I would advise listening to the song Liar by Mumford and Sons before/during reading this. A very 'Lovely' person named Catspats31 (I think) PMed me the rules. I believe that they think I'm an imbecile. I can read the rules, and I do, but it's an idiotic one. I am so close to taking my work to archive of our own it's not even funny.
The door creaked open a bit after two in the morning, a tall, slender silhouette in the frame, eyes darting for a minute before stepping inside and quietly shutting the door behind him. He took off his cloak and hung it on the conveniently placed coat rack, right beside the door and toeing off his shoes.
He strode silently from the foyer, almost floating up the stairs and into the door on the right, four doors down. He darted a quick glance to the prone figure on the bed before breathing an inaudible sigh of relief, before moving to the adjacent bathroom to draw himself a bath.
What the stealthy figure hadn't noticed is the complacent figure on the bed had his eyes open. A bit hurt and teary, but with an overwhelming dose of resignation. The man sighed and turned on his side, away from the bathroom, at the sound of water running. He allowed a single tear to drip down his face, before closing his eyes, dropping into sleep just as he felt the bed dip on the other side.
Harry woke to a cold bed, no surprise there. Before he had time to dwell on it, he felt a sudden wave of nausea rush over him, causing him to scurry to the bathroom to lose the meager contents of his stomach. After he had expelled what little food was in his body, he laid his head on the cool rim of the toilet seat and breathed in through his nose.
He slowly stood and made his way to the sink and splashed some water on his face, before actually taking a good look in the mirror. He was shocked to see a gaunt, pale man with haunted and dull green eyes staring back at him. He looked like one of the unfortunate survivors of Azkaban, the ones who could probably never feel a positive emotion again.
He looked over at the door when a sharp knock came. "If you'd come out soon, Princess, some of us need to actually be on time for work." Came the sneer through the door.
His head down, he opened the door and his…. What? Significant other? Lover?... Roommate? Pushed by, purposefully knocking his shoulder into his.
Harry slowly made his way to his closet, head still hanging, to dress. He picked a simple tee shirt and some loose, cotton trousers. Draco came in right as he was about to leave and sneered at his dressing choice. "What? Staying in bed again? God, Harry, why don't you ever make yourself useful?" He quickly dressed, and, without another word from Harry, who was, as Draco had guessed, back in bed, Flooed to work.
Getting ready for the Malfoy's Annual Yule Ball at the Manor, Harry reflects that Draco was actually in a great mood today, going so far as to give Harry a kiss on the cheek.
Harry wanted to tell Draco his news tonight, while he was still in such a great mood. He dressed in his best, a silk purple button down that complimented his eyes, with neatly pressed black trousers, and his finest silver robes, open in the front.
After he had finished getting ready, he waited on his lover to finish. After 45 minutes, Draco finally emerged, in a dark grey shirt, with black trousers and a wizard-style black sports jacket.
"You look great." Harry said, standing. Draco smiled at him, and brushed past, on his way to the Floo.
"Malfoy Manor!" Draco called out, not bothering on waiting on the man who waited on him 45 minutes.
Harry told himself that the faint stab in his chest was just hormones, that he was just overreacting, before stepping into the Floo, throwing his pinch of powder, and stating "Malfoy Manor!"
Later, when Harry and Draco were laying in bed, they were in a position they rarely were in nowadays, but Harry supposes he could chalk it up to the glasses of champagne Draco had had earlier.
They had shed their dress wear for undershirts and boxers, lying in bed with Draco's head on Harry's chest. Draco's finger absently swirled around his abdomen, before making the offhand comment, "You know, Harry, we're going to have to put you on a diet. Your belly's getting big."
Harry told himself that didn't hurt.
One morning, while they were having a serene 'healthy' breakfast, for Harry's sake, of course, Harry decided to bring up the topic he knew he had to sooner or later.
"Draco? When do you want children?"
Draco slowly looked up from the place across the table. "Whenever Father finds a pureblood surrogate, I suppose."
Harry bit his lip. "Are you sure you don't want one sooner than that?"
Draco abruptly stood. "I don't have time for twenty questions, Harry. I, unlike somebody, have to go to work."
Harry grabbed his arm as he walked by, trying to get him to talk. "But Draco, I want…"
His words were cut off when a sharp slap to the face snapped his head to the side.
He looked up with tear-filled green eyes to horrified grey ones.
"I just-I'm leaving now." And with that, Draco shook off his now limp grip and moved to the Floo before disappearing.
Harry continued his day in a daze, with a blooming red handprint on his cheek. He slowly packed and shrunk his things, and left. He went to old abandoned Potter Manor, a place warded to the nines, and stayed there.
He stayed there, 6 months alone. Hardly eating, hardly sleeping. Until he felt twinges coming from his grossly swollen abdomen. He sent a tittering house elf to fetch Hermione, who wept at the sight of him. Glassed over eyes, swollen stomach jutting out from literal skin and bones, Limp, greasy black hair, shallow breathing.
She took him to St. Mungos.
When Weasley showed up at his Apothecary looking murderous yet heartbroken, Draco didn't know what to say.
He did, however, know what to say when the brute picked him up by his collar.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Weasley?" He spat, struggling.
"You had better lock up Malfoy. We're leaving. Now." Ron growled back, with a little shake to emphasize his point.
Another look at Weasley's face had Draco hurrying to do what was ordered, before Weasley took his arm in a painful grip and hauled him to the fireplace.
"Saint Mungo's!" Weasley hollered, dragging Draco through the Floo with him.
When Draco first stepped out of the Floo, he registered that everyone around him was in a silent frenzy. Nurses scattering about, patients and their families quietly speaking and staring, doctors rushing around.
The second thing Draco noticed, was that Weasley was pulling him insistently towards a sobbing Hermione Granger, in clear sight, down the hall.
Draco found his heart tensing up in his chest at the sight of her. Eyes red rimmed, cheeks flushed, croaking, heartbreaking wails bursting forth from her mouth as tears streamed down her face.
She looked at Weasley, and whispered in a hoarse voice. "He's gone. He didn't make it."
Weasley broke down beside him. Huge, body racking sobs came from the almost 7-foot man, as he let go of Draco's arm. Draco absently rubbed the spot on his upper arm as blood starting rushing back to it. Weasley curled his arms around himself, sinking to the ground as he wept.
"What is it? Who didn't make it?" Draco begged the broken woman. The woman who looked like she had lost… her best friend.
"H-Harry!" She wailed.
Draco looked as if he had been dealt a physical blow. His eyes went wild as he relentlessly looked around. "What?" He demanded breathlessly.
"He was pregnant." Draco looked as if he was about to be ill. "He locked himself in Potter Manor for Merlin knows how long, and didn't eat hardly anything. It was only the baby's magic keeping himself alive. Inside though, I think.. I think he was already dead." She broke down again, keening a high, mourning-filled sound.
Draco couldn't process what he had just been told, but he understood one thing. He had done it. He had killed the love of his life. And…his baby?
"The baby?" He asked breathlessly.
"Barely stable, but alive." She whispered, her words muffled by her hands and she stared glassily at the wall in front of her.
"Where is he?"
She pointed to the door to the left of her and he took off, like the hounds of hell were on his heels.
He walked to the white sheet covered bed in a daze, not sure if he could believe this.
Draco slowly peeled back the sheet covering his badly-mistreated love. He opened his mouth to let out a scream of despair, but all that came out was a pitiful whimper and that's when the tears started pouring.
His eyes raked his lover's starvation-racked body. Bones sticking out grotesquely of paper thin white skin. Closed, sunken in eyes, eyes that he knew to be the most beautiful and passionate green. His raven black birds nest hung in greasy black clumps of neglect.
Draco had done this. He had killed the one man who would have given him everything, HAD given him everything.
Draco knew he had to go. He had to check on his child. His and Harry's child. The one he never knew and the one his lover had died for.
"Alright Mr. Malfoy. We need to move Mr. Potter's body to the Hospital morgue now. Please move aside."
Draco bit his tongue to stop from screaming at them. Telling them to leave, get out, away from he and his love. Let them be alone, let them in peace.
But he didn't. He swallowed back his next sob, placing a dry, gentle, chaste goodbye kiss on Harry's cold lips. He pulled back and strode out of the room.
Draco couldn't tell you anything about what happened after that. The next thing he remembers is sliding his hands under his tiny, blonde haired baby boy's neck and bottom.
He didn't want this to be this way. He wanted Harry. The baby was beautiful, and he broke down in tears again, just seeing him. But he'd do anything to see his wronged love again.
Draco woke up gasping with tears streaming down his face. He wailed desperately, and a lamp flicked on at the opposite side of the bed.
"Draco baby, tell me what's wrong. Did you have a nightmare honey? Come here." Harry cooed softly, pulling his distraught love close.
Draco's tears and racking sobs subsided after a while, and, with one hand clutching around Harry's back in a half hug, and another hand laying gently overtop of Harry's 6 month-pregnant swollen belly, he whispered, "No, everything is perfect." And he meant it.
AN: The order of the lyrics go by the lines. The first two lines of lyrics go in order of each section break, until you get to the "You liar" parts. After that, the next one is supposed to be the next two lines of lyrics, and then the last two lines of lyrics are separated, if that makes sense.
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