Title: Harry's Problem (Ça)
Author and translator: Euphy
Beta: LynstHolin
Prompt: "Harry doesn't understand why he's gaining weight (well, he's pregnant...)." by Angel-06 (L)
Warnings: Slash, Mpreg, Fluffyness.
A/N: Hi everybody! I'm quite excited and nervous about this one-shot. It might be a little strange and clichéed but French mpreg haters liked it so, I thought English speakers would like it too. You may also find some sentences strange, because I didn't write it in English, I translated it. Anyway, I wanted to thank LynstHolin once more. She accepted to beta-read and correct this and I'm really grateful for this! Well, go on, read it and review, 'cause I want to know what you think of it :D
Oh I almost forgot, go read LynstHolin's stories (especially Stray Cat, Pierced) they're awesome!
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Harry's Problem
Harry hated alcohol.
No.
No, what he hated more was when he was forced to drink during parties just so that he wouldn't look like a misfit.
Nah, that wasn't right, either.
No, he hated his friends who forced him to go to parties, because he didn't go out often enough.
What did Hermione knew about his social life? Wasn't she the one who had wandered alone around the castle like a forgotten bookworm during her first year? Why did she feel the need to take him with when she and Ron were invited to parties?
Why was he always forced to have a drink?
Harry sat up straight on the edge of his bed. He didn't have a hangover. How could he? He had drunk only a drop.
But why was he feeling so nauseous, then?
He tried to breathe calmly.
It wasn't the first time it had happened. For the past two months, he had been feeling nauseous every morning after, and he didn't know why.
Taking his face between his hands, he sighed and waited patiently.
It would pass. It always passed.
Harry didn't dare to speak to Hermione, though he knew she would be the best person to talk to. Even as she moved up through the hierarchy at the ministry, she was still a magic and muggle encyclopedia.
But she would lecture him and talk for hours on the whys and wherefores of his uninterest about himself... She loved to act like a psychowizard recently.
Well, it wasn't so serious. Only some slight nausea.
Regular nausea.
Harry groaned, angry at his own body for making him feel so crappy.
He decided to stand up, since he was feeling better, but he did it slowly. Fortunately, nothing rose in his throat as he walked to the bathroom and he took off his shirt smoothly.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror and thought once more that his reflection was strange. Harry didn't understand why the worse he felt, the better he looked. It didn't make sense.
He ran his hand in his hair, ruffling some locks, and his gaze went down on his chest and lower.
This was more understandable.
He didn't drink a lot during parties, but he ate way too much. Harry found his own carelessness infuriating. He had gained weight since the end of the year, like nine pounds. And he knew exactly where they were.
He sighed wearily and grabbed what looked, more or less, like a roll of fat on his hip.
He was supposed to run around all day long when on duty... The Oblivators Squad was assailed by requests. He had suspected as much before entering it, and he had proof on his first day in.
He felt sorry for himself at the moment, and he dared to turn sideways so that he could watch the hideous bulge of his stomach.
This was another thing he didn't understand - this list was starting to get quite long. Sometimes, he was under the impression that it was, well, only a lil' beer belly. Some men were prone to be bald, and others to this.
But, it wasn't really what it looked like. It was too hard, not really flabby. Too... round. He knew he laid his finger on something, but he couldn't tell what.
He had thought about it for weeks, but an element was missing. He knew he would have to talk to someone sooner or later. Because, even if it wasn't dangerous, like an illness or something, it would drive him mad.
Giving one last disgusted look in the mirror, he took off his last piece of clothing. His examination could wait after all. But his shower couldn't.
.
.
He wanted to say no.
He wanted to say no so bad.
But, he couldn't. Not when it was his best friend's birthday.
He knew that the morning after he would get all worked up again over his state, but Ron was worth it after all.
Well. He had to admit that, for once, the atmosphere was great, relaxed.
The party took place at Ron and Hermione's, and the young woman did things well.
Harry had been pleasantly surprised when he'd seen that, for once, there wasn't just alcohol on the buffet. And he would have been even more happy if someone hadn't pushed a drink in his hand. He had taken one sip and thrown the rest - more or less - discreetly in the champagne bucket.
He was beginning to feel disgusted by alcohol. What a pity for a twenty-three-year-old man. He spent the rest of the evening sitting on a chair, eyeing the others and brooding on his dark thoughts.
A glowing Hermione walked easily around the room among her twenty or so guests, often coming back to Ron - or to Harry, whom she lectured about his apathy. He was angry with himself for being so useless at his best friend's birthday, but Ron didn't complain. He spent all the evening with him - the beginning of the night too - talking about many things.
It had been around midnight when Hermione decided to make an announcement. The guests' minds were still quite clear, even though most of them seemed strangely happy - well, more like tipsy. Harry had thought it was the perfect timing, and he wasn't surprised. Hermione was such a perfectionist it was a bit scary sometimes.
So she'd told them she hadn't given Ron her birthday present for him yet. She smiled sweetly at him while approaching. Harry came suddenly down to earth when she sat down on Ron's lap and leaned on him to whisper to his ear - he hoped it was all she was doing with all eyes on her. The redhead turned a little green and then really pale.
Later on, Harry would learn that this little scene was Hermione's act of revenge. But he'd been really surprised when she'd said she was pregnant. He was so stunned he didn't even listen to the guests' reactions.
He'd just found the last piece he was missing.
And it was scary.
.
.
This morning, he threw up for real. It should have passed, but to think he was... well, it didn't pass. He didn't dare look at his reflection in the mirror. In fact, he didn't even dare look down his body.
Calmly, he was trying to convince himself that it wasn't real, that he was wrong. Anyway, he was a boy. A man. Strong, manly, hairy and all.
He had nothing to worry about. He'd just caught a bad thing. It would pass, eventually.
He went to work with this idea in his mind.
It worked. Two days.
Until one day, where he looked down his body.
From there, he couldn't ignore it anymore. He didn't want it to be there, but it was.
It.
It would keep this name for a very long time. He wasn't ready to recognize it for what it was, and he wouldn't be for another long time. Even if he knew what it really was, of course.
He did anything just so he wouldn't think of it, but unconsciously he totally stopped drinking, and he had a Protego prepared for every mission.
He needed two weeks more to be able to tell somebody. And he didn't choose Hermione. She knew everything. And she would just scare him even more. He wanted to avoid it the longer he could.
Ginny had been surprised to see him. Perhaps it was because she was still studying at Milan's Healing University, so people tended to warn her when they wanted to come - considering the distance between England and Italy. Harry had taken a portkey as soon as he felt ready and he arrived around three in the afternoon.
He'd been lucky she was there and available. They'd sat down and Ginny answered as he asked too many questions. In the end, she'd had to drive him into a corner just so he would tell her why he was there.
He was nervous and really confused. He had been like that since he had understood.
Ginny nearly gave up - well, he was being annoying as he only answered her questions with onomatopeias - but finally he talked. She wasn't expecting that.
Harry told her with a little and low voice, twisting his fingers and breathing as if he'd just walked from London to Milan.
It was even more frightening when you said it aloud, actually.
Afterwards, things moved forward a little. Ginny advised him well, and hadn't tried to find out with whom he did it. She only took him to Ron and Hermione's - they were better situated to help.
His best friend hadn't even recovered yet from the announcement of his future paternity. The news finished him off, but his wife didn't even lift a finger to move his body from the hall.
As he'd predicted it, her words scared him and he tried not to run away.
Why did it have to be so frightening?
.
.
Six months or so.
Twenty-four weeks and two days.
He didn't want to count. Really.
But his obstetri- ... healer insisted that he do it. He said it would make the whole situation more real. And it made him smile. Harry would have smiled too, if he were him.
But he wasn't. And he found it all too real already. The backaches, the tugging and jabbing in his belly were all very, very real. No doubt.
He wasn't complaining - not out loud at least - but he was growing rather angry. Always at home, in hiding. Oh, of course, he could go out if he wanted. Actually, his obs- healer said he should go out. But the last thing he wanted was to tell the Magic Community he was... he was pre- ... err, he was expecting... a child. Well, children.
Harry dropped the pen he'd been drawing little hearts with, just after he'd crossed out another day on the calendar, and fell back on the couch with a sigh. He groaned slightly when he felt a jab in his right side and started massaging it mechanically with his fingers.
He had a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation, and even now he wasn't really sure he could manage, but things were doing better. He could plan his future, at least. He had only one last thing to do - except finding names, of course. His green gaze fell on a white envelope on the table, and he closed his eyes wearily.
Harry thought that he might have changed, but he still was a bastard. Disappearing without trace; indeed, it was something his family knew how to do. He had done it before, and he hadn't hesitated to do it again, four months ago.
All the letters Harry wrote came back, one after the other. Never opened. It was not the owls' fault. The addressee was nowhere to be found.
He cursed quietly when he felt his sharpened emotions taking over him, and his eyes started to sting.
No. No, he wouldn't cry. Not because of this, and certainly not because of him.
He could pride himself on his ability to enrage Harry with one word, but Harry wouldn't cry because of Draco Malfoy.
.
.
Since he'd reached his twenty-ninth week, anyone could just slip in his flat. Hermione wanted to be able to come in at any moment, just in case it happened too early. Harry didn't find it reassuring at all. It was certainly worse, having her beside him all the time, babbling about what she'd read in "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and other books.
What he really couldn't bear was that, even though Hermione was theoretically thirty-one weeks pregnant, Harry was three times bigger than she was. She had absolutely no balance problems. He almost couldn't stand up on his own... it made him feel like crying everytime.
Harry felt ridiculous.
He wanted it to end so bad, and at the same time... it scared him so much. Because once it would ended... he would be... a father... of twins, all alone.
When he couldn't bear the anger eating his heart from within anymore, Harry talked about Malfoy to Ron and Hermione. Ron only blamed the blond man and flew into a rage. She gave him some disapproving looks, but stopped rather quickly, because she wanted to learn more about his story.
And it was one short story... Just a one night stand on New Year's Eve. Too much alcohol. There was a reason why Harry wouldn't drink more than a glass now.
It ended here for Harry.
But Hermione gave him some weird explanation of his relationship with Malfoy while at Hogwarts. The tension there always was between the both of them. Ron almost choked on his own saliva.
Harry didn't really know what to think of it now. When she explained her theory to him, he had completely denied it, but he had a lot of free time since he'd been given sick leave and he thought about it more seriously now.
The only thing he knew about this night - well, he'd been drunk at the time, but anyway - it had been perfect.
Even if it had been with Malfoy. Or maybe it was especially because it had been with Malfoy?
.
.
Ron had never been a model of discretion.
Ron had never been a model of anything, actually.
But when he came back home this evening, he nearly had his wife and best friend giving birth prematurely. He looked totally enraged, ready to hit anybody, and it's only when he had paced the room for two minutes that he finally took one of the couch cushion for a target.
Harry and Hermione let him do as he wanted, slightly scared by such a fit of anger.
Ron wanted to avenge his best friend today. Well, at least, punish who needed to be punished.
When Ron started to tell them what had happened, Harry froze at his very first sentence: Malfoy was back in England.
Apparently, he had gone to the USA to make a fortune, since the Ministry had shamelessly confiscated his Gringott's account money. Ron had heard some colleagues from the International Magic Travel Department talk about it, and managed to have some information on his time of arrival.
He waited for Malfoy, and as soon as the blond man had appeared in the portkey landing place, began insulting him violently.
Well, Malfoy had been surprised. At the beginning at least. Being insulted by Weasel wasn't really surprising in itself.
And, of course, Ron being who he was - i.e. not a model of discretion - had screamed everything. Then he was quickly controlled by some security agents.
Harry thought he'd stopped breathing. He couldn't think properly. It was too early. He had dealt with the idea of his children coming into this world before having news of Malfoy.
It was just... too early.
Harry kicked Ron out of his flat without a second thought. Ron had just revealed his secret in a public place after all. Harry could only hope it wouldn't spread out too much. He would have to write to the Minister. He sighed.
He asked Hermione to get out too, pretending to want some time alone. She hesitated a bit, but eventually she kissed him on the forehead and pushed her husband out while screaming at him.
Harry put his hand under his belly and shivered when he felt little movements in it.
Too early? No, it was... too late, in fact.
.
.
It was cool and mild. It had been months since he last went out, even just to lean his elbows on the balcony's guardrail, just like he was doing now. Night had fallen two hours ago, and people were still walking around in the streets. Harry was living in a Muggle district, of course, and he enjoyed it.
He looked up at the sky and sighed with ease and fatigue at the same time. He wouldn't stay out much longer. The simple act of standing up was tiring him.
A sound on his left made him start, and his first reaction was to search for his wand in his pocket. But it wasn't there, of course, since he was home. He felt so stupid for not paying more attention. It could be an enemy and he could die here and now.
What a beautiful end for the Saviour of the Wizarding World that would be.
The Disillusionment Charm which was partially hiding the person vanished suddenly, revealing a young man a head taller than him, his blond hair shining under the artificial light of the street lamps.
Harry gasped with surprise, which made Malfoy smile. He casually set his broom against the guardrail and leaned on it.
They hadn't seen each other for eight months. An eternity. Nevertheless, the silence lasted between them.
Harry didn't know what to say. He hated Malfoy for having left without telling him... but he had a right to do so. They weren't the best of friends after all. But they were sworn enemies, weren't they? Didn't this position give him some privileges?
The blond finally broke the silence by asking him how he was. Harry could have cried from despair. How dare he ask him this? Even if the situation was a bit humiliating, he couldn't help turning towards Malfoy, showing him his belly, as if it answered his question.
Maybe it did.
Against all expectation, the blond smiled again and made a move as if to reach for Harry's belly. He stopped just before touching it, apparently waiting for a permission. Harry, surprised, nodded and watched as Malfoy's long fingers made contact with his belly.
He didn't know why, but the contact made him gasp for the second time this night, and he didn't dare imagine what it would have been if he hadn't had any shirt on.
Malfoy, without withdrawing his hand, told him that Weasley had let this information slip rather subtly.
This time, Harry became really aware of the situation and began to feel uncomfortable. He turned to look at the street again. But he wasn't expecting Malfoy to follow him in his movement, or to suddenly feel him just behind him, body against Harry's back.
His hand had slid a bit, but was still laid on his belly, where the twins had obviously decided to take a nap.
Harry felt a shiver going up his backbone when Malfoy spoke once more, his words whispered directly in his ear.
The blond asked him if he'd tried to contact him. The black haired man nodded vaguely, still offended by the fact Malfoy hadn't told him that he was leaving.
The next words surprised him. The blond apologised for his sudden departure, telling him he would have preferred to stay. Especially after what had happened on New Year's Eve, to be precise.
Harry's cheeks reddened, and he gripped the guardrail tighter.
It was Malfoy. Only Malfoy! Why was he making such a fuss about it? Why was he reacting like a fangirl? A little voice deep inside was telling him that... it was because he was Malfoy, indeed.
Well, Malfoy was really sexy. And he wasn't stupid. He was... Harry's babies' father. Harry felt silly. He wasn't going to give up, right?
It was too late. He already was forgetting reason, ignoring the little voice within.
Why hadn't he done this earlier? he thought as he turned to Malfoy. Their lips were only a few inches apart.
Why did he hesitate so much? Why had he always attacked and answered the blond's attacks? He hated the uneasiness that came with their encounters. It was only when they hit or insulted each other that the uneasiness went away and was replaced by hatred. All was well then.
It had always been like that.
But it had changed those last years.
Each time they ran into one another, Harry faced a calm and polite Malfoy that refused to respond any attack. It had unsettled Harry.
And it made him give up eventually.
Malfoy had just understood it before Harry did, and he thought he had to put a little distance between them after what they did... Just so he could think about it? What a stupid idea! What a Slytherin idea.
Malfoy should have come back to him and done this, Harry thought as he put his lips against those of the blond man.
It wasn't their first kiss, but it looked like it. And it was perfect. Their mouths met awkwardly and it was too wet, but Harry still thought it was perfect, and he knew it was the same for the "Ice Prince".
The black haired man eventually withdrew his lips, opening his eyes slowly. He nearly started when he was taken by the arm and dragged inside.
Malfoy told him he wanted to sit down so they could talk, but Harry knew the true reason behind this. He let himself be dragged and just smiled like a fool.
Hermione wasn't completely wrong, but she didn't guess the whole story.
It wasn't just lust, it was much more than that.
.
.
Once, okay. Twice... why not.
Three times, it began to be a little annoying. But the forth time was going to kill him.
Harry groaned and sighed at the same time - creating a really strange sound - and then threw his hand without aiming at his left side. It crashed against the blankets. They moaned with displeasure. He turned around without opening his eyes, and pushed weakly at his lover's body, trying to get him out of bed.
Harry wouldn't get up this time, even if the calls that echoed through the flat were obviously destined to him. It was out of question.
If "Mommy" didn't come, "Daddy" would do, wouldn't he?
Harry groaned some incoherent threats to His-Fucking-Majesty-Malfoy, and got up, sighing - he didn't forget to hit the blankets once more.
Harry was a light sleeper and he hated it. He hated it even more that his lover could sleep like a log. He was impossible to wake up, even when you hit him.
Walking slowly, he felt his way along the corridor, as he didn't want to turn on the lights. At the other end, he pushed a door open and went in. There were two beds in the room, but he didn't even look at the left one, already knowing he would find two little boys in the other one.
The Charm that kept a weak blue light in the room had begin to vanish, and he restarted it with a flick of his hand while crossing the room to the bed. It was the forth time this night that Harry'd had a little boy throw himself against his stomach, and he sighed when he saw the scared little face.
Fucking nightmare. He knew how it was too, but he hadn't dared to wake up his aunt anymore after she'd deprived him of breakfast the first time it'd happened.
Such nastiness...
Sirius, whose hair was as black as that of his brother was blond, let out a heartbreaking sob that woke Harry up completely. He sat down on the bed, back to the wall, and patiently listened to his boy telling him his nightmare while stroking his black locks with tenderness.
Luckily, this time, it was a normal child's nightmare, with skeletons and monsters. The boy'd had to face much more real and hurtful nightmares before. Nightmares where Draco and Harry abandoned their children or split up. James and Sirius heard so many things about their parents' rivalry that they had become really sensitive to all their arguments.
Harry always had to reassure them on this point, to explain that it was normal for a couple to have some arguments, and that they needn't to be afraid. But he wasn't sure it was working.
Unfortunately, Malfoy and he loved to squabble. It had always been like that, and even now, it hadn't really changed. But today, they knew their limits - more or less...
It could seem strange, but they were happy like that.
Harry just hoped it wouldn't traumatize the twins.
He explained to Sirius that a dragon couldn't take the appearance of the human being, so the teacher couldn't be one, even if she did look like one, and then told him to get back to bed.
Between his two sons, Sirius was the timorous one, and Harry often pictured what his lover's face would look like if their son was placed in Hufflepuff. No doubt it would be a perfect subject for nagging.
On the other hand, James would surely be placed in Gryffindor, seeing how he liked chivalry and honour. He spent his time watching over his brother, protecting him from everything - except, apparently, the teacher.
Harry feared that this attitude would erase Sirius's personality, but Hermione told him the twins were only "complementary twins" and that Sirius would establish himself differently from his brother. Well, Harry was still waiting for it...
Sirius slid under the blankets up to his nose and pressed himself against his brother, who took him between his arms immediately. Harry smiled unconsciously and ruffled the two little heads that stuck out of the blankets and got up, eager at the idea of going back to bed.
It had to be around two am. He'd rather be in his bed... like a certain person who slept too deeply.
He whispered some last reassuring words before closing the door, and crossed the corridor once again.
Once he was finally tucked in his bed, he thought about his son's description of his teacher and couldn't help but laugh. He was right about the teacher being strict, but picturing her like a beast with claws and fangs was a little exaggerated. She looked more like Umbridge than a dragon - which was worse, actually.
He heard a sigh while his boyfriend turned in his sleep, as if looking for something. Harry would have gladly hit him again, this bad father, but he was just... so cute now. Harry would take his revenge tomorrow.
Eventually, Malfoy seemed to find what he was looking for when he put his arm across Harry's chest and squeezed.
Too freaking cute.
It surely was a Slytherin's trick. An overdeveloped survival instinct.
Harry didn't even realise he was smiling, despite his vengeful thoughts, when he brushed some blond locks aside from his mate's forehead.
If someone had told him six years ago that he would be a couple with Draco Malfoy, and that they would have children together, he would have... uh, laughed nervously. It was already kind of irrelevant at this moment.
Perhaps, it had always been.
Harry felt himself drifting to sleep, pressed against his lover. Malfoy certainly must possess a soporific power, it couldn't be otherwise.
Unfortunately, a scream echoed from the twins' bedroom, and Harry started.
Sigh.
Tomorrow, Malfoy was so going to get a bucket of water on his beautiful little face.