Title: His Daughter’s Father Part 8

Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Site: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/

Author: Constant Vigilance

Disclaimer: JK Rowling is God. I own nothing.

Distribution: Sure. Just lemme know where my baby’s going.

Spoilers: Up to GoF. Book 5 never happened. *Growls at Rowling*

Summary: Fur Elise and the Slytherin girls.

Dedication: To Cassell’s Latin Dictionary. And my poor Latin teacher who is rolling in his grave at my pathetic lack of conjugation ability.

Harry sighed in frustration as he once again attempted to make the relatively simple charm work. “Modulari,” he demanded, thinking of a new tune he’d heard on the WWN. And yet the only sound to erupt from his wand was the tinkling strains of ‘Staying Alive’, compliments of Seamus who’d put the damn song in his head a week ago.

“Son of a bitch, Seamus!” he bellowed. The other Gryffindors (the ones who’d managed the Modularus spell and had moved on to more complicated charms) snickered at him. “Why?” he whined. “I’m getting sick of picturing John Travolta in a leisure suit.” He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking of something soothing, something relaxing, something that didn’t relate to a shining disco ball.

The music shifted, the notes becoming calmer and clearer. Soon, the strains of Fur Elise could easily be picked out. Harry gaped in shock.

“Good job, Harry,” Hermione clapped her hands.

He looked at her in bewilderment. “I-I didn’t do anything.” He frowned and concentrated on his spell, trying to find out how he’d changed the music. It shifted back to Staying Alive and he rolled his eyes. “See? That’s all I can make it do.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side, looking a bit like a bird, and then the music changed back to Fur Elise. It was accompanied by a howl of pain from Harry. Draco shot to his side, curling around him as Harry tried to fight off the bizarre rolling of his stomach, both inside and out.

“What is it, Harry?” Draco asked frantically.

Harry frowned, staring into space, and didn’t answer him. The music changed abruptly back to Staying Alive. A look of satisfaction slipped over Harry’s face before he ‘oomphed’, clutched his gut and the notes became Fur Elise again. He looked wide-eyed at Draco from his position on the floor. “I think the baby is tweaking the spell,” he whispered.

Draco frowned back. “How the hell can she do that?”

Harry shrugged and clutched his waist. “I dunno, but she is.”

“Babies can hear what is going on outside their mums, but that’s usually around the 8^th or 9^th month,” Hermione offered.

Draco shook his head. “Even if that were the case, Mione, how could she understand the magic enough to change it? How could she even understand the idea behind magic, much less Harry’s desire to have something different?”

Ginny cleared her throat. “Maybe she doesn’t understand. Maybe she doesn’t need to. She felt Harry’s irritation and wanted to make it better.”

Hermione moved a bit away and cast her own Modularus spell. She set it for Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, just in case it was the calming music the baby was going for. She was shocked into dropping her wand when the spell was ripped from her control and the strains of Fur Elise, as well as another howl from Harry, rent the room.

“Oh, my goodness,” she breathed. “It is her! And she took my spell over. Not just your spell, Harry. She reached outside of your body with magic and took my spell away from me!”

Harry nodded, in pain and wishing Hermione would just stop experimenting already. “That’s great, Mione,” he managed.

“It’s more than great, Harry,” she stated in an amazement that Harry couldn’t quite bring himself emulate at this point. “It’s unheard of. We’ll need to test it some more. She’s a genius if she can manipulate spells like this. And to pick a song out of Harry’s head? Wow!”

Draco glared at the room in general, Mione in particular. “Fine. She’s a bloody maestro. It’s odd. We get it. Now leave the bloody music alone before she really hurts Harry.”

Hermione looked up, mortified that she’d forgotten about her best friend in the midst of this exciting discovery. “Sorry, Harry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I understand. And I’d like to know more about what she can do. It just hurts.”

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” Draco pleaded as Harry brushed his hands off and sat on the couch.

“I’m fine. I’ll be okay. We’ll just…we’ll just leave the music the way she likes it and hope for the best,” Harry returned nervously. Draco looked unbelievably displeased. However, Mione nodded and moved away from the two of them.

“I don’t like this, Harry,” Draco murmured. “What if it’s serious? You really need to get checked out.”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll be fine. She’s calmed down, see?” He plucked Draco’s hand from the back of the couch and placed it on his belly. Draco felt all around the gentle bulge, but the baby had indeed calmed into motionlessness. He frowned, but nodded with a sigh.

“If you get one more twinge…” he threatened.

Harry smiled softly. “Yes, dear,” he chuckled. “I promise you can tell me ‘I told you so’ all the way to the infirmary. Now pull out that spell book and help me with practice something else.”

Studying resumed…

…to the sounds of Fur Elise.

_________________________________________________________________

Harry smiled and waved Draco off to his appointment with Snape. The Slytherin was the best student in the entire school when it came to potions, but he was also the most driven to succeed. He had scheduled a tutoring session with Snape to hone his skills for the NEWTS. Harry had simply nodded when Draco mentioned the session to him and hid a grin behind his hand. Knowing Snape and Draco, they would spend more time hashing new potion concepts than working on NEWTs.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the portrait hole shut behind the blonde. Harry adored Draco. He loved spending time with him. He was also planning to scream if the boy tried to force one more healthy meal down his throat or told him to take it easy one more time.

Harry glanced surreptitiously around the room and saw no Gryffindors comfortable enough with him to ask what he was doing or where he was going. He shoved himself out of a chair and determinedly walked through the portrait. He kept an eye out down corridors for anyone who might catch him and send him back to his room. He couldn’t afford that.

He’d had a particular craving for nearly three days. He absolutely had to do something about it or he’d go insane. He couldn’t very well ask Draco to get it for him. The bossy boy had already forbidden it along with everything else that tasted remotely good. Harry snorted at the memory of Draco and his fisherwife screech when he caught Harry sneaking just the tiniest smidge of Tabasco sauce for his peanut butter and salami sandwich.

“Don’t eat that, Harry! You’ll have heartburn,” he mimicked under his breath. “I’m the bloody Boy Who Lived. I think I can handle a little heartburn.” Though he avoided the rest of the memory; the part where he’d been up all night throwing up and crying cause his stomach felt like it was on fire. “I am fully capable of deciding what I can and cannot eat!” he whispered forcefully, looking around to make sure no one heard him. And so it was that Harry Potter made his way to the kitchen to wheedle some stuffed peppers out of one of the house elves.

********

Harry didn’t understand. Dobby was his friend. Dobby always did what he asked. Always. Dobby would get the moon for him if he required it.

“No, Harry Potter, sir,” the small creature shook his head until his ears flopped. “Dobby is not giving you any peppers.”

“But,” Harry protested vaguely, “You have to. You’re the house elf.” He could see the other house elves wringing their hands and crying in the background. “Then I’ll just have one of them do it,” he threatened.

Dobby didn’t look scared, but the rest of the elf population wailed and scattered. Dobby actually looked as though he might be wearing a smirk. “No, Harry Potter, sir. Yous won’t be asking other elves. They is not to be helping you, either. Dobby has a list of food that Harry Potter can eat and peppers is not on it.”

Harry’s gaze narrowed. “What list?” he demanded.

Dobby looked wary, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment. He handed it to Harry. “Don’t be trying to throw it away now, Harry Potter, sir,” he warned. “It’s a copy. Dobby has the original hidden.”

Harry glared at the diminutive house elf and scanned the list. Well, lookie there, he thought nastily. Every food that I actually enjoy is on here. He threw the parchment on the counter and turned on his heel to leave.

“Harry Potter isn’t mad at Dobby, is he?” came the plaintive call from behind him.

“No, Dobby. Harry Potter is, however, remarkably pissed at a certain blonde bastard he knows,” he snapped back before stepping out of the portrait of fruit. He stormed down the corridor, angry enough to spit nails.

“Who the hell does he think he is, telling me what I can’t eat?” he growled. “And then going to the bloody house elf with it like I’d bypass his orders.” He ignored the fact that he actually had done just that. “Bastard.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about Draco anymore. “Fine. If he won’t let me eat what I want…fine.”

He took a quick left. “Then I’ll just go for a fly. Let’s see if he’s spelled the brooms not to let me on them,” he added nastily. He made a beeline for the garden entrance of the school. As he stomped down the last staircase, he realized that his legs were just about to give out. “So much for rebellion today,” he sighed. Irritated, he made it to the garden and flung himself onto a stone bench, resting his quivering muscles.

Why the hell was he so tired? He didn’t do anything! He just lay around, did his schoolwork and walked from class to class. He must be getting out of shape. He vowed to pick up some more exercise. There was no way he’d keep up with a rampaging toddler if his strength gave out during pregnancy. He sat, soaking up the late winter sun when he heard the first whisperings.

Frowning, he rose on unsteady legs to investigate. As he crept around the huge flowering rose tree, he caught sight of three girls. He gasped as he realized who they were: Pansy, Millicent and Morag from Slytherin. They turned their heads at his intake of breath and frowned. Harry was suddenly hit with a barrage of memories. He recalled the last time he’d been caught alone with one Slytherin, much less three.

Panicked, he twisted abruptly and made to race back into the castle, tired legs or no. At the sharp turn, a pain exploded in his stomach. It traveled from his lower abdomen up and around his belly, feeling like leg cramps from swimming. He dropped to his knees, whimpering at the pain circling his stomach. All he could do was rock back and forth and hope the pain would stop.

When he came back to himself, he realized his was on his back. With his head in the lap of Pansy Parkinson. He looked up to meet dark eyes looking back at him in worry. He froze, panic beginning to seep back into his mind.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Pansy soothed, smoothing a strand of hair off of his forehead. “Morag went for Madam Pomfrey, but Millie is a really good mediwitch trainee. You’ll be fine.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” he managed in a whisper.

Pansy sighed and traded a long-suffering look with Millicent. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Just call us girly girls and be done with it I suppose. Kicking your arse was acceptable when you were just Harry Potter, Gryffindor bastard. Now you’re Harry Potter, mum-to-be. It just doesn’t seem right to hurt you now.”

Harry couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “So once again, I have the baby to thank for yet another conversion of a Slytherin to decency?” he asked with a smile.

Pansy smacked him very gently on the shoulder. “We are decent,” she smirked. “Deceitful and sly, but decent when things matter.”

Harry winced as Millicent prodded a particularly painful spot. She glanced up, her face a study in concentration. When he settled down, she turned her focus back to his belly. “Well, I suppose I’m thankful that you think the baby matters,” he breathed.

“Don’t you?” Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry reached down to cover his stomach protectively, displacing Millicent’s hands as he did. “More than anything in this world,” he whispered. Pansy smiled.

“He’s fine,” came Millicent’s surprisingly husky voice. “I think he just tugged too hard on the ligaments that hold his uterus when he twisted. It started him to cramping,” she stated.

Harry stared down his ample stomach at the Slytherin girl. “I never knew you were in mediwitch training,” he said cautiously.

Millicent snorted. “You never asked. No one asks. No one cares.”

Harry sat up, vaguely surprised when he felt Pansy’s gently helpful hands pushing with him. “I care. You helped me.”

Millicent flushed uncomfortably. “You weren’t dying or anything. You just got a cramp.”

Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? I could have been dying. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before,” he added wryly. “I could have been miscarrying or having premature labor. The point is that you were there and willing to help me. Thank you.”

Millicent nodded, still embarrassed, while Pansy smiled in satisfaction. Just as the uncomfortable silence began, Morag appeared again with Madam Pomfrey in tow. “What happened?” she demanded, moving to inspect Harry immediately.

“We scared him, ma’am,” Pansy initiated quietly. “He tried to run and pulled something. Millie checked him out. She says he just pulled something and cramped up.”

Pomfrey did a quick check on him as well. Harry was surprised to notice that Millicent’s hands had been just as gentle and knowledgeable as Pomfrey’s. “Very good diagnosis, Miss Bulstrode. Accurate and timely. Twenty points to Slytherin. Now about this scaring business…” she eyed the girls sternly.

“They weren’t trying to do anything, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry interjected. “I just overreacted.” He flushed. “The last time I was cornered by a Slytherin, this was the result,” he gestured to his body. “I shouldn’t have assumed the entire house is out to get me because of it.”

Pansy snorted. “I’d keep the notion anyway, Potter. It might keep you alive a bit longer.”

Pomfrey ignored the girl. “Well, if everyone is all right, Harry, I’d like to see you in the infirmary.”

Harry screwed up his face, perfectly willing to try for tears if need be. “No, please. Just let me go back to the common room. Please, I won’t move anymore today. I’ll have someone wait on me hand and foot, I promise.”

Madam Pomfrey suppressed a grin. “So, you were out doing something Draco wouldn’t approve of, eh?” Harry’s sudden flush was testament enough. “Fine,” she sighed. “Go back to the common room. But be aware that I, like Draco, have my own people watching your every move. If you walk more than ten paces, I’ll know about it.”

Harry reluctantly nodded, and the older mediwitch moved back inside the castle. Pansy laughed, a tinkling laugh. Harry was startled. He wasn’t even aware the girl knew how to have a genuine laugh. “You have spies watching you?” she asked incredulously.

Harry sighed. “Draco is overprotective. Madam Pomfrey is overprotective. Hell, everyone is overprotective.”

Millicent nodded. “I can see why,” she pointed out. “Male pregnancy isn’t that common. It’s dangerous to begin with. You, however, are also a teenager. That’s hard on the baby and you as well. You body isn’t made to accommodate an extra life. Your body’s resourced are being sapped at an exorbitant rate. You’re also overworking yourself just by carrying the baby. Anything else could be dangerous, even silly things like walking to the gardens down three flights of stairs.”

Harry paled as she looked piercingly at him. “Should there be a problem, there isn’t anyway of getting to the baby short of cutting you open. It’s best to stay where someone can reach you quickly. If the baby dies, you could get peritonitis before anyone even realized what was wrong. Or you could hemorrhage, and with no vagina for an outlet, you’d die twice as quickly and twice as painfully.”

Harry began to feel queasy. He’d never realized all the things that could go wrong. Pansy shot Millie a glare and placed a comforting arm around his waist. The fact that he actually found it comforting dimmed beside his horror at the things the Slytherin girl had just told him. “Come on, Harry,” she said sweetly. “We need to get you back to your common room. Bloody hell, Millie,” she continued, the sweetness gone from her voice, “you didn’t have to scare him. What happened to your bedside manner?”

Millicent wrapped an arm around Harry’s other side and, with Pansy’s help, pulled him to his feet. “My bedside manner doesn’t matter to a corpse. He needs to be told that there are possibilities other than hearts and flowers. Something tells me his beloved Gryffindors and the staff just told him to take it easy. They didn’t tell him why. They ought to know better that to tell the Boy-Who-Lived to do something without providing reasons. He’s likely to do the opposite of what they said just to piss them off.”

Harry giggled, causing both girls to look at him. “She’s right,” he agreed sheepishly. “That’s exactly what they said. And I have been. Doing things just to spite them. Thank you Millicent. I didn’t realize.”

Millie just nodded and the two girls helped him up the stairs and through the hallways to the Gryffindor common room. Morag preceded them, opening doors as needed and glaring at curious onlookers. She paused in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady and looked at Harry expectantly.

The woman in pink looked horrified to find her precious Gryffindor space invaded by no less than three Slytherins. Millie glared up at her. “Tell your little lions to come out and get their cub,” she ordered. The fat lady looked miffed, but turned around and disappeared. A moment later the portrait flew open and a horde of Gryffindors poured out, Draco in the lead with Hermione and Ron close on his heels.

Mione and Ron carefully took Harry from the Slytherin girls, glancing at them mistrustfully. “What happened?” Draco demanded of his housemates in an icy voice.

“It’s okay, Draco,” Harry called out, forcing Mione and Ron to stop dragging him away. “They found me in the gardens. I’d twisted too fast and cramped up. They called Madam Pomfrey and helped me back up here.” He carefully edited the story and smiled at the thanks he saw creep into Pansy and Millie’s eyes. “Thank you, Pansy, Millicent, Morag,” he offered. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there to help me.”

The girls nodded briefly before Mione and Ron began pulling Harry back into the room again. Draco eyed them carefully, his steely eyes making note of every tic and facial expression. However, as they were Slytherins as well, he didn’t get quite as much from his perusal as he’d hoped. “Thank you,” he said slowly. “For bringing him back.”

Millie and Morag just nodded again and turned away, walking down the hallway. Pansy paused. “Not everyone wants you dead, Dray,” she whispered. “You or your lion cub. Some of us just want to live to see tomorrow. We’ll do practically anything to see that happen. I’m sure you remember. I hope you also remember that there are some things that we won’t do, as well.”

Draco nodded, a slight smile creasing his face. “Good to know, Pansy,” he replied. With a small smile and a duck of her head, Pansy moved on down the hall. Draco watched her go for a moment, lost in memories. Then he turned and headed back into the Gryffindor common room. He had a bone to pick with a certain stubborn mother-to-be.