This is my first HP fic, and my first ever mpreg, so feedback
would be GREATLY appriciated!
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters except of course
(eventually) the baby. Everyone else is owned by JKR
Draco Malfoy sat on his bed, staring at the picture he held in his hand, a picture of Harry . . .his Harry. It had been taken only three months before, but it seemed as if it was a lifetime ago. The picture showed a happy, smiling Harry, sitting under a tree in their yard. Draco had taken the picture with out his knowledge, and was now thankful that he had. It was the last picture he ever got of Harry, taken only the day before the accident.
Draco felt his chest tighten, and he had to bite back a bitter laugh when he thought of the accident. Who would have thought it? The famous Harry Potter, the boy who had taken on Voldemort more times than anyone could remember . . .and lived to tell the tale . . . .had died doing something he loved more than anything else, flying.
The day it happened hadn't seemed any different, or out of the ordinary. It was one of the first nice days of spring, and the two of them had decided to get out their brooms. They had been flying for about an hour, goofing off and chasing each other in an impromptu game of tag, when it had happened. Draco still wasn't entirely sure what HAD happened. One minute Harry had been flying along fine, trying to stay ahead of Draco, and the next he had been falling, all of it happening so fast that Draco didn't have time to react. Harry had been probably one hundred feet in the air, and when he hit the ground, he hit at an angle that no human body should be landing at. By the time Draco had touched down to the ground and ran to him, he was gone.
After it happened, Draco thought he was going to die himself. He withdrew into himself, and refused to leave his room, or even get out of bed. No matter who came to see him, no matter how much they begged and pleaded with him, trying to tell him that Harry wouldn't want him doing this to himself, he wouldn't listen. He was much more content to lie there, clutching Harry's pillow to his body and pretending that it was him. Eventually he had fallen so far into the depths of depression that he even stopped eating and sleeping.
But then . . .then . . . .
At first he attributed the way he was feeling to the depression. After all, with not eating and sleeping, it was natural to feel run down, and sick to his stomach, right? It wasn't until one night, in the middle of the night, that it began to dawn on him. Harry and he had wanted to have a child, so they had been enlisting the help of several spells and potions to help one of them become pregnant. But . . .it couldn't be . . .could it?
Finally he had broke down and drug himself out of bed long enough to go see a medi-witch. It had taken all of ten minutes to confirm what he had already been suspecting. He was, indeed, pregnant.
He couldn't believe it, after the hell he had been put through, he was going to have a baby . . . Harry's baby. He might never have Harry back, but he would always have a part of him around.
And then that damned medi-witch had offered to abort the baby for him. Needless to say, he wouldn't be going back to HER for anymore of his pre- natal care.
So now here he was, four months pregnant, and scared to death. How was he ever going to survive being a single father?
would be GREATLY appriciated!
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters except of course
(eventually) the baby. Everyone else is owned by JKR
Draco Malfoy sat on his bed, staring at the picture he held in his hand, a picture of Harry . . .his Harry. It had been taken only three months before, but it seemed as if it was a lifetime ago. The picture showed a happy, smiling Harry, sitting under a tree in their yard. Draco had taken the picture with out his knowledge, and was now thankful that he had. It was the last picture he ever got of Harry, taken only the day before the accident.
Draco felt his chest tighten, and he had to bite back a bitter laugh when he thought of the accident. Who would have thought it? The famous Harry Potter, the boy who had taken on Voldemort more times than anyone could remember . . .and lived to tell the tale . . . .had died doing something he loved more than anything else, flying.
The day it happened hadn't seemed any different, or out of the ordinary. It was one of the first nice days of spring, and the two of them had decided to get out their brooms. They had been flying for about an hour, goofing off and chasing each other in an impromptu game of tag, when it had happened. Draco still wasn't entirely sure what HAD happened. One minute Harry had been flying along fine, trying to stay ahead of Draco, and the next he had been falling, all of it happening so fast that Draco didn't have time to react. Harry had been probably one hundred feet in the air, and when he hit the ground, he hit at an angle that no human body should be landing at. By the time Draco had touched down to the ground and ran to him, he was gone.
After it happened, Draco thought he was going to die himself. He withdrew into himself, and refused to leave his room, or even get out of bed. No matter who came to see him, no matter how much they begged and pleaded with him, trying to tell him that Harry wouldn't want him doing this to himself, he wouldn't listen. He was much more content to lie there, clutching Harry's pillow to his body and pretending that it was him. Eventually he had fallen so far into the depths of depression that he even stopped eating and sleeping.
But then . . .then . . . .
At first he attributed the way he was feeling to the depression. After all, with not eating and sleeping, it was natural to feel run down, and sick to his stomach, right? It wasn't until one night, in the middle of the night, that it began to dawn on him. Harry and he had wanted to have a child, so they had been enlisting the help of several spells and potions to help one of them become pregnant. But . . .it couldn't be . . .could it?
Finally he had broke down and drug himself out of bed long enough to go see a medi-witch. It had taken all of ten minutes to confirm what he had already been suspecting. He was, indeed, pregnant.
He couldn't believe it, after the hell he had been put through, he was going to have a baby . . . Harry's baby. He might never have Harry back, but he would always have a part of him around.
And then that damned medi-witch had offered to abort the baby for him. Needless to say, he wouldn't be going back to HER for anymore of his pre- natal care.
So now here he was, four months pregnant, and scared to death. How was he ever going to survive being a single father?
