Chapter Text
“What the fuck do you mean I’m pregnant!” Harry screeched.
Ron was glad to have thought about the silencing charm before he gave him the news.
“Listen, mate, I’ve called a specialist, who can probably tell you more than I can.”
“Including, I assume, that you are a horrible excuse for a healer because I cannot be pregnant.”
Ron did the diagnostic again. “I assure you, you can. See that little blip there?”
“That ‘little blip’ is you barely scraping an A in Charms for seven years,” Harry said, glowering.
“That’s uncalled for,” Ron said. He was used to a Harry strop, and he knew equanimity was the best response. He supposed if any time called for a strop, it was an unexpected pregnancy.
“So, er, who’s the fath—the other parent?”
Harry looked like he was contemplating drawing his wand when the door opened and an adorable little old lady bustled in.
“Hello, dear, I hear we have a little unexpected pregnancy today! I’m Bettina O’Toole, I’m the head healer for obstetrics. Now just sit back, let’s take a look.”
“Can you fire Ron, after it turns out he was wrong because I can’t be pregnant?” Harry asked, leaning back pleasantly enough. “Or, I don’t know, maybe a public shaming? That would be okay.”
“Oh, we are focused on education for our trainee healers,” O’Toole said in an affable tone. “Not really much for public shaming and punishment myself.”
She did a series of charms, frowning a little, as Harry got progressively more smug and Ron began to furrow his brow. There was no way he’d bollocksed up that diagnostic. It was one of the first charms he’d learnt in training.
“Ah, yes dear,” O’Toole said, sitting back. “Feeling some nausea? Dizziness? Inconsistency in your magic?”
“Yes, yes, and no, not that I’ve noticed,” Harry said, starting to frown. “Is something actually wrong with me, then?”
“Oh, no, dear, male pregnancy is uncommon but it’s nothing to worry about!”
“Wait. What?”
“Mate, I told you,” Ron started. Harry put his hand over Ron’s mouth. Ron refrained from licking it, since Healer O’Toole was watching them with a tolerant smile, but it was a near thing.
“I can’t be pregnant.” Harry said it with the utter certainty of the incorrect.
Ron pulled Harry’s hand away from his face. “Mate, I know you were in that godawful sex ed class we had in eighth year, and I know you were listening to the part about male pregnancy because you kept hissing in my ear about how weird it was. You can’t tell me you forgot—”
“No, no, I understand that men can get pregnant. I also understand that it’s really bloody uncommon. But what I also also understand is that I haven’t had sex in over a bloody year, so how the fuck did I get pregnant?”
Ron stared a moment, frowning. Then, he couldn’t help himself. “Merlin, Harry, a year? No wonder you’ve been so tetchy.”
“Don’t think I won’t murder you while Healer O’Toole watches,” Harry snapped.
“Now, now, that won’t be necessary,” she said, patting his shoulder. “In fact, I think I might even know the answer to this little conundrum! Have you participated in any sexual activity at all in the last four months? Or kissed anyone, even?”
Ron furrowed his brow; he wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at. Harry looked on the edge of a strop again.
“You can’t get pregnant from kissing,” Harry said in fervent tones.
“Well, no, not usually,” O’Toole agreed. “But, you see, you have unusual stores of latent magical power. And you of all people should know how important wishing magic is. If you had any genetic material at all in your body from another person and you wished to be pregnant with that person, well, I daresay your magic would do the rest of the work.”
Harry had a fixed expression on his face. Ron had a bad, bad feeling. Harry had only had eyes for one man for months. Ron had assumed it was never going to go anywhere.
“No.” Harry said, but now he sounded as though he were trying to convince himself. “No, that’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid if you haven’t had sex, it’s not only possible, it’s plausible.”
Ron stared, aghast, as Harry began to turn pink.
“Harry James Potter,” Ron said, his voice deadly quiet. “When the fuck did you start snogging Draco Malfoy?”
Harry buried his scarlet face in his hands.
* * *
An hour later, Harry was sitting on Hermione and Ron’s sofa, Hugo in his lap, Rose at his feet. Ron looked exasperated; Hermione was beaming.
“Oh, Harry, that’s wonderful news!”
“Is it?”
“I don’t understand, you told me you wanted—”
“When we were talking about how I wanted kids,” Harry said, his voice very calm, “I did not know that it was possible, you know, spontaneously.”
Hermione frowned, looking concerned about his intelligence. “Well, it’s not.”
Harry buried his face in Hugo’s curls. “Explain it,” he said to Ron, voice muffled.
Ron explained, more or less, ending with, “So Harry was just about to explain to me how Draco knocked him up, and I figured you’d want to hear this story too.”
The room was silent. Harry was afraid to look up.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “What does Draco think?”
“Draco?” Rose said, looking around the room eagerly. She pronounced the ‘r’ as a ‘w’—Harry tried and failed to ignore how cute it was.
“Draco doesn’t know!” Harry’s voice was getting shrill again. “Why would Draco know? Don’t you think if I were actively trying to get pregnant, I would want to do the fun part? And, you know, maybe have more than one date first?”
Ron clucked. “Kissing on the first date, Harry, you tart.” Harry threw a cushion at him.
Hermione’s lip twitched, but she crossed her arms. “Harry, you have to tell him! I can’t believe you told me before the father. The other father. Draco deserves to know that he’s going to be a parent!”
Harry stared around the room, still wondering if this weren’t an elaborate prank. Then he saw Hermione’s stern little frown and Ron’s exasperated look. Rose tugged his leg. When he looked down, she looked at him with a hopeful face.
“Draco?” she asked. Harry could relate.
Reality crashed down on him in seconds.
“Oh my God,” Harry said. “I’m having a baby with Draco?”
* * *
The thing was … the wishing part. That part might have happened. That might have been happening for months.
Several years ago—starting all the way back in eighth year, but really, truly when they started working together from time to time—Draco and Hermione had become friends. Actual friends. Good friends. And Hermione had convinced Ron to give Draco another shot, and Draco and Ron had become friends, even if they still sniped at one another. (That development was altogether more shocking than Draco and Hermione.)
And after that, Draco and Harry had tiptoed around one another for literally years, partially due to their entire previous relationship being built on mutual antipathy, and partially, Harry thought, because these days he spent most of his fucking time thinking about how pretty Draco was, which made a proper friendship a bit awkward.
Eventually, they’d forged something along the lines of a friendly acquaintanceship, wherein Draco smirked a bit when Harry bumbled over his words and Harry did his best not to stare too obviously when Draco came over for dinner. Hermione had been trying to get Harry to ask Draco out for over a year. Ron thought they would be “disgusting” together, but agreed that Draco would, shockingly enough, probably be good for Harry.
And then, after Hugo was born, Hermione combined their fortnightly dinners with Harry and Draco so that she and Ron could have a fortnightly date night on their off weeks. So Harry started having dinner with Draco every two weeks. Which would have been fine, if it weren’t for Rose and Hugo.
Because Draco was amazing with children. Harry never would have guessed it.
Draco was, undeniably, a snob. He was always dressed like he was headed to a job interview or a wedding, or possibly the catwalk. He looked pristine. Harry knew firsthand how sticky children were—well, he wasn’t an expert in all children, but Rose and Hugo were certainly sticky. Harry would have assumed Draco would hold a child like it was a dangerous animal from Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures class—that was the way Harry had, at first. He would have guessed that Draco would get that pinched look on his face when one of the children stuck their fingers up his nose or drooled on his cheek, like he did the time Harry accidentally dripped brown sauce on the table and it almost (only almost!) touched Draco’s sleeve.
Honestly, Harry had felt utterly at sea for at least the first eight months of Rose’s life. Maybe it was a misplaced competitive spirit, but Harry would have thought—would have hoped, in his less charitable moments—that Draco would have been as lost as Harry was.
But, it turned out, Draco was a natural with children. He nodded seriously when Hugo babbled at him, and answered Rose in full sentences, never talking down to her, when she asked him about his job “mixing things.” One evening, Hugo stuck his hand in the custard, then smeared it on Draco’s face, and Draco simply laughed and said, “Yes, I do rather like custard, but maybe we’ll try a spoon next time, hmm?”
Harry had watched in stunned shock the first time Draco had played “horsie” with Rose without even a glance at his suit. The second time, he had loosened his tie, and Harry had had to excuse himself because if he didn’t, he thought he might propose marriage or something equally mortifying.
Their shared dinners with the Granger-Weasleys became a peculiar form of torture for Harry. Stunned and besotted, Harry watched Draco light up as he helped to feed blueberries to Hugo, or cleaned pasta sauce out of Rose’s hair. One evening, he insisted that Ron, Hermione, and Harry have a few minutes together and he did the kids’ entire bedtime routine by himself. Ron and Hermione had promptly fallen asleep on the sofa (“Sleep regression,” Hermione mumbled before she closed her eyes, “is terrible.”), and when Harry crept down the corridor to check on Draco, he found him seated on the floor next to a sleeping Rose, her tiny hand clutched round his finger, as he quietly read from Hermione’s Mother Goose book. When he looked up and saw Harry, he beamed.
That was the first time Harry had consciously thought, “Oh my God, I want to have your babies.”
“And then you kissed him?” Hermione asked.
“I didn’t know it would make me pregnant!” Harry hissed, burying his face in Hugo’s hair again.
“Harry, wishing magic is very powerful.”
Harry thought Hermione’s admonishing look was a bit much.
“Sorry, all the times I wished for Voldemort to stop bothering me and fuckall happens,” Harry snapped, putting his hands over Hugo’s ears as he cursed. “But I think ‘I want to have your babies’ one time too many and I just do?”
Hermione bit her lip. “So what are you going to do?”
“Well,” Harry said. “I’m going to have the worst second date ever.”
* * *
Harry almost blurted it out, when he opened the door to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and Draco was standing there with a bouquet of flowers, beaming at Harry. He also thought maybe he was understanding the wishing magic a little better, because as he smiled back at Draco, he thought, “God, I want your babies.”
Well, mission accomplished, Harry thought to himself.
“Hi,” he said out loud. “You ready?”
“Are you?” Draco looked down at Harry’s clothing with flared nostrils.
Harry snorted. “You should never have got drunk and admitted to me that you like the way I dress, you know. The judgemental look doesn’t work as well when I know it’s a lie.” He grabbed his motorcycle jacket. “Don’t think I don’t know what you think of this, too,” he added with a grin. His heart raced as he stepped close to Draco and took his hand.
Harry almost said it again, at dinner, when Draco was making faces at a toddler the next table over and Harry thought, “Can I wish myself pregnant a second time, I wonder?” But it was a Muggle restaurant, and Harry didn’t want to take the risk of someone overhearing.
They took a walk after dinner through Hyde Park. Every few minutes Draco would lift Harry’s hand to his mouth and kiss it. A few feet from the nearest apparition point, Harry couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Can we go back to your place for a bit?”
Draco smirked, and Harry grimaced. “Not for—well, maybe. No, I—I need to talk to you.”
Draco frowned, brushing Harry’s lip with his thumb. “Am I in trouble?”
“Depends on your point of view, I suppose.”
Draco’s frown deepened. “You’re making me very nervous.”
“I’m pregnant,” Harry said, the words spilling out of him without his consent.
Draco’s eyes went very wide. “You’re—”
“Pregnant.”
Draco took a step back. “Oh. I. Er—congratulations?”
Harry furrowed his brow. That wasn’t the reaction he had expected. “Thanks?”
“Well, are you going to—did you mean to—I don’t know quite what to say.”
“I’m going to keep it, if that’s what you’re asking, and I didn’t mean to, clearly, and, well, I don’t know either. Can we talk?”
Draco laughed; it was a brittle sound. “I know we never discussed. I mean, it’s only our second date, why would we have done. But I’m not much for sharing.” He frowned again.
Harry gaped. “Well, sorry about a baby getting in the way of your social life,” he snapped. “I’m pretty sure you’ll have to share me.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about the baby, I’m talking about the father. The other father. I didn’t know you were dating other—”
“Wait, what? No!” Harry shook his head. “Draco, no, you. You’re it. You’re him. The father.”
“I—what?” Draco’s eyes were even bigger.
“Can we please go back to your flat?” Harry asked. “I’d rather sit while we have this conversation.”
“Oh my God,” Draco said, all solicitousness now. “Are you—can you apparate? Yes, of course you can, until the third trimester, what the fuck am I saying.”
“Why do you know that?” Harry asked.
“Hermione was pregnant less than a year ago, darling; why wouldn’t I know?”
Draco grasped Harry around the waist and apparated them directly past the wards into his flat, settling Harry on the sofa, hanging up his jacket, and insisting on making him a cup of herbal tea. Harry thought Draco might have wanted it for himself more than anything. Finally, he was back, perched on the edge of the sofa a few feet away, frowning again as Harry sipped at his tea.
“Did you mean it?” Draco asked. “I won’t be mad if you were with someone else—I mean, obviously, we just barely—”
“There’s no one else,” Harry snapped, nettled at the idea that he would want anyone else, wondering if that meant Draco wanted someone else. “Just you. Only you. Always you. How could I look at anyone else when you’re—” Harry broke off, gesturing, and a pleased little smile spread across Draco's face.
“But we haven’t had sex,” Draco said. “Not even close. We’ve only even kissed the once.”
His face went slack. “Kissed,” he said again. Harry winced as he watched the wheels turn, and spared a moment to bemoan the fact that Draco was one of the two smartest people he knew.
“Salazar, Circe, and Sekhmet,” Draco said, “did you wish yourself pregnant with my saliva?”
“Well, not on purpose!” Harry said.
“You did it accidentally?” Draco sounded disbelieving, but he still didn’t sound upset.
Harry stood and began to pace. Finally, in halting words, he explained that he hadn’t understood the risk at the time. Draco was following Harry’s movements; he stood.
“When?” he asked.
“When what?”
Draco stepped forwards. “When did you think it?”
“Think what?”
“You know what. When did you wish for my baby?”
Harry stepped back, his shoulder brushing the wall. He felt a rush of heat in his gut when Draco said ‘my baby’. “I … I’ve been thinking it for months. At … at dinners.”
Draco smiled a bit as he stepped forwards again. “With Rose and Hugo?”
“You’re so good with them,” Harry breathed. “It’s so fucking hot.”
“You can’t just think it’s hot that I’m good with kids,” Draco said, crowding Harry now. “That’s not precise enough for wishing magic. When specifically?”
“Loads of times,” Harry said. “When you put them to bed that night. When you played horsie with Rose. That time Hermione made spag bol. That time with Hugo, you know, when you—“
Draco kissed him. It wasn’t like their first kiss. Their first kiss had been tentative: laced with promise (of babies, evidently); brimming with fragile hopes for the future. There had been a sharp edge that hinted at passion, but it had been, on the whole, restrained. And then Draco had had a work trip, and he’d been gone for weeks, and they’d been a bit shy around one another for a few weeks after that. And now Harry was pregnant, and Draco was kissing him for the second time.
This second kiss was not restrained. Draco pressed one hand against Harry’s chest, pushing him against the wall. The other he buried in Harry’s hair, tugging his mouth up. If Harry had known one could get pregnant from a kiss, he would have thought it would be this kind of kiss—it felt like sex. Draco stopped, gasping, their mouths still together. Harry sighed and swayed.
“Again,” he said, and Draco hummed his approval, pressing their bodies flush, slipping his knee between Harry’s thighs as he kissed him again. He was rough, but gentle. Harry felt taken apart and put back together all in one.
When Draco pulled his face away, he pressed his thigh, and Harry couldn’t help it: he jerked his hips for more friction.
“What did you think?” Draco breathed, sucking Harry’s earlobe into his mouth and biting gently.
“I—I need—”
“Shhh, take what you need,” Draco murmured, and Harry raked his fingers in Draco’s hair and slowly moved against Draco’s thigh. “Take everything you need. That’s good. Just like that. I’ve got you.”
Harry shut his eyes and tugged Draco’s hair, and it was Draco’s quiet groan of pleasure that broke Harry. He began riding Draco’s thigh in earnest. It felt childish almost—feverish, like his first panicked gropes in clubs when he was nineteen. He was twenty-seven fucking years old. They were in Draco’s flat. He had a bedroom, presumably. They were having a fucking baby together, and they still hadn’t had sex, and yet Harry was clutching at Draco, fully clothed, riding his thigh, making little urgent noises as he sought pleasure against Draco’s body.
“What did you think?” Draco asked again in that warm, firm voice. “Tell me what you thought when you saw me with Rose. When you saw me with Hugo.”
Harry could feel his face heating. The urgent noises extended into a long moan.
“Tell me, Harry. Tell me what you wished for. Tell me what you were thinking.”
“Oh fuck,” Harry said, voice rough. “I thought. I thought, ‘I want to have your babies.’ I thought, ‘I want’—unnnnhh—‘I want you to put a baby inside me.’”
“And I did,” Draco said, directly into Harry’s ear.
That was all it took. With a groan, Harry was coming in his pants on Draco’s thigh like a teenager and not a fucking pregnant dad-to-be who still hadn’t had sex with his maybe-boyfriend whose saliva he used to wish himself pregnant.
Trembling, spent, yet not nearly satisfied, Harry loosened his grip on Draco’s hair and hauled Draco’s mouth to his with a soft moan.
“Fuck,” Harry muttered as they pulled apart. Draco was staring at him, eyes dark, biting his lip.
“You are so fucking hot,” Draco breathed.
* * *
The following month passed in a haze of arousal and frustration.
Arousal, because Harry and Draco were spending all their time together. Frustration, because for some reason, despite them both being incensed about the whole ‘not having had sex yet’ part of things, Draco had said that they should ‘take it slow,’ to the extent that was possible when you were already pregnant.
“I wasn’t going to fuck you right away before you wished yourself into this position,” Draco said, sprawled between Harry’s legs as he kissed his way up his thigh towards his arse for at least the tenth time that evening. “I want to make you desperate for it, darling.”
“What do you think desperation looks like?” Harry asked, looking, well, desperate. Draco was lavish with his affections, despite denying Harry his cock. He’d eaten Harry’s arse in every room of his flat and most rooms in Grimmauld Place. He had been delighted by Harry riding his thigh on their second date, it turned out, and encouraged him to come in his pants as often as possible. His moans when he wrapped his lips round Harry’s cock were almost as lurid as Harry’s.
And every time he brought Harry off, he reminded him, in gentle warm tones, that his baby was inside Harry. Harry would come trembling, shaking, and then lie there in a haze afterwards as Draco kissed his still-flat belly, whispering words so quietly that Harry couldn’t hear them. Harry would lie there, hands in Draco’s hair, feeling warm and cared for and also, if he were honest, a little bit left out.
Draco went with Harry to his next healer appointment, holding Harry’s hand and kissing his palm as they waited with a reluctant Ron for Healer O’Toole. Harry was explaining his physical symptoms as Ron nodded (already having heard the complaints dozens of times). When Healer O’Toole came in, she beamed at Draco.
“You must be the other father—you’ve done quite well, you know.”
Draco gave a regal nod. “Harry is quite powerful; I am in awe of him.”
Ron made a fake retching sound that he turned into a cough when Healer O’Toole turned.
“Now then,” she said. “Fatigue, yes? Dizziness?”
“Lots, and lots. Not much nausea, though.”
“Lucky,” she said. “Magic issues?”
“No, not at all,” Harry said.
“Very good. Might come later. Well, as you come up on the end of the first trimester you’re going to see some changes. Is regular physical intimacy a problem?”
Harry looked alarmed. “You mean we have to stop?”
“Oh, no, dear, quite the opposite. Your hormones are likely to spike in the next several weeks. You’ll have a marked increase in sexual stamina and urgency.”
“Increased … from now?”
Draco snorted. “That would be impressive.”
“I hate this job,” muttered Ron.
“Chin up, Healer Weasley, nothing wrong with sex. You,” O’Toole turned to Draco. “You’re going to have to satisfy Mr Potter’s physical needs.”
Draco looked like he had just won the lottery. “Oh, I plan to,” he said.
Ron looked disgusted. O’Toole put her hands on her hips. “I’m not joking; the hormones that the body creates to support male pregnancy can really do a number. It’s not just a funny little joke—if Mr Potter is not sexually satisfied, it can create a hormonal imbalance. It can be unsafe.”
Draco straightened and nodded. “I’ll take care of him,” he said, his voice serious. Harry felt a rush of warmth as Draco’s hand squeezed his.
“Now, let’s just do the diagnostics,” O’Toole said, twirling her wand. A little sphere of light, like a planetarium show, glowed around Harry’s belly.
“This all looks normal. Excellent … oh. Hmm. Healer Weasley—take a look at this. Tell me what you see.”
Harry, Draco, and Ron all frowned and leaned forwards.
“Is that—twins?” Ron said.
“What?” Harry and Draco both cried.
O’Toole was examining the diagnostic from different angles.
“Oh no, this is very odd. Very odd indeed. You’ve gone and got pregnant again.”
“I—again? Isn’t it sort of a binary state?”
“Oh no,” O’Toole said. “Not for a pregnancy like this. It’s not twins; two separate pregnancies. You went and wished for another baby, didn’t you? One wasn’t enough? You’ll be pregnant for about eleven months instead of nine, all told, but no added risk! I suppose it’s quite efficient. Good show, Mr Potter. You really are very good at wishing magic, aren’t you, my dear.”
Draco was stroking Harry’s hand, looking like he was barely restraining himself from crawling onto the hospital cot with Harry. Suddenly, it hit Harry. Draco was going to be unbearable. Harry looked from Healer O’Toole to Ron, who looked resigned, to Draco, who was beaming.
“I did it again, didn’t I?” Harry said.
“You did, darling,” Draco whispered, lifting his hand to kiss it. “You’re wonderful. You’re exceptional.”
“You put two babies in me! And we still haven’t had sex?”
Draco was watching him with a hungry look. “You want my babies so much you wished for it. Twice.”
“Harry, stop wishing for more babies,” Ron snapped.
Harry stared at Draco’s adoring gaze. He didn’t know how to stop.
Draco beamed through the rest of the appointment, asking thoughtful questions of Healer O’Toole and taking notes about the best foods for pregnancy.
“But you hate cooking,” Harry said.
“I find cooking tiresome,” Draco corrected. “But I love our babies.” His grin widened. “Both of them. Because there’s two of them. Because of you.” He put his hands on Harry’s cheeks and kissed his nose.
Ron groaned. “He’s going to be like this for the next eight months, you know,” he muttered, glaring. Harry smiled. It was worth it.
After the healer appointment, Draco took Harry out for ice cream, watching him so fervently that Harry started to get self-conscious.
“What?”
“You’re incredible, you know that?”
“You just think that because it’s you I’m so pathetic about. Anybody else, you’d never stop taking the piss.”
Draco frowned. “Don’t call yourself pathetic, darling. And if you were like this with anybody else I would be weeping into my pillow or planning a murder. Now finish up, let’s go back to yours.”
“What’s the rush?”
Draco looked around with an assessing gaze. “Well, I don’t think Florian would much like it if I fucked you in his ice cream shop, but I suppose if you insist we can make do with one of the tables—”
Harry stood and grabbed Draco’s hand. “Come.”
Draco grinned. “Surely not quite that soon; that would be disappointing for both of us, I think.”
Harry rolled his eyes and tugged. Draco stood, pulling Harry close; he tasted of cinnamon and orange.
“Take me home and put a baby inside me,” Harry whispered.
Draco laughed. “I already did—twice.”
They made it as far as the drawing room door before Draco said, “The bed is too far. Sofa!”
He yanked Harry into the drawing room, peeling off his jumper as he went, fiddling with his own flies.
“You know,” Draco said, as Harry shoved him onto the sofa and crawled into his lap, “pretty soon we’ll be more limited in our positions. We should take advantage, in the meantime.”
“If you’re suggesting that we should have sex, like, a lot, I’m on board,” Harry said, vanishing Draco’s pants and his own and doing a wandless lubrication charm that made their cocks slide together. “In fact, I believe you promised O’Toole that you were at my service.”
“Not just a lot of sex,” Draco said with a gasp as he pulled Harry’s hips down against his. “Lube, hand, now. Inventive sex. We should make a book. A book of sex positions. I think we can make up some new ones, don’t you?”
“Oh, worth a shot,” Harry said, shifting and pressing his arse back against Draco’s finger. “Don’t be so tentative, come on!”
Feverish with need, frustrated with Draco’s teasing, Harry reached around and grabbed Draco’s wrist, fucking himself on Draco’s fingers with a moan as Draco watched, eyes shining.
“Look at you, just taking what you need,” Draco murmured. “You’re so good. Take it. Take whatever you need. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything.”
Harry let go of Draco’s hand and pressed forwards, sighing into Draco’s mouth as their cocks slid together, all frenzied movements and wet noises.
“What about your cock?” Harry mumbled. “Will you give me that?”
“Presuming that I’m allowed to keep it attached to my person, I am more than happy to provide it to you for all your sexual gratification needs,” Draco murmured, pressing a third finger into Harry. “Whenever you need my cock, you have only to ask; I shall deliver it into your waiting … arsehole,” Draco finished, making a little face. Harry snickered.
Draco pulled his fingers free and reached around Harry. “Are you comfortable? You don’t want to move? For example, I’d very much like to bend you over the arm of the sofa, and in a few months you probably won’t be able to do that comfortably.”
Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck and bit him, just hard enough to sting. “I want your cock in me for the first time, right here, right now. Second time, you can bend me over the sofa.”
Draco gave a little nod. “That seems like a reasonable compromise,” he said, sounding shaky.
“Draco, now.”
Draco turned to Harry, face serious. “I need you to remember something,” he said, face solemn.
“What? What is it?”
“I put two babies inside you before I ever put my cock inside you,” Draco said, and pressed Harry down onto his cock.
* * *
“I wonder if I might ask you something?” Draco asked several hours later.
Harry laughed at first at Draco’s formal tone, while they lay sprawled naked in his bed, but then he turned and saw the tentative expression on Draco’s face.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
Draco reached out a hand to stroke Harry’s cheek. “Darling, you’re perfect. It’s just. I need to tell my parents. That we’re expecting.”
“Oh. Are they going to be—” Harry wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. He’d interacted with Narcissa Malfoy a few times, and she’d been, well, not horrible. She was all right, he supposed, if stiff and snobbish, but there was no way she would ever think Harry Potter would be good enough for her son. Harry didn’t think it had anything to do with him not being pureblood; his clothing alone probably disqualified him in her eyes.
And Lucius was … well. He was, evidently, trying to be less evil. Harry couldn’t be sure how successful he was, but Harry trusted Draco, and Draco hadn’t given up on his father.
“Darling, they’re going to be thrilled.” Draco said, running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “They’d nearly given up on me. It’s possible that they won’t be delighted with the specifics, but—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
* * *
“Do you mean to tell me that Harry Potter stole the Malfoy heir through wishing magic?” Lucius asked, voice icy cold.
“I didn’t steal anybody!” Harry snapped, gripping his teacup in his hand. Merlin knew why he had agreed to this. He should have made Draco come alone. Draco reached out to clasp Harry’s hand.
“Father,” he said, his own voice cool. “I’m going to have to ask you to speak to Harry in a more respectful tone. If not for the general propriety of doing so,” he added, “then for the health of my babies. Our babies,” he corrected himself, giving Harry that starry-eyed look he always had when he talked about the babies.
Two teacups clattered on saucers.
“Babies?” Lucius asked. “More than one?”
Narcissa gasped. “Twins, Draco? The Malfoy family hasn’t seen twins since—”
Draco smiled. “Not twins, mother. Two simultaneous pregnancies. Well, two months off.”
Narcissa and Lucius both turned to Harry again. Lucius appeared to be pulling himself together—evidently ‘stealing the Malfoy heir’ was less upsetting when you were also providing a spare. Lucius sat forwards, holding out his cup for the enchanted teapot to pour again as he stared at Harry.
“Just to be clear,” Lucius said softly. “You wished yourself pregnant with my first grandchild.”
“Well, that wasn’t exactly the way I worded the wish,” Harry said, and Draco snorted.
“And then,” Lucius continued, “you wished yourself pregnant with my second grandchild.”
Harry hesitated. Lucius didn’t sound angry, not anymore, but Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t, actually, stolen the Malfoy heir, in a manner of speaking. He certainly hadn’t discussed either wish with Draco. He felt Draco’s hand in his and shook himself.
Narcissa was giving Harry an assessing look. She sat on the sofa next to him, placing one hand on his knee.
“You must care very deeply for our son indeed, to have wished for two babies,” she murmured, a little smile on her face like maybe she’d found someone who understood how perfect her son was.
Harry managed to restrain himself from saying, “I’ve wished for so many more than two; it’s kind of been a problem.”
Unfortunately, he didn’t restrain himself from saying, “And that was before we’d even shagged.”
Lucius choked and spluttered. Narcissa’s eyebrows had risen almost to her hairline, but her lips twitched.
Draco closed his eyes, cheeks turning pink. “I’m sure my mother and father don’t need those details, Harry.”
“Well, I don’t know, isn't it even more impressive, to have got pregnant from our first kiss?”
Narcissa gasped, hands to her mouth. Lucius’s jaw twitched.
“I—sorry. Is that bad? We’ve had sex since,” Harry said, then immediately seemed to realise that that was unnecessary information.
“Darling, please stop talking,” Draco said. He was even pinker than Harry.
“I’m going to blame saying that on the babies,” Harry muttered.
“You know, that excuse only lasts for the next eight months or so,” Draco replied.
Narcissa smiled into her teacup. Lucius made a despairing noise.
* * *
“That was terrible!” Harry wailed when they got back to Grimmauld Place.
“It was, but, all things considered, it was not as bad as I feared,” Draco said.
“Really?”
“Well, neither you nor my father drew your wands,” Draco said, taking Harry by the hand and leading him upstairs.
Harry nodded. “He was surprisingly … something. Not nice, but, well, he was all right, I guess.”
“Well, you can’t expect him to be ‘nice’ to the man who stole the Malfoy heir, can you?”
“He does know that unless you got pregnant, the baby was going to grow in someone else, right?”
“Babies,” Draco said, with a grin. “Plural. Because I put two of them in you.”
“Technically,” Harry said, letting Draco start to take off his clothes, “I think I did it myself.”
* * *
“Should we ask Healer O’Toole if this is normal?” Draco gasped. “I mean, this feels a little extreme.”
“Healer O’Toole said this would happen. And she said it was your job to deal with it.”
“And I am, happily—well, dehydratedly, but also with great joy. But surely there’s some point at which this becomes abnormal. I don’t know what that point is, do you? Do you want to ask Ronald?”
“Don’t talk about Ron while your cock is inside me. You have three options: talk dirty, talk about how your babies are inside me, or shut your fucking mouth,” Harry snapped, holding Draco by the hair as he fucked himself on Draco’s cock at a frenetic pace.
For the past several weeks, Harry’s pregnancy hormones had been, it seemed, driving him insane for cock. To his credit, Draco was doing his utmost to satisfy, but so far, neither one of them had found what it would take for Harry’s body to not want more. Eventually, they simply gave up, lying in a heap of sweaty sheets until Draco escaped to get food or Harry got the energy to climb on top of him again.
“Oh my God, yes,” Draco mumbled. Harry adored Draco like this: when he was totally fucked out, a little dizzy from overstimulation. It was exquisite to see. He was ethereal, slightly less human. He also had even less of a filter than usual.
“I think you might fuck my cock off before the babies are born,” Draco mumbled. “And the only problem with that is that once it’s gone, it’s gone, darling. I want you to fuck my cock off, but only metaphorically, okay?”
Harry frowned, not slowing his pace. He tightened his hand in Draco’s hair. “Was that supposed to be dirty talk? Because you’ve done better.”
Draco let out a wild laugh. “Hmm. All right. Let me try again. If you ever tire of riding me—which, for the record, I think might not ever happen, at this rate, because you’ve been going for a really long time. How are you so fit, by the way? I’m just taking it and I’m exhausted—anyway, if you ever get tired, which I doubt, I’m going to spread your legs and lick my cum back out of you until you cry. And then I’m going to keep eating your arse until my tongue falls off just like my cock’s going to. And then I’m going to have no cock, and no tongue, and you probably won’t like me anymore after that. Don’t make a joke about me not talking as much, I know you like the way I talk.”
Harry let out a ragged laugh and increased his pace, tightening his grip on Draco’s hair. “I do like the way you talk, Merlin help me. I think this cock ring works better than the other one,” he added.
“Merlin and Morgana both,” Draco murmured. “I set a timer, we’ll compare. We’ve got … two more … to test.” Draco’s hands were resting lightly on Harry’s waist, just following Harry’s movements. “Tomorrow. We’ll test the other two tomorrow.”
“Not tonight?” Harry asked, lifting Draco’s torso as he thrust down viciously. Draco moaned but leant back on one hand, holding the other on Harry’s hip.
“Did you hear what I just said, about my cock and my tongue falling off?” he gasped. “Fuck, I’m close, I’m close, oh, Merlin.”
“If your tongue and your cock fall off I’ll just have to fuck. your. fingers,” Harry said, giving a little groan as he felt himself begin to teeter.
“No cock, no tongue, no fingers. Merlin, darling, you could do better.”
“I don’t want better, I want you, Draco,” Harry said, and they both went crashing over the edge together.
“Salazar’s left testicle, I’ve heard stories about pregnancy shags, but I wasn’t prepared,” Draco mumbled a few minutes later, breath still short. “I really wasn’t prepared at all.”
“Hmm,” Harry said, grinning as he sat up to get Draco a glass of water. “I haven’t noticed much of a difference from normal, personally.”
Draco looked elated and terrified in equal measure. He let his hand trail over the tiny bump on Harry’s stomach. “Whatever you need,” he murmured. “You can take it, darling. I’ll give it to you.”
“Even if your cock, tongue, and fingers fall off?”
Draco didn’t take his eyes off Harry’s bump. “Even then.”
* * *
When Draco and Harry pushed open the door to the Burrow, there were twin gasps of delight.
The first was from Molly, who threw her arms around Harry, already weeping and murmuring about baby jumpers and blankets and all manner of other knitted items, kissing Harry’s cheeks, running her hands through his hair, exclaiming “Two! Two new babies in my family!”
The second gasp was from Draco, who scooped Hugo out of Hermione’s arms and began blowing raspberries on his belly.
Still trapped in Molly’s embrace, Harry grinned over at Draco, watching as he stooped to lift Rose onto his other hip. He said something to Hermione that ended with “—good practice,” and she laughed, and then Draco looked over his shoulder at Harry and winked. Harry felt his heart flutter.
Louis had approached and was tugging at Draco’s trousers. Draco looked like he was trying to determine the best way to juggle Rose and Hugo to add Louis to his arms when a shout came from the stairs.
“No! Stop that! Stop that right this second!”
Everybody jumped as Ron stomped down the stairs, pushing up the sleeves of his jumper. He pointed at Harry. “Don’t you dare.”
“What did I do?”
“Ronald,” Molly said, standing in front of Harry like he was a baby chick, “what on earth are you carrying on about?”
“No, you haven’t had to sit through the healer appointments, Mum. Avert your fucking eyes, Harry.”
“Language,” Draco and Hermione both said. They grinned at one another; Ron glared.
“I’m serious—you shouldn’t have brought Draco.”
Draco made an offended noise.
“I’m trying to keep your boyfriend from getting even more pregnant,” Ron snapped.
“Maybe I like my boyfriend pregnant,” Draco replied.
“I’m not getting pregnant for a third time,” Harry sighed. “I promise. Honestly, the back pain is enough to take the edge off the wishing. And Healer O’Toole said that my magical … something was low enough now that it was almost impossible to get pregnant again.”
“Key term there being almost impossible. Knowing you, you’ll find a way. You’re the Boy Who’s Impossible!”
“Oh, I do like that moniker,” Draco mused. “I’m going to steal that.”
Harry glared at Ron. Ron shrugged.
Draco didn’t stop playing with the children—not that they would have allowed it. When dinner was ready, Draco was in a heap on the floor with Hugo and Louis clutching each leg and Rose sitting on his chest, giggling. Harry came over and hoisted Rose before stretching out an arm to pull Draco up. Louis and Hugo remained clinging to his shins, shrieking with laughter.
“Not sure I can make it to the table like this,” Draco said with ostentatious solemnity. “I might miss dinner.”
The giggles continued. Harry smirked.
“But Draco,” he said with a smile. “If you don’t eat dinner, how will you have dessert? There’s pie, you know.”
Hugo and Louis gasped at that and scrambled away. Harry let Rose slip to the ground and follow them.
“Pie is not the dessert I’m interested in,” Draco murmured, slipping one hand round Harry’s waist and resting the other on the curve of his belly.
“Me either,” Harry said. Then he paused. “Well, it’s Molly’s, so yeah, I do want pie. But I want more dessert after that,” he whispered.
“By the way,” Draco said, lips close to Harry’s ear. “Challenge accepted.”
Harry pulled away, looking suspicious. “What challenge? I didn’t challenge you. Do I look stupid?”
“You did challenge me, and it’s not fair to ask me a question like that when I’m not allowed to be mean to you. But—” he let out a long-suffering sigh “—of course you don’t look stupid, darling.”
“Yes, and the kindness does feel so very genuine when you say it like that,” Harry said. “Anyway, what fucking challenge? Do I want to know?”
Draco leant down and kissed Harry: soft, warm, with a promise of much more. When he pulled away, his hand continued to stroke Harry’s belly.
“Darling. I know a challenge when I hear one. You said you weren’t getting pregnant again.” Draco looked deep into Harry’s eyes. Harry felt his heart flip-flop at the adoration—and no small amount of lust—that he saw there.
“But you’re wrong,” Draco whispered. “I’m going to put another baby inside you.”