such." She manipulated his wrist into position. "And say these words- 'Manifesta germen!'"

"Manifesta germen!" Potter recited obediently.

A cloud formed in the air in front of his stomach. The mist started clearing and an image appeared. Draco had no idea what it was.

"That's your baby, gentlemen," Pomfrey said, seeing their confusion. "He's just a tiny little thing now, but there's his head and the beginning of his hand. Can you see it?"

Draco was not impressed and was a bit disgusted seeing such a thing growing inside him. It sort of reminded him of the slugs he'd made Weasley belch up back in second-year.

"Hey, baby," Potter was crooning to the image, and Draco wondered if he expected the little slug to make a reply. Hell, at least that would make the little parasite interesting. "That's our baby, Draco!"

Draco nodded and tried to look attentive. The image faded and with relief, he re-buttoned his shirt and smoothed down his jumper. Potter was still staring at the spot where the image had been. "Potter, go to breakfast."

"Okay." He started out of the room, then turned back to give Draco a sun-rivaling smile. "Thank you!"

Draco smirked. Gryffindors were so easy.

Chapter Twelve: I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

How Harry managed to find the Great Hall, he himself wasn't sure. Seeing the baby had been...damn, was there a word for what that had been? Sure, he was kind of tiny and wormlike, but he was his-and Draco's. And how great had Draco been, asking Pomfrey to do that and then she'd shown him how...A baby. A son. It should be scary. He should be petrified. Draco probably was. Draco-had looked rather good getting dressed.

"No need to ask you how your night was."

Harry looked over at Ron as he sat down at the table beside him. "Huh?"

"You're positively glowing, Harry," Hermione said softly from his other side.

"I guess the ferret's good at something. I should've figured fucking would be his best subject next to Potions. Maybe they're one in the same," Ron muttered.

Harry quickly lost his good mood. "Ron, either get the fuck over yourself or stay away from me."

"Sorry, Harry."

"Ron said you got in late last night. Did everything go well?" Hermione asked, obviously trying to distract him from Ron.

"Draco got mixed up in some kind of power struggle in Slytherin. I was in the infirmary with him."

"Infirmary? He's okay, right?"

Harry heard her unvoiced question about the baby. "He's completely fine, Hermione. I just saw him a few minutes ago."

"We'd wondered where you'd disappeared to so early. And we're glad he's okay. Aren't we, Ron?"

Ron nodded and patted Harry on the shoulder. "Sorry, mate. Just habit, I'm afraid."

Harry nodded and finished his breakfast. They all had habits they were going to have to break. He had to get over expecting Draco's pregnancy to be like a Muggle one. Maybe it wasn't a big deal in the wizarding world to find out what the baby's sex was, or maybe wizards didn't take such a keen interest in every little detail of a pregnancy. In fact, he knew nothing at all about wizarding pregnancies. Were they nine months long? Were the babies born in the same way as in that BBC special he'd seen at the Dursleys? Wizards could cure injuries that would kill Muggles, so surely they'd come up with an easier to get a baby out, right? And how much did it matter that Draco was a wizard and not a witch? Oh, God, he was so far in over his head. "I need help," he wailed softly.

"What is it, Harry? You know we're here for you," Ron said quickly. "You run out of lube, condoms, what?" Harry stared at him. Hermione stared at him. "Five brothers-and not a single sister-in-law," he explained with a wink. "Although I'm pretty sure most of them are bi. Except maybe Percy. But Percy's probably still a virgin. What's it called when you think the only one good enough to be with is yourself?"

"Lonely," Hermione said with a snicker.

The boys laughed.

"It's nothing like that, Ron," Harry said. "It's, um, complicated. Can we meet tonight and talk? Just the three of us?"

His two best friends nodded and they all headed in different directions to class.

Draco was exhausted. He'd been warned that the changes his body was going through were going to be draining, but he figured that since he was in good physical shape (seventeen and a Quidditch player), he'd sail through it without too much notice.

He wondered what other parts of the pregnancy he'd miscalculated.

"Draco."

He nearly stumbled when someone called his name as he stepped through the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Wearily, he looked at the assembled crowd and sighed. Apparently going to bed was not in his immediate future. He made his way to the leather chair Pansy obviously wanted him to take and with effort, pushed his exhaustion to the background.

"Someone has something he wants to say to you, Draco," Blaise said as he shoved Mitchell Flint forward.

The Sixth Year was tall and dark, sort of like a Potter wanna-be. Draco grinned; he didn't need a substitute since he had the original. "All right, Flint. I'm here. What is it you want to say?"

"I'm sorry," the boy muttered.

Draco cupped a hand to his ear. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that."

"I'm sorry," the boy spat loudly.

Draco settled back into the soft leather. The chair was quite comfortable. He wondered how long he could draw this out before he had to get up. "Sorry for what?"

"For tripping you."

"Oh, so I take it you're not sorry for violating the one steadfast rule of Slytherin. The Slytherin common room, as you were informed your first night here, is a 'safety zone' for all Slytherins. Day in and day out we are targeted by the other three Houses of this institution. Day in and day out we have conflict with our families and with our fellow Slytherins because of beliefs, because of ambitions, because of beliefs and ambitions of our families. All of that crap is to be left out of this room. It is our haven, the one place in this bloody school where we don't have to watch our backs.

"And you violated it, Flint. You attacked one of your own here in this room. I would have been on the lookout for a foot, a wand, a shove anywhere else in this school, but here I thought I was safe, that I was protected by something the rest of the world doesn't think we have-Slytherin honor. And all you can say is that you're sorry? Well, I'm sorry, too, Flint. I'm sorry that you will never have what you want. I'm sorry that you will never have any leadership position in Slytherin. I'm sorry that you'll have to explain to your brother that you won't be following in his footsteps as Quidditch team captain, that you will never sit at the head of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, that even the First Years will look upon you with derision and not listen to a word you say."

Flint rolled his eyes. "You won't even be here next year, Malfoy."

"That's Mister Malfoy to you, Flint," Draco said harshly. "And do you actually think it makes a difference where I am? If you believe that, then you're even more of a pitiable fool that I thought you were." Flint reached out to grab him, but Vince and Greg were there to hold him back. "If I were you, I wouldn't try that again."

"Or what, Malfoy?" Flint sneered, struggling against the muscle holding him in place.

"Or I'll have to step in," Snape said.

They all stared at the professor who'd entered the common room without their knowledge. Flint paled, as did all the other students in attendance.

"I'm sure you all have tasks that need doing," Snape continued as he crossed to the leather chair. The room emptied immediately.

"Professor," Draco said as he reluctantly moved to the edge of his seat.

Snape waved his wand and created a bubble of silence around them. "Is this sudden attraction to danger because of your-relations with a Gryffindor, or are your questionable relations because of your sudden attraction to danger?"

"The chicken or the egg theory, sir. Unsolvable."

"As is your continued association with Potter. You met with him last night."

Draco didn't even bother to feel surprised that Snape knew about that. "We are having a binding ceremony the next new moon."

The professor snorted. "Impossible."

"The ceremony itself is not impossible."

Snape stared at him. "What are you up to, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco explained the magical contract he had with his fellow Seventh Years, and their inattention to detail.

Snape shook his head. "Have we really taught them that poorly?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm sure it's the Headmaster's influence, sir. The atmosphere here is just not conducive to thinking outside the box of human kindness and trust. Thankfully, I was well-trained at home."

"How do you think Mr. Potter will respond to the failure of your binding?" Snape asked.

"More guilt. I've found him to be more stubborn than I like. This should put an end to it."

"Keep this up and he may suffocate you with his eagerness to prove his 'Gryffindorishness.'"

"As long as he keeps my father and You-Know-Who away from me, I don't care what he does."

"Do tread cautiously, Draco. Mr. Potter is not a Hufflepuff. You may get more than you asked for."

Draco nodded, knowing that his professor probably knew more about the mindset of Gryffindors than he did. After all, he'd worked with them for years. And while he had Snape's attention... "Will you stand for me at the binding ceremony, sir?" It was a position of importance, often reserved for a special relative or best friend.

Snape nodded solemnly, then belatedly smirked. "Of course. After all, you'll need someone by your side to see you through your keen disappointment afterwards."

Draco dramatically wiped his brow, then returned the smirk. "How kind of you to offer, sir."

Chapter Thirteen: Confessions And Revelations

"What's the problem, mate?" Ron asked as he and Hermione entered the room.

Harry sighed, swinging his feet to hit against the desk he was sitting on in the empty classroom. He remembered years ago when he'd had to boost himself up on a desk and his feet just naturally dangled. Now he had to bend to sit on the desk, and to dangle even a little, he had to lift one of his feet while the other rested on the floor. What had happened to that scared little boy who thought Hogwarts was going to be his salvation? In ways, it had been. But in other ways, Hogwarts and the Wizarding world had condemned him, putting a seal on his fate that would only be broken by killing him or making him a murderer.

"We're getting old," he murmured. He was getting old.

"We're only seventeen-" Hermione looked at Ron- "and eighteen. That's not old."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe if we were Muggles, but here we're legal to do whatever we want. We're leaving school, going into careers, and starting families," he said pointedly. "We're old."

"Is that why the First Years look like babies to me?" Ron asked. "I just feel like patting one on the head and telling him to toddle off to naptime."

Harry grinned. At Ron's height, he could pat anyone on the head. He looked at his best friend-his first friend-and decided to be straightforward. "Ron, Mal-Draco is a Progenitor."

Ron's eyes widened. "So you need a reminder of the contraception spell, because I don't trust-"

Harry stopped him with a shake of his head. "Too late for that."

Ron sat heavily on one of the chairs, its braces creaking in annoyance. "The slimy bugger!"

Harry moved to cut him off before he got started down the wrong road. "It's not entirely his fault, Ron. We weren't-we weren't expecting what happened between us to happen. Things got out of hand quickly."

"So this happened your first time?"

Harry nodded.

"Fuck your luck, mate," Ron said sympathetically. "So when's the wedding?"

"What?" Hermione shrieked. "He's only seventeen, Ron!"

"But he-there's a baby, Hermione," Ron argued. "If you're old enough to play, you're old enough to pay. That's the rule."

"What? What kind of stupid rule is that?"

"The Wizarding kind. I take it that it's different in the Muggle world?"

"Well, sort of. I mean, you can get married, but you don't have to. Not anymore."

"And you let your children be born-bastards?"

Ron said the word with such disgust that Harry felt twice as bad about his reaction to Draco. Apparently being a bastard was a big thing in Wizarding society. The Slytherin had only been thinking about the baby. "We're having a binding ceremony," Harry said quickly, so his friend wouldn't think too badly of him. "The upcoming new moon."

Ron's eyes widened even larger. "You're that serious. I thought-wow. I-I thought it was just about sex, but if you're having a binding-wow."

Hermione shook her head. "It won't work, Harry. You and Malfoy aren't-If you had those kinds of feelings toward each other, we would have known."

Harry held out the parchment. "Draco thinks it'll work and he knows more about this kind of stuff than you do, Hermione." She huffed indignantly. "Even Ron knows more. He knew what a Progenitor was without having read it in a book."

She tapped her foot angrily. "So, Ron, since you're such an expert, do you think a binding can occur between Harry and Malfoy?"

"I didn't even think a shag could occur between Harry and Malfoy, so I'm not the person to ask," he said neutrally.

"See? It's a pureblood thing," Harry said. "Draco says I need new dress robes for it. Want to take me shopping, Hermione?" he asked, hoping it would take the scowl off her face. She hated not knowing everything.

"Sure, Harry. But I'm going to research binding ceremonies so that you'll know I know what I'm talking about."

"Won't that interfere with studying for the N.E.W.T.s?" Harry asked, blinking innocently behind his thick, round lenses. Ron snickered.

It took them an hour to figure out how to remove the duck feet she gave them.

"What are you telling your parents, Draco? About your decision not to go home for Easter?" Blaise asked as they prepared for bed.

"That I'm staying to work on a potions project. I'm sure Professor Snape will cover for me if they start asking questions."

"So he knows?"

"Has there ever been anything that occurred in Slytherin House that he didn't know about?"

"Does he know why? I mean, he's a you-know-what."

At least Snape's cover was still intact. "He only knows that I'm having Potter's child and has been sworn to secrecy. Besides, I think that melted his mind too much for further questions."

The other guys in the room snickered. "I wonder how he's going to take it when he finds out you're switching sides."

"We're, Blaise, when we're switching sides. All of you who signed that contract are coming along with me. I'll not be thrown to the wolves without my own pack."

"But that's only if-" Goyle began.

"What part of 'Potter agreed to the binding' that you don't understand?" Draco snapped. "Stop playing the idiot. That's not going to get you out of the contract."

"I don't want out," Goyle said quickly. "I'd rather follow you than You-Know-Who anytime. At least I know you won't throw me in a cell and starve me just because I tripped over a shoelace."

Goyle had never got over what You-Know-Who had done to his father. Beatings, Cruciatus, and hexes of all manner were mere pranks to the Goyles compared to not getting their three meals a day, plus snacks. "Your lard arse protects me in so many ways, Gregory, that I would never even think of starving you."

"Thanks-" and because Goyle wasn't a total idiot- "I think."

"So I guess we'd all better say our goodbyes to our families during the break. I'm sorry you won't get that chance, Draco."

Draco shrugged. "It can't be helped, Blaise. There are too many things that could go wrong if I were to return to the manor. My parents have never appreciated goodbyes anyway, and when I left after Christmas, I was already sure I wouldn't be returning."

"You really thought this through then, this turn to the Light?"

"Being a pawn for a madman and acting as cannon fodder in a war that is completely unnecessary, is not a future I'd wish upon anyone-and certainly not my heir. I don't know what my parents were thinking when they got caught up in all this. Following the Dark Lord had to be the stupidest idea they ever had."

"I daresay he was a bit more powerful back in the beginning, and possibly charismatic," Blaise pointed out.

"So is Potter, and you don't see me burning his mark into my arm."

"No, you just burned it into your arse."

Draco tossed a pillow at him. "Fuck you, Zabini."

"With or without Pansy?" a deep voice called from behind closed curtains.

Draco laughed. "I thought you were asleep, Vincent."

Crabbe spelled back his curtains. "You only get interesting when you think I'm asleep."

"Maybe that's because you're boring," Draco replied.

Crabbe pointed his wand and muttered a spell which Draco ably dodged before stomping across the room and punching Crabbe soundly.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, Draco?" Crabbe asked, holding the side of his face. "It was only-"

"I'm pregnant, shithead!"

The other three in the room froze. Then there was a frenzy of activity as two scrambled from bed, shouting, "Alright there, mate?" and "You want to sit down, Draco?" and "Crabbe, you fuckwad!" and "I'm going to rip you from limb to limb!"

And in the middle of the chaos stood Draco with a hand splayed protectively across his stomach and Crabbe sobbing on his bed.

"Draco?" Blaise asked.

Draco walked slowly back across the room. "I'm going to bed now."

As he climbed beneath the covers, he could hear Crabbe still sniffing quite emphatically and Zabini and Goyle furiously whispering. But none of it mattered to him. Not now. Not after...

In that one instant when he saw the wand, saw the curse headed toward him, he realized something. Something quite odd. He hadn't dodged because he was protecting his ticket into the Light. He hadn't punched Crabbe because he was endangering the Plan. He had been protecting and defending-his son. Who meant. Everything.

Shit, he was so fucked.