Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic/Raincoast; the title is from "Kiss Me Slowly" by Parachute. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning(s): Nothing graphic is shown "on screen," so I didn't use the archive warnings, but it could be triggery for rape and assault.

Additional warnings for gender-bending and for Harry being stupid.

Additional notes: This was written and posted as part of the 2012 HD Holidays fic/art exchange on livejournal. My giftee was Amythystluna, who gave me such a fantastic set of prompts. I'm sorry I wasn't able to use them as plentifully nor in as much detail as I wanted.

Thanks also to my beta readers and to the fest mods for their patience and general awesomeness.

Originally posted for the 2012 hd-holidays fest on livejournal; posted on FF 08 Feb. '13

When the Time Comes

Chapter Two

In his office at St. Mungo's, he took off the clothes he'd borrowed, put on the healer's robes he left there for emergencies, and paced restlessly as he waited for the Polyjuice to wear off. It shouldn't have been more than five minutes – and it wasn't according to his watch – but his concern for his patient made it feel five times that.

It was his first pregnancy as primary healer, and the most complicated he'd assisted. Padma had asked for him, though, partly because he was a friend and a war hero, but primarily because he was familiar with her history. He'd been apprenticed under her previous healer during her last pregnancy – her third miscarriage.

Padma was alone in the room, which was highly unusual. Her husband accompanied her on nearly all scheduled appointments and hadn't wanted to leave her side for even a moment the last time she'd been in for one of these scares.

"He's on his way." Padma explained when Harry asked, mostly to distract her as he performed the initial scans. "I convinced him to go out for drinks with his friends. 'It's a few hours; what are the chances something would happen,' I said." She started to sob, softly, and Harry reached for her hand. "You're fine, and the baby's fine." For the moment, at least.

"Thank Merlin!" Greg Goyle rushed to Padma's side, where she already had her free hand extended toward him. The other, she kept clenched with Harry's. He looked up to avoid the deeply personal moment and saw Draco standing in the doorway, which, Harry realized, explained why he hadn't been waiting for Harry earlier. He would have been responsible for making sure Greg was fully sober and possibly even for Apparating him here.

He stared back at Harry, his expression far less open than it had been at the club but with far less hostility and resentment than he'd shown to Harry at any other time. They stared at each other for several moments, a long, even look that was disconcerting.

Harry blinked eventually and was left with two separate realizations that he pushed aside process when he had time. The first, that Draco Malfoy had changed in the last seven years and was now an unknown quantity. The second, that no matter how much Harry had been hoping it had simply been a trick of the light in the club, at some point in the same period of time, Draco Malfoy had become really, really attractive. Neither thought was comforting.

Harry forced himself to turn back to Padma when Greg who spoke. "She's really all right?"

Harry nodded. For now. He didn't say it aloud – they all knew this pregnancy was not going well, and after the scare they'd just had, it was better not to dwell on the danger just yet. "But we should do a thorough examination to be certain."

Greg and Draco stepped out to allow Harry and Padma privacy.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Draco asked, then realized what his friend meant. "Greg, you and Padma are more important than some girl I just met."

"She wasn't your usual type." Greg pointedly eyed the door to Padma's room, and Draco, not for the first time, rued the decision not to Obliviate his best friend after a certain night of alcohol-fuelled confessions. Before Greg said things that shouldn't be heard by Harry Potter – or his co-workers Draco thought, nodding a greeting at a passing medi-witch – he tried to deflect the conversation.

"Well, yeah, I've been seeing mostly men lately, but it's not as though I've never been attracted to women."

Most days, Greg allowed himself to be diverted; today wasn't one of them. "True enough. But regardless of gender, your partners are never blond and rarely tall."

Draco huffed in exasperation. "I liked you better when you humoured me."

"I like you better now."

Before Draco could respond to what was a very rare reference to the evolution of their friendship, the door to Padma's room opened. "We're ready for you," Harry announced.

Greg started to move forward, but Draco held back. "I'll just..." he waved toward the waiting room.

"She said you're welcome to come in," Harry said softly.

Draco looked at Greg to gauge his preference.

His friend nodded. "Please."

They followed Harry into the room, Greg moving quickly to stand next to Padma, who had clearly been crying. He put one hand in hers, and the other around her shoulder, pulling her to his chest. Draco stopped to loiter uselessly near the foot of the bed, trying to give them as much privacy as he could.

"It's not good. I'm not going to lie."

Padma choked out a laugh and reached out to clasp the back of Harry's hand. "You never do," she said.

Smiling ruefully, Harry took her hand in both of his. "You'll need strict bed rest. I mean it, Padma." He looked at Greg, who nodded in understanding. It wasn't the first time she'd had her movement restricted this way, and she didn't care for it.

"If you promise me," Harry's tone was low and serious, "that you'll follow my instructions, you can go home."

Padma sighed. "For how long?"

"In all likelihood, the rest of your pregnancy."

She grimaced but nodded.

Harry clasped her hand tightly before releasing it. "I'll check in on you every day."

"I want this baby," she said with determination.

"Babies," Harry corrected.

She looked up at Greg, and they both turned to Harry, doubting what they had heard. Draco less burdened by hope, was already smiling. "You're carrying twins."

As promised, Harry visited Padma every day – during lunch usually, but after his shift if it was particularly busy. She was getting antsy, but she recognized the seriousness of the situation and was keeping her word.

For the first few days following the incident at the club, any free time Harry had after his work at the hospital and his visits to Padma was usually devoted to metal work.

Following the incident that had made it clear that his wild magic wasn't compatible with his dream of becoming an Auror, Healer Pallia had suggested it as an exercise in control. It had been a while since he'd needed to practice, however, so he hadn't done much in the last year or so. He'd learned to enjoy it for its own sake, but he hadn't had much time for simply enjoyable pursuits in the last year of his training.

He had converted the second bedroom of his flat into a workroom when he moved in and had added a number of protection charms; working with such extreme heat and metal was a dangerous combination. He cast additional ones now to protect both the room and himself. They were stronger than he'd used in months but he hadn't come so close to losing control in over a year, and the more recently he'd done so, the more likely the wild magic was to flare again.

He heated the silver, increasing the malleability, allowing him to draw it out in a wire, cool, and shape it. He'd begun to craft a bracelet in a complicated pattern of woven metal that forced him to concentrate on detail and precision. It would suit Hermione, he thought, though he knew he wouldn't be able to give it to her – it held a strong association for her with his therapy and what she still thought of as a tragedy in his life, too strong for her to be able to receive it or to wear it comfortably.

The magic settled eventually, moving through his wand in a steady, even flow, just the way it ought.

As he repeated the wand movements, felt them become familiar and comfortable, Harry found himself – unsurprisingly – thinking of Saturday evening: not simply the near explosion of magic that prompted his task, but the good parts as well, and those that were ambiguous. About Draco Malfoy, who fit each of the categories. Wondering what he was doing in Muggle London, wondering if he was up to something. It felt like sixth year all over again.

The incident with the drunk aside, he'd enjoyed himself. It had been nice, being on the receiving end of looks that were appreciative, not worshipping; being greeted with smiles but not constantly interrupted with awkward conversation. Hermione, unsurprisingly, had been right: it was a good disguise.

He didn't know whether she'd asked Julia's permission to use her hair, but if she had, it would have been for the one evening only, and it shouldn't be used a second time. He knew that. The more often he went out, the more likely it would he would meet someone who knew her. More than that, it would be wrong to use her body without her consent, especially for something so frivolous.

When Harry caught himself, not for the first time, considering risking it anyway, he burned Julia's hair.

It was two days later that he decided to brave Diagon Alley to see George.

Diagon Alley was crowded, as usual for a Friday evening, and as Harry made his way through the Leaky Cauldron, the whispers started.

"Look, it's Harry Potter!"

It had been seven years, with no sign of people letting up.

"...defeated You Know Who..."

He understood that they were grateful that Voldemort was gone, but Harry hadn't done it alone.

"...Potter."

"...in my house at school."

Even those who should have known better.

"Harry Potter..."

It took a great deal of effort, but he managed not to yell at anyone nor to turn and leave.

The obvious pleasure on George's face when he entered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes wiped the scowl from his face, but the equally obvious surprise caused a spasm of guilt. It was further proof that Hermione had been right: he had been pulling away from people.

He enjoyed his work at St. Mungo's but it was busy and unpredictable, and every time he went out, it became a media event: the first made scheduled meeting difficult and the latter made impromptu socializing in public places uncomfortable.

It would be easier if he were disguised.

Harry forced the thought into a dark corner of his mind and locked it there.

The lock, unfortunately, wasn't alcohol resistant.

After dinner and far too much Firewhiskey, Harry turned to George. "Do you remember an evening in the common room, not long before you left? It was late; most of the younger students had already gone up to bed. A number of upper years were talking – well, Hermione was studying for OWLs and trying to get us to do the same, but it evolved into a conversation about no one understanding the opposite sex."

George thought a moment, then grinned. "That was the night Seamus suggested a sex change gag, yeah?"

Harry nodded. There'd been an enthusiastic response to the suggestion, but it hadn't been mentioned since. "Did you ever... explore that?"

A spasm of pain crossed George's face before he could hide it, and Harry knew the answer before he spoke. "There were a few ideas, but it was mostly... it was Fred's thing, really." George swallowed. It was still difficult for him, but he was determined to use his twin's name, no matter how much the loss still hurt. His eyes narrowed on Harry then, and the corner of his lips twitched. "Why? What are you plotting?"

Harry felt himself flush, but tried to demur, to claim that it was just reminiscing. George wouldn't let it go, however, and Harry found himself recounting most of what had happened Saturday night. He didn't mention Draco Malfoy.

George, once he'd stopped laughing, grew thoughtful. "I have his notes. Maybe I should look into it. In his honour."