Title: A Dream of Waking (pt 1)
Author: eidheann (eidheann_writes)
Adapted from: The Painted Veil
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Blaise/Draco
Summary: "You always were contrary. Had I known you'd jump into an engagement with the first person you spoke to after our little tête-à-tête, I might have been gentler with my persuasion."
Word Count: ~16,000 total
Rating: NC-17
Contains:angst, infidelity, mpreg, all as per the prompt. Also, Pansy, who wasn't prompted, but deserves a warning label nonetheless. Otherwise, there's a bit of dirty-ish sex and some entirely made up potions theory.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to the mods for their patience with me. (xx appleling And cookies to icicle33 who beta'd this beastie. You are amazing and I love you.) To omi_ohmy, who went WAY above and beyond the call of duty, first with the cheerleading, then the pre-reading and finally a wee bit of britpicking so I could get my insults just right.

Title taken from Aristotle: Hope is the dream of a waking man.

.oxo.
Pans,
Ugh, why did you have to move to France and leave me here all by my lonesome? Mother has been horrible; she still hasn't let up with the talk of Marriage and Redeeming the Family Name. I can't even get through a simple Sunday brunch without her mentioning it at least twice. Move back to England and marry me? It will be like we planned back in school: just you, me, and a hot cabin boy who doesn't speak English but has a Monster Cock, living on a private island in the Caribbean.
I miss you, you stupid cow.
Love,
Draco
PS- How's Monsieur Moneybags?

Draco,
Those plans fell through when you left me for Blaise's monster cock back in seventh year and refused to share. Slag. You deserve your mother's delicate attentions and will find no sympathy from me.
But since I love you, I'll see about arranging a portkey sometime next week and I'll let you treat me to a nice spa day and you can complain to Mumsy Pansy about your latest mediocre shag and I can show off this nice big diamond I've been wearing since I told Henri "I do."
Love,
Your Pansy
PS: The good one. Don't try to take me to that place across from Harrods again. Last I was there, it gave me hives.
PPS: I would be useless at shutting up your mother, anyway. You know very well why I had to leave England, and I would be no good for repairing your family name.
.oxo.

Draco Malfoy leaned back into the comfortable embrace of a well-upholstered chair and swung one leg lazily over the other. The sounds of quiet music and falling water lulled him into a state of relaxation in spite of his continued impatient glances toward the lacquered wooden door of Pansy's favorite London spa. She was late, not that this surprised him. Pansy had always been terminally incapable of being anywhere on time "It's called fashionably late, darling, you should try it sometime." But he'd been waiting over half an hour, which was pushing it even for her.

Of course, it was likely it wasn't entirely her fault. There had been a lot of changes in the seven years since the war, most notably in the form of the sudden bureaucratic red tape most former-Slytherins faced when attempting to accomplish anything that required a permit or authorization from the Ministry. When he was feeling generous, he didn't blame Pansy for moving to France as soon as she had her NEWTS in hand; many of the old Pureblood families had done the same, and those who remained found themselves forced into a state of almost-exile, socializing in Muggle London where their money still meant something.

None of which meant he was any happier about being kept waiting.

Another twenty minutes later, wherein he procured a cup of good Darjeeling and enjoyed a harmless flirtation with the receptionist, Pansy swept into building with a blast of early Autumn air. "Darling! I am so sorry I'm late, but you would not believe what a pain it is to travel from Paris these days." She towered over him where he was sitting and beckoned him up, placing two kisses to the air on either side of his cheeks. He smirked, glancing down at her stilettos, a scarlet that matched her lips perfectly, and she grinned before he had a chance to comment. "Yes I know, they are a bit much, aren't they? But they make my legs look divine!"

"Pans, you're almost as tall as I am in them!" He laughed, feeling the remaining tension in his shoulders begin to fade from the comfort of her familiar presence.

"Yes, well, at least you didn't inherit all your daddy's height, or then where would I be?" The twinkle in her eye mocked them both equally, and he offered an unguarded smile in return. "Now then..." She turned her sharp gaze on the Receptionist, heels clicking as she approached. "I shall require a cup of tea immediately, Earl Grey will do, they don't know how to brew it properly in France. I want my facial before the massage, not the other way around, Draco never schedules me properly, then at least another 30 minutes with an additional moisturizer during which I will drink lemon water. And absolutely no cucumbers unless they're on a sandwich. Then feet, then hands, then hair. Any questions?" She smiled sweetly at the look of panic. "No? Good. My tea?"

He laughed again as the girl squeaked and fled. "Oh Pans, how I've missed you."

"Of course, darling, I keep your life interesting. Now, I need to make certain she doesn't fuck up my tea and then we can have a nice chat." He followed Pansy through the archway, wondering how the sharp click of heels could be more comforting than harps and fountains.

.oxo.

"So..." Pansy's voice was muffled as she attempted to speak without cracking the mud mask. "How is your dear mother these days?"

Draco snorted from his perch beside her chair, taking a sip of his darjeeling before setting it on the small table beside them. "Mother is well. Too well. She sends her regards to you and what's-his-name."

"Henri, Draco." The stinging hex hit his arm and he cursed.

"Fucker, I keep forgetting you learned to do that wandless. That better not leave a mark."

"Oh please. You've no one to impress. Your shirt will be staying on for the next several days at least." Pansy smirked, not cracking the mud at all. "Speaking of, did I tell you? I saw Blaise last week."

Draco swallowed around his suddenly dry throat, feeling his pulse begin to race and his shoulders tense. He reached for his cup and attempted to appear unaffected by the news. "Oh?"

Pansy's expression sharpened and her smirk slid into something more avid. He mentally cursed them both when the drawl slid her words into sticky honey. "Why yes, darling. He and Nicolette were at a do for the new Ambassador. He's his assistant, you remember? They're set to go to... Africa or India or somewhere miserable and full of insects. And I must say he was looking absolutely divine. Muggle fashion is all the rage in Paris, too. Blaise in black trousers. Mmmmm..."

Giving up on maintaining his dignity when Pansy was so obviously determined to go for the throat, he set the cup down again and rubbed his forehead. "How was he?"

He glanced up when he felt her fingers in his hair. "He never deserved you, dearest. Always too much a mummy's boy. You need someone who'll spoil you and listen to your mother. She cares more for your happiness and welfare than Carlotta Zabini-whatever ever would."

"Pans-"

"No, I mean it. You've been carrying this torch since Hogwarts. He was never going to see you as anything but a shag, Draco. He's too cowed to stand up to his mother, and she would never allow him to have anything but a fling with another boy." Pansy paused, her expression sad. "He looked very well- happy even. Nicolette, on the other hand, looked miserable. I'm glad it's not you."

He sighed, pulling her hand from his hair and kissed the small, cool fingers lightly. "I do love you, you trollop."

"Of course you do. Now, if you can get over this Hufflepuffish pining you're doing, you might find yourself in a position to look for an actual relationship."

"Oh Merlin, Mother set you up for this, didn't she?"

"Of course she did. The most important thing in Narcissa Malfoy's life is the happiness of her little boy. Something we share in common."

"And it hasn't occurred to either of you that I'm happy with how things currently stand?"

"Going to a club once a month to dance with Muggles and spending the rest of your time rattling around in that mausoleum with your mother? Oh darling, you just keep telling yourself that."

Collapsing back in the chair he covered his face again. "I give up."

.oxo.

"Draco? Is that you?" His mother's voice came from beyond the open library door, and he sighed, knowing his attempt to sneak in without catching her attention was doomed from the start.

"Yes, Mother. Pansy sends her love." And likely floo'd you to say that I was on my way home as soon as my back was turned, the sneaky cow. He let the thought continue in his head while he schooled his expression to one of polite interest and stuck his head into the warm book-filled room.

"Of course she does. Always such a polite girl." Her lips curled into a small smirk when he let out a snort, before returning to a more neutral expression. "I actually wished to speak with you a moment before you went up."

He suppressed another sigh, following her beckoning to the leather wingback near the fire. Collapsing onto it and crossing his legs, he ignored her sigh at his poor posture and concentrated on the firelight flickering in the grate.

"I received an owl this afternoon. One I don't feel I should brush off." She paused, waiting for a response, but he kept his attention focused on the flames. "An offer of marriage."

That did catch his attention, and he glanced across to where she was seated in an identical chair, a parchment roll balanced on her lap. "Mother, I'm not-"

"No, Draco. You've been putting this off, but it's time you settle down. I've taken into account your... preferences. I want you to be happy. But you are nearly twenty-five. It's time for you to start living your life, and not just flittering around on the edges trying to avoid it. You need to start thinking about children, Draco. Now, I've already owled him back. He's set to have dinner here Friday evening. I expect you here with me at seven o'clock precisely to greet him."

"What, haven't signed the betrothal papers already?" He knew his voice was sharp and bitter, but at the moment he didn't care if she was insulted.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy, you will mind your tongue. Of course I haven't signed the papers already; I would not even if they had been offered. The owl was simply a request to open negotiations."

"With whom?" He could feel the words as if they were being forced through his teeth, but his mother's refusal to identify the suitor filled him with dread.

His mother gave him a grave look before finally answering. "Harry Potter."

His jaw dropped before he closed his eyes. "Well, fuck me then." He ignored his mother's raised eyebrow as he stood and left the room. The only cure for this was alcohol.

.oxo.

Pans,
I can't believe it. Mother has finally gone 'round the twist. Tomorrow I'm supposed to have dinner with Harry Fucking Potter. Here. So he and Mother can discuss Marriage POTTER, Pans. The Prat who Lived to be a Pain in my Arse.
You need to save me. I will be your slave for all time, just get me out of this place.
Draco

Draco,
Put down the firewhisky. I'm sure he can't be all that bad. At the very least, he's a Healer and busy enough that you won't be tripping over him. You could Do Worse.
Chin up, darling. Your mother finally found you one with a cock.
Your Pansy
.oxo.

Draco knew his mother didn't trust him at all, not that he blamed her; the temptation to disappear for a few days was strong. She set Dipsy, her favorite elf, to dog his every footstep, waking him with tea, toast, and a hangover potion, chivvying him into the shower, then out again when he was inclined to linger, hoping a wank would take his mind off the upcoming evening. Then she dressed him in a formal day robe and herded him to the conservatory for a luncheon with his mother, who eyed him carefully for a moment before allowing him to sit with a faint nod.

"Good afternoon. I trust you slept well, darling."

He refrained from both the sigh and eye roll he wanted to give in exchange and concentrated on the plate of cold chicken and asparagus in front of him. "Yes, very. Thank you, Mother."

Silence descended for several minutes, broken only by the occasional sound of silverware before his mother spoke again. "I know you are unhappy about this, Draco, but you should at least have an open mind. He is young, wealthy, and well-respected in his field, even beyond the Savior nonsense. His offer is simply to open negotiations, he wishes to court you. I want you to be happy, but you are not seeing anyone regularly and at least you already know him."

He let his fork clatter against his plate as he sighed. "That's the problem, Mother. I know him. We hated each other all through Hogwarts, and I see no reason to trust his overtures now."

Silence met his outburst and he glanced up to see his mother regarding him, a single eyebrow raised slightly. When she met his gaze, she calmly asked, "If you're quite done?" He sighed and flopped back, slouching in his chair and ignoring his mother's quiet snort. "As I said, he fits all your criteria and this is merely the opening of negotiations. I would not expect you to accept his proposal if you thought it was made in bad faith. I only ask you to consider the possibility he's being sincere."

"Sincere my-"

"Draco!" He shut his mouth with a snap and straightened automatically at that tone in his mother's voice. "If nothing else, he owes me a life debt. He would be unable to use you as you fear."

"You'd call in a life debt to keep Potter from using me to mock later?"

"No, Draco. I'd call in the life debt to ensure he do everything he can to make you happy." His mother watched him quietly, her face finally moving to a small warm smile, and he was uncertain on how to take the unexpected display of maternal affection when she spoke again. "Within reason, of course. You're dreadfully spoilt." She reached forward and squeezed his hand before turning back to her lunch and beginning to eat once again; the conversation was, apparently, over.

.oxo.

That evening, Draco stood in the Blue Parlor with his mother, impatiently waiting for the clock to strike so he could declare Potter late and have done with the entire situation. He'd spent the previous five minutes pacing, but stopped when his mother threatened to stick his feet to the floor as she'd done when he was five. Finally, just before the seventh chime, the fire flashed green and Potter stepped out, looking nervous and awkward in his formal robes. "Mrs. Malfoy. Draco." His nod of greeting was brief before he took an obvious breath and seemed to settle himself. "Good evening."

"Narcissa, please." His mother instantly became the perfect hostess, all welcoming smiles that Draco could see were unforced. "Welcome, Harry. We've been looking forward to seeing you. I trust that the timing was not an issue."

Potter's smile still showed traces of the awkward teen Draco was familiar with, but for the most part he seemed to have grown up. It was disconcerting. "No, Narcissa. You gave me the perfect excuse for something I didn't want to do anyway."

Her laughter made the tension in his shoulders ratchet up even more, and he was almost startled when she turned to him. "Draco, if you would be so good as to escort Mr. Potter to the dining room? I will follow you shortly. I must fetch something in my room."

.oxo.

After dinner, which between his silence and his mother's chatter seemed to stretch for hours, it was a relief when Potter invited him for drinks after, surprising enough that he found himself agreeing without thought. A quick bit of transfiguration for their robes saw them both escaping the Manor for a quiet pub in Muggle London. As soon as they entered the warm, wood-paneled room, Potter seemed more at ease and Draco found himself relaxing to match.

"More wine? Or something stronger?" Potter's grin was open and happy. It was all very confusing.

"Stronger, we might still need it." Potter watched him expectantly. "Oh. Whisky, please." He moved further in the room as Potter approached the bar, flagging down the bartender with a smile. Looking around, it was better than he was expecting. Dim, but not dark. Clean, quiet, but not empty. He found a small table near the fireplace and sat down, in time for Potter to return, setting two glasses on the table.

They returned to uncomfortable silence until he finally couldn't take anymore. "Why are you doing this?"

"Er, because it seemed easier to talk without your mum-"

"No, this... This. We haven't seen each other in over five years. You hate me. Forgive me for finding it a bit difficult to believe you suddenly want to marry me."

Potter sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring into his glass. "I don't- I don't hate you. I don't think I've actually hated you since fifth year."

"Then... what? You don't hate me, let's go get married?" He knew the sarcasm wasn't appropriate, but it was more comfortable than the confusion twisting in his gut; he found himself relaxing, waiting for Potter's jaw to tighten, his hands to clench, for them both to revert to schoolboy habits and be back on familiar ground.

Of course, Potter didn't play along. "You know me, Malfoy." His expression was earnest, as if he hadn't just stated the obvious. "I mean... I can't walk down the bloody street in any wizarding community without people falling over themselves to shake my hand or touch me or thank me or... It's been years. You know me. You remember me when Lockhart hexed out all the bones in my arm, or when I fucked up in Potions. You don't care that I'm some sort of Savior."

"So, you want to marry me because I'm not part of your fan club?"

"No, but... I'm terrible at this." Potter downed his drink and Draco glanced down at his own forgotten glass. "I want to do my work. I want to help people. But I also want to be able to be myself without... the hero savior bullshit. We both know what we're getting with each other, flaws and all."

Draco took a sip of his whisky, sighing at the comforting burn in his throat, and leaned back in his seat, hackles lowering in spite of himself. "What do you want then?" He tried to keep his voice cool but suspected it came across fainter than he intended, especially when Potter glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. "From marriage? From me?"

The flush crept up Potter's neck and across his cheeks again. He hurried to the bar for a new round. Draco fidgeted in his seat, glancing from Harry to the quietly conversing patrons and attempting to gather his own thoughts. He'd become distracted enough; he was surprised when Harry sat down across from him, two new glasses on the table between them, and finally answered. "You inherited Snape's notes. I'd... like access. They could do a lot of good, and I'm... better at Potions than I was in Hogwarts."

Draco snorted, taking another sip of the whisky. "Not too hard there." He was surprised when that only provoked a quiet chuckle in reply. "But why marriage? Why not just contact me to see the notes?"

"Would you have allowed it?"

He grinned at Potter, granting that. He probably wouldn't have.

"Also, I prefer men. You're, well, you're very fit. I'm... not too bad. And I'd like a family. It just felt like it was time."

"You realize that's something else that would need to be negotiated in the contract?"

Potter nodded, shrugging the point off before he flashed Draco another of those open grins that confused him. "I want kids. I wouldn't mind carrying them myself, but my work and contracts mean it'll probably be at least another twenty years before I'd be able to. Don't want pregnant witches or wizards traveling and working with infectious diseases."

"So, you get access to Snape's research and apprentice, children before two decades are out, and a fit partner." At each point, he ticked off another finger. "And I get what exactly out of this? Beyond the obvious honor of providing you all the above and bearing your children, of course."

At least that got a reaction, and he mentally preened at the annoyed stare before Potter answered. "I know things are rough for your family, Draco. I know most of the Slytherins left Britain entirely. I can't do a lot for them, but I can help you. I'm not the boy I was in Hogwarts; I've been working in polite society and know how to use my name to get what I want. I don't like it, but I'm perfectly happy to do it if it makes things easier for you and Narcissa. I also travel and work a lot. I won't be underfoot."

It was his turn to collapse backward in his chair after gulping the remainder of his drink; the one thing Potter could offer to make him agree, the one thing he didn't think the bloody git would even think of was his position in society. The smirk couldn't be allowed to stand, however, so he gathered himself quickly, standing and placing the glass on the table. "Have your solicitor draw up the initial contract and owl it to Mother. Fertility Potions take a month to brew; we can marry anytime after that, provided all is otherwise in order. I'd prefer by Christmas. We can use the Manor."