Disclaimer: I write what I write for free, I make money off of nobody. Harry Potter and friends are not mine, but I'd like to have Draco; he's very fine.

Warnings: Language, MPreg.

A/N: Still taking requests. :)


Prompt: Guilty


Draco was sick. Sick, sick, sick. His whole world revolved around being on his knees, praying before a porcelain throne. He didn't know how much more he could take. He felt as though his insides were outside and he couldn't remember the last time he'd kept food down.

He was losing weight, which happened sometimes, but still wasn't good. He was on a new anti-nauseant potion, but so far it hadn't worked.

He dry heaved into the toilet again, shuddering and beginning to cry. Again. He was like a bloody girl; so emotional over everything. His mask was gone, and he didn't know how to get it back.

Harry was rubbing small circles into Draco's upper back with one hand, and rubbing his lower back with the other. "Shhh, love," he whispered. "It'll be okay. It won't last." Draco leaned into the touch, forcing himself not to focus on his very unhappy stomach, but on Harry's touch; on those small circles on his back. It was the best Draco had felt in a long time.

"I hate this," he sniffled. His voice was small and defeated, cracked from vomiting and dehydration. Harry stopped rubbing small circles into his back for a moment – and Draco whimpered at the loss – to summon a glass into which he conjured water.

"Drink." He held it out to Draco, who sipped it gratefully. Harry placed it carefully on the floor beside them.

Draco glared at him. "This is all your fault, you know."

He watched Harry's face fall, the guilt flooding it. "I know," he whispered, closing his eyes. He bowed his head a moment, tears threatening to flow. "I'm sorry."

"You should be." Draco knew he was being cruel but he didn't care. Right now all he cared about was making sure that Harry knew just how much he'd fucked Draco's life up.

Harry reached out and started rubbing small circles into Draco's back again, and Draco leaned into the touch and moaned.

"I wish I could change it, Draco; Merlin knows I do. If I could, I'd go back in time and make it me, not you who has to go through all this." There were tears in Harry's voice, and Draco felt a stab of his own guilt at the guilt and pain in his husband's voice.

"We shouldn't have listened to the healers, you mean?" asked Draco sarcastically. "They said that my body was better suited to it."

Draco remembered how the healers had said that Harry had been malnourished and half-starved for too much of his life; his body stood less of a chance at carrying a successful pregnancy to term than Draco's did. So Draco was the one carrying their baby.

Harry leaned his head against Draco's back; not putting any pressure on it, just touching it. He turned his head slightly and planted a soft kiss on Draco's shirt. "Tell me what to do," he begged. "Tell me how to make it better."

Draco sighed. "It's not your fault, Harry. I was just sick and lost my temper, taking it out on you."

Harry opened his mouth to respond but Draco cut him off. "As for what you can do, you could help me to bed. And if you could lay beside me and rub my back, that would be perfect."

Harry smiled a tiny bit. "Okay."

Somehow, they would make it through this. And in the end, it would be worth it.