After the Fire

By: Roslyn Drycof

Disclaimer: Of course I'm not JK Rowling, and obviously I don't own any of these characters

Warning: pregnancy, male pregnancy, HPDM, minor HPGW

It was the October after the Battle of Hogwarts, and the school looked just as it always had before the terrible events of the spring. While the atmosphere of the students was somewhat more subdued than before the second rise of Voldemort, there was certainly more of a carefree spirit going around than during the Carrow's rule. Free of fear of the Death Eaters, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors alike walked amongst the halls as easygoing schoolmates. Even the younger Slytherins were often seen in the company of the other Houses.

Only the upper year Slytherins stayed away from their peers, usually slipping through the halls between classes almost like silent wraiths. They were on probation by the Ministry of Magic, allowed to finish their schooling to become productive members of society as an alternative to their punishments handed down for their active involvement with the Death Eaters. And it was only thanks to the combined efforts of Harry Potter and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall that they'd been allowed such leniency. If it had been up the Ministry, they would have been tossed into Azkaban for up to five years, the maximum sentence permissible for a juvenile offender.

Not all of the Slytherins were exactly thankful for Harry Potter's intervention, as that certainly placed them in his debt, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. They knew that while they may be resentful of the interference, they knew they had gotten off lightly for their crimes. Many of their parents were incarcerated in Azkaban, some up to the life sentence, and if they had escaped a prison term, they were on magical probation and facing reparations in the thousands of galleons.

The Malfoys for instance, were especially hard hit. Lucius was put in Azkaban for a life sentence. Narcissa was on magical probation for life, and that leniency was only due to Harry Potter's testimony that she had saved his life. Their reparations were the highest meted out, at seventy-five percent of their fortune plus all non-monetary items in their Gringott's accounts not classified strictly as a family heirloom. The Ministry had wanted to make an example of Draco by throwing him in Azkaban with his father, but Harry Potter had once again come to the rescue to testify about Draco's unwillingness to identify him at Malfoy Manor that fateful day he and his friends had been captured. So Draco had escaped Azkaban, and while he was allowed to return to Hogwarts for a repeat of his seventh year, he was stripped of his Prefect status, banned from the Quidditch team, on magical probation and unable to perform magic strictly outside of the times indicated on his timetable that he was in class, and a tracking spell was placed on his person so that he was able to be located at all times.

It was because of these indignities, that Draco became the most withdrawn Slytherin of them all. He rarely spoke when not in class, and even then he rarely spoke up. He sat at the corner of the Slytherin table for meals, and was always the first to leave the Great Hall. Because he was not allowed to attend Hogsmeade weekends without an assigned guardian, and Quidditch held no allure now that he was unable to play, he did not leave the castle. Indeed, if he did not have to eat or go to class, he probably wouldn't have left his dormitory at all.

Harry hated it. At first, he'd been glad to be rid of the taunting and fighting that had plagued him for years courtesy of Malfoy and his goons, but after a few weeks he'd started to miss it. Oh, not the bloody noses or bruised ribs, and certainly not the jibes about Sirius. But he missed having the think of witty repartees and seeing the challenging gleam in Malfoy's eye whenever they had fought. He also missed having one person in the entire school besides his friends who didn't fawn over him. And even with his friends, there left someone to be desired because Hermione kept talking about how they had to seize the opportunity their fame gave them to fix the wrongs in the world, and Ron went on and on about how he and Harry could become Aurors after graduating without having to go through Auror training, and Ginny? Well, Ginny was the worst. She had expected their relationship to pick up where it left off, and Harry strangely felt no desire to rekindle their romance. Well, he supposed it wasn't so strange after all when he really thought about it, because he knew why he didn't want to date her.

When he had saved Malfoy from the fiendfyre that day, he had felt something he had never felt before. Adrenaline pumping through his system, heat scorching his skin and sweat running down his face and into his eyes, he had felt Malfoy's arms clasped around his waist and his chest pressed firmly to his back and felt desire rise up. At the time, he'd tried to ignore it, reasoning that the life threatening situation had merely confused his adolescent body. But then when he'd seen Malfoy sitting in the remains of the Great Hall, shirtless while burns on his back being healed by a mediwitch, he had felt that insane desire reappear. He'd been horrified to see the scar tracing its way down his torso from the curse Harry had shouted at him in sixth year, but along with that horror had been the nearly overwhelming itch to caress the thin, white line breaking up the harsh beauty of his chest and abdomen.

And so when Ginny had come up to him the first day of term and asked him why he had not asked her out again, he had evasively told her that he was no longer interested in her. She had angrily demanded why, certain that someone else had replaced her in his affections. Of course, he'd vehemently denied that, but she had seen the way his eyes had darted to the side, visions of Malfoy's scarred chest distracting him. Since then, she was relentless, shadowing him when they both had free time, watching his interactions with other students. He was glad for the Marauder's Map and his invisibility cloak and took to escaping the tower whenever possible. He would skip meals, dart between classes using infrequently used corridors, and fall into bed late after everyone else was asleep.

Hermione and Ron were frustrated with his behavior, but they were blind to how bad Ginny was behaving. They didn't see the somewhat mad look in her eyes when she looked at him. They didn't know the things she desperately said to him sometimes, the pleas she made to him. She wanted to be the hero's wife. She wanted him to save her from being the youngest of a boisterous family. She wanted him to save her from the nightmares that woke up her.

But how could Harry save her from his nightmares when he had his own? How could he save her from the boisterous family that he loved because of the fact that they were so enthusiastic and loving? How could he marry her when the last thing he saw before he went to bed and the first thing he woke up to was the vision of silver eyes flashing before him? He couldn't. And so he hoped that with time she would realize her efforts were futile.

It wasn't until the thirteenth of October, a Friday, that he realized that she would never give him up. That somehow, during the war, something had happened to her to permanently unbalance her. He was wandering the fourth floor corridor just past the Arithmancy classroom, a class he had never taken but was secretly intrigued about, and suddenly a wave of heat coursed through his body. He paused, hoping it would pass. Instead, it steadily built until he felt like he was sweltering inside his school robes. Confused, he made his way into the Arithmancy classroom and sat down at one of the desks. He threw off his robe and unbuttoned his shirt, but it didn't help. What was wrong with him? He felt the edges of his vision going black and suddenly heard footsteps nearby.

"Help," he tried to shout, but it only came out as a croak. His throat was so dry. He swallowed harsly.

A feminine voice responded, but he couldn't make out who it was. Her voice rose and fell, and he thought it sounded friendly. Relieved, he smiled weakly. A hand touched his arm, and he had the thought that perhaps he could stand and she would assist him, when all of a sudden her touch felt like a hundred fiery needles jabbing at his skin. He gasped, and bent over.

Her hand was removed, and the pain went away, only to come back twofold as both her hands suddenly grasped his face. Lips crashed onto his and he felt tears leaking out of his eyes from the sensory overload. The pain was enormous, and it frightened him, but what frightened him more was the fact that he was harder than he had ever been in his life.

"No," he cried out weakly as her fingers deftly undid his shirt buttons.

Her soft voice murmured reassurances that he tuned out, as they were lies. Lies, because if she were truly helping him she would be taking him to the infirmary. Instead, she slid off his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers. He jerked back when she touched the hard length of his erection through his boxers. The touch was painful, but it was also pleasurable in some twisted way that made him want to thrust into her hand at the same time he wanted to crawl away.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Stop! His mind cried out, as his mouth refused to form the words. Tears slid from his eyes.

When her mouth touched him, the soft, wetness engulfing his length, his vision went black and he blessedly lost consciousness. Vaguely, as though he were in a dream, he could feel her fiery touches still, the pain-pleasure twisting through his scorching hot body. On some level, he knew if he were truly unconscious he wouldn't be able to still feel her, but he was glad that he could only feel the vague impressions. Even those vague impressions made him want to scream, to cry at the horror of what was knew when she lowered her body to his, and he mentally beat the floor with his fists. He felt the heat of her surrounding his length, and felt a part of himself break.

It felt like forever, a torturous hell that consumed his soul, when it had only been minutes, and suddenly all the heat coalesced into one shard that flowed through his body and out his hard length buried deep inside the nameless girl, and he finally blacked out completely.

Harry woke to the feel of a wet cloth being pressed to forehead, wiping away the perspiration. Cold, clumsy hands were trying to cover his nakedness. He whimpered, fearful that it was the woman that had done this to him. A soft voice murmured, "Shh, you're safe," and he relaxed at the male voice. It was a familiar voice, and although he couldn't place it, there was a gentility to it.

He opened his eyes after a few strokes of the cool cloth on his face, and he was stunned at what he saw. Draco Malfoy, an uncharacteristically tender look on his face, was dipping a white cloth into a small bowl of water. "Malfoy?" Harry rasped out, blinking repeatedly as if the vision before his eyes would change.

The tenderness in Malfoy's eyes quickly disappeared, but his slender hands were still gentle as they pressed the cloth again to Harry's face. "Potter," he acknowledged.

Harry was mortified that it was Malfoy who was tending to him, and he tried to wriggle away. Flashes of what had happened to him struck, and he was suddenly gagging furiously. Quickly, Malfoy grasped his shoulders and turned him on his side so that he could vomit onto the floor beside him. The retching lasted for several long minutes until Harry curled up into the fetal position, exhausted. He heard a quiet "Scourgify," and the mess was gone.

More time passed, silently, and Harry hoped that Malfoy would leave. He was thankful for the other boy's help, but at the same time he felt shame at being caught like this coursing through him. He was the hero of the wizarding world, and here he was, attacked by a single girl. Tears, for the second time that day, leaked out of his eyes.

"What happened?" Malfoy's question was quietly uttered.

Harry wiped his tears and slowly sat up, gathering his robe around his naked body. He looked at the floor as he whispered, brokenly, "I felt so hot…and came in here. And I thought she…thought she would help and she…she…"

He couldn't continue, but motioned with his hand toward his lap. A strangled sound came from Malfoy's throat and Harry looked up to see shock widening the other boy's grey eyes. "She?"

Harry nodded, reddening. He felt so ashamed. He had heard about other men being hurt by other men, and he'd seen the effects of women hurt by men during the war, but he had never heard of a man being overcome by a small woman. And she had been small, that he remembered. Why had he not been able to throw her off? Why hadn't he been able to resist? He shrunk into himself, inching away from Malfoy.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Harry jerked his face up at the gentleness of the touch. Surprise still shone on Malfoy's eyes, but there was compassion there too. "I believe you. Who was it? And why did she…?"

Harry shrugged wearily. "I couldn't tell. She's small, that's all I remember. Why? I don't know."

More vague images of the incident filtered through his mind and he pressed his fist to his mouth. His stomach roiled dangerously. Malfoy's hand was suddenly rubbing soothing circles on his back, and slowly the nausea and the images receded.

"Why are you helping me?" Harry asked after a moment. He didn't understand why his former rival was being so nice.

Malfoy let out a small bark of laughter. "Honestly, Potter? I don't know. I don't hate you anymore, if that's what you want to know. But I planned on ignoring you so I could just make it through this year. I was heading to the library when I saw you through the doorway and I suppose…I knew I couldn't just leave you like this."

It was a simple explanation, and Harry accepted it. He still wondered why Malfoy hadn't just brought Madame Pomfrey, although he was secretly glad because he would've hated the kindly witch to see him after such a shameful incident. Being another boy, Malfoy probably understood that.

"Were you a virgin?" Malfoy asked a few minutes later.

Harry suddenly jerked away, wondering why Malfoy was asking this. Was his tender behavior of the past several minutes just pretend so he could ferret out the information he needed to know to later taunt him? He would've believed something like that during their previous school years. He looked into Malfoy's eyes, searching. There was no malice hiding there, only open curiosity and sympathy. It was startling to see, since he'd never seen more than malice or fear shining in those silver depths in years previous. "Yeah," he mumbled, looking away.

"I thought for sure you and she-weasel…" Malfoy said, leaving the rest of his sentence hanging.

Harry shrugged again. "I didn't want to while the war was going on and then…and then I couldn't."

Malfoy frowned. "Couldn't?"

He didn't know why he didn't say something evasive and change the subject, but Malfoy's compassion was his undoing. "Over the summer I realized that I'm…that I'm gay."

There was silence, and Harry immediately felt certain that the other boy would leave him, disgusted at the news that he had been helping a fairy boy. He waited for Malfoy's hand to leave his back, where it was still absentmindedly rubbing in circles, but it didn't. The silence grew and grew until Harry felt ready to burst with it. Then, in barely more than a murmur, Malfoy told him they were more alike than they'd thought.

Harry swallowed harshly, staring at the Slytherin sitting in front of him. He was speechless. Silence dragged on again, until Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Harry knew that Malfoy was thinking about something, and thinking hard. "What?"

Malfoy dragged the hand not rubbing Harry's back through his white-blond hair, disturbing the perfectly placed strands. "She couldn't have used a simple lust potion. They only make a person lust after someone they could potentially be attracted to, and if you're not into girls, what she did would be impossible. What did you feel when she touched you?"

Harry frowned. "Heat. Intense heat that hurt really bad, and yet felt good too."

Malfoy also frowned, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "Did you black out?"

A nod was his response, and the frown got deeper. "Anything else?"

Harry was about to respond in the negative when he suddenly felt a curl of heat go through his stomach. He froze, hoping that it was just an aftershock type effect of what had happened earlier. It receded, and he was about to relax in relief when it came back, stronger. He gasped, and abruptly Malfoy's hand on his back felt like he was being touched by a pleasurable fire. It didn't hurt like the needle-like pain of the attack, but more like standing uncomfortably close to a roaring fire.

"Heat," he whispered, raising his eyes to Malfoy's.

"You already said that, Potter," Malfoy replied as he stared off into space, concentrating on whatever he was thinking.

Harry shook his head, but the other boy was still looking away from him. More heat coursed through his body and he grabbed the front of Malfoy's pristine white shirt with his hand. "Heat," he repeated.

Malfoy looked down at the hand clutching his clothes, and then up at Harry's face. He stared, apparently frozen. Harry abruptly moaned as the pleasant fire intensified, concentrating itself where Malfoy's hand had stilled on Harry's back. He arched his back and leaned into the touch. And suddenly the hand was gone. "Please," the word tore itself from Harry's mouth.

The heat continued to build inside Harry, and again he felt his vision going black. Frantically, he skittered away from the still-frozen boy in front of him. "Leave," he croaked. He knew what was going to happen if Malfoy stayed, and while he could secretly admit that he dreamed almost nightly of taking of the other boy, this was not how it was supposed to happen in any of his fantasies. And even though Malfoy had admitted to being gay, he was positive that Malfoy would never choose to touch him with a ten foot pole. Well, sexually.

Harry shut his eyes tightly and clasped his arms around his knees. The fire grew inside of him, and he felt a desperate urge to touch the other boy. He hoped Malfoy was leaving.

Suddenly, there was a hand pressed gently to Harry's cheek and he gasped. His eyes shot up to stare into Malfoy's face, which was only inches away from his own. "I know which potion she used, Potter. I can't believe someone at Hogwarts used it because it's highly illegal and extremely dangerous. They also overdosed you, because you should've only had one attack. No, you won't die, but if you don't find release again, and I mean release inside someone, you'll go mad and no one can cure it."

Fear shot through Harry, even as yet more heat burned through him. He didn't want to go mad! Why did someone do this to him? What had he ever done to deserve such a fate? He was just finally starting to live his life without all of the dangers that had plagued him the last seven years! He could've handled madness or death at the hands of Voldemort. Indeed, he had never expected to survive the war. But to fall during peace time? It was monstrously unfair and…

Malfoy interrupted his inner monologue. "Potter! Look at me. I know you don't like me, Merlin, I know you don't, but I can help you if you let me. Don't think I'm being a hero because honestly, I've wanted this for years, but not like this, and don't think I ever wanted you like this…"

Harry didn't let him finish, because he knew what the other boy was trying to say and even as he felt the heat starting to override his will completely, he felt a fierce pleasure at the knowledge that Malfoy actually wanted him. He pressed his lips to Malfoy's and the heat exploded. He groaned, straddling Malfoy's instantly pliant body.

His hands tore at Malfoy's clothes, popping the buttons of the shirt. Hands not his own were pushing Harry's robe off his body, stealing down his body to caress his hips. He groaned again and pushed Malfoy's pants and boxers off. His eyes shut, he wrapped his hand around Malfoy's hardness, and it felt just like he'd dreamed it. The other boy gasped into his mouth and shuddered, and Harry wanted to shout out his exultation at causing that reaction.

And then Harry felt his vision going black again, and this time he was begging for the blackness not to swallow him up. This time he wanted to know what was happening to his body, what his body was doing! But no, he fell deeper and deeper into oblivion until he was aware of nothing but the blackness.

A/N: I haven't been able to write a fanfiction in going on five years now, so I'm a little worried about my first attempt since the writer's block attacked me. I was going to ease back into writing by continuing one of the several stories I know I need to finish, but this idea has me firmly in its grasp and I'm afraid it won't be letting me go anything soon. I have never attempted a story like this, so I hope it's enjoyable to read. I hate putting Harry through such an attack, but it's not pointless! I promise. Also, neither character will be truly OOC, but I wanted to find a way to see how their interactions can change with how the war ended. The second chapter, which I already have several vague ideas for, will show you more of Draco's changes. And yes, in the warnings, I did put that there will be preg, mpreg, HPDM, and HPGW. Don't worry. I am a diehard HPDM fan and that will NEVER change. Ginny is a bit of a villain (ok, maybe more than a bit) here, so please remember that!