Title: His Daughter’s Father Part 9

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: Baby flutters and Valentine Dances.

Dedication: To Vicky Lansky, the editor of the Complete Pregnancy and Baby Book. Cause my own pregnancy was spent vomiting and wishing I were dead and thus I really haven’t the proper perspective to write about a ‘normal’ pregnancy.

Harry gradually became aware of a small following within the Slytherin house. Granted, most of the house still either snarled at him or eyed him as though he were a particularly tasty treat, but there were a few that were different. Crabbe, Goyle and Morag chose to either ignore him or be civilly polite if they couldn’t manage that. Pansy and Millicent, however, had taken to watching him carefully.

It weirded him out the first few times he caught them watching him, but then he realized that they were taking their turn at ‘visually babysitting’ Harry when Draco or the other Gryffindors weren’t around. He was also pretty sure that they were reporting back to Draco, as the blonde seemed to know everything Harry did while out of Draco’s sight. Strangely enough, Harry wasn’t sure he even minded anymore.

He was positive he didn’t mind after the events occurring on the last Thursday in March. He’d been having problems with swollen ankles for nearly a week but had convinced himself that it was just his extra weight bothering him. He didn’t want to go running to Pomfrey for every pound he gained. Now, however, he had started getting morning sickness again as well as headaches.

He made the mental note to check in with the nurse after classes that day. He didn’t make it. The last block of the day, DADA, was held with the Slytherins. The DADA teacher had paired them for a particularly difficult series of shielding spells and he didn’t want to leave his partner, Millicent, without someone with whom to practice. Unfortunately, he’d been fighting the urge to hurl ever since class began.

Finally, it was either make a trip to the toilet or use the trashcan. He smiled weakly at Millie and waved at her to pause in her spelling. She halted obediently and waited as he shuffled up to the Professor and got permission to use the loo. Millicent quickly petitioned for permission to accompany Harry, as she could hardly work without him anyway, and followed the Gryffindor out the door when she received it.

And so, Millicent was there in the hallway when it started spinning rapidly. Harry held a hand out to grasp at the loo’s doorframe and his hand closed on thin air as he realized that one door had turned into three. He felt strong hands close around his arms and catch him in his descent. They lowered him gently to the floor and he stared up at the whirling colors painted on the ceiling.

A thick, frowning face appeared in his vision. “Tell me,” it demanded.

He blinked rapidly, gasping in the sudden heat that overtook his body, “Dizzy,” he wheezed. “Sick…gonna thro—“ He managed to roll to his side before puking up the remains of his lunch. His entire being was in misery. Millie ignored the puddle of vomit she wound up kneeling in and grasped for his wrist. She quickly found his pulse and shushed him as he tried to speak. Eventually, she turned his wrist loose and frowned severely back down at him. The hot flash had dimmed a bit and he was trying to focus on her face.

“How long have you had these symptoms?” she demanded.

“Um…a week or two?” he answered woozily.

She sighed. “Come on, Potter. Up and at ‘em. You’re going to the infirmary.” He couldn’t even argue as she pulled him up and practically supported his entire weight all the way to the infirmary. She rested him against her him and kicked the infirmary door open. Pomfrey’s head came up like a shot and she dropped the medical journal she’d been perusing as soon as she saw Millie’s burden.

Harry had no idea what was going on. He was lost in the spinning. He felt Millie lower him to a prone position, but he couldn’t focus on where that was. He could hear their voices above him and he felt when one of them placed a cool compress on his forehead, but after that…he was out of it. Sinking into the cool darkness that beckoned him, he gave up trying.

When he came to again, he realized he was able to see the world around him without it being in triplicate. He turned his head and saw Draco smiling down at him. An almost painful pressure on his hand told him more about the blonde’s state than the smile plastered on his face. “Hey gorgeous,” Draco whispered. “Feeling better?”

Harry nodded. The dizziness and the sickness seemed to have abated. “What happened?” he croaked. Draco passed him a glass of water before answering.

“Millie said you had some problems on the way to the bathroom. She brought you here to have Madam Pomfrey check you out. It’s a damn good thing, too. Pomfrey says you have something called preeclampsia and that you’re in the second stages of it.”

Harry paled. ~Nononononono…nothing else, please. ~ “What is that?” he said instead.

Draco brushed a lock of hair off of Harry’s sweaty forehead. “It’s mainly high blood pressure, but it comes with a lot of other symptoms. Like those you’ve been trying to hide from me for two weeks,” he added disapprovingly.

Harry blushed. “Sorry. I just thought I was gaining a lot of weight and had morning sickness again.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Draco frowned. “Apparently, this is a common enough problem in female pregnancies. It can be treated, but won’t go away till the baby is born. You have to take it easy till then. You’re in stage two. Stage three involves convulsions and maybe death.” He squeezed Harry’s hand even more tightly. “You’re in a higher risk zone because you’re still a teenager and a higher one on top of that because you’re a male. So, if you thought you were smothered before? Get ready, baby. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Harry smiled shyly at the endearment and nodded. “Where is Millie?”

“She went back to class.” Draco frowned; an endearing bewildered smile graced his face. “You know, she actually yelled at me.” Harry raised an eyebrow and tried to look supportive. “She told me to stop treating you like china and let you know what could happen to you. Even if it scared years off of your life. So, I guess you have her to thank for me telling you about this preeclampsia thing.”

Harry smiled. “Good. I needed to know. I know you and the others care about me, but wrapping me in swaddling and not letting me breathe isn’t the way to make me do something. Tell me my chances. Odds are, I’ll probably listen to you.”

Draco grinned. “Doubt that, but okay. From now on, no more secrets. Promise.” Harry nodded and realized his eyelids were growing heavy. Draco must have noticed because he pulled Harry’s head over into the crook of his arm and rested his cheek on the boy’s dark hair. Harry snuggled back into Draco’s shoulder, breathing in deeply the singular scent of Draco Malfoy…and let sleep claim him again.

_____________________________________________________________

Harry sighed as he rolled from his right side to his left. The baby protested by kicking him on the side he’d just vacated. He sighed again. He didn’t know why she decided that ‘awake time’ was between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m., but nothing he could do would make her go to sleep. In the past week he’d tried the lullaby, Fur Elise that she’d liked so much. It didn’t put her to sleep. It only served to convince her that it was okay to play all the time.

Harry was forced to apologize to McGonagall at least once a day the whole of last week as the classical music began echoing out of nowhere. Thankfully, the professor has chosen to marvel at the idea of the baby casting spells rather than becoming irritated. She even said that the music was soothing and should help students with concentration issues, but it didn’t make Harry feel like any less of a freak.

Nothing made Harry feel less like a freak anymore. He was huge. He was ungainly. He was sick. He had a ‘specially gifted’ child. He was a medical miracle. He snorted. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep. Tomorrow was a huge day, one that required all of the calming effects sleep could give him tonight. Draco, Mione, Ginny and Neville had been planning to take him robe shopping. It was to be a great outing, a fun time for all, a relaxing bit away from the stresses of school. He snorted again. Really, he didn’t give a rat’s arse as long as he could fit into something…anything…again.

And as tomorrow was so ‘important’, Harry simply had to get some rest. If nothing else, he had to be able to deal with the inevitable sensation a pregnant Harry Potter would cause. But, alas, his precious little girl just wasn’t cooperating. ~Please, baby, just let me sleep, ~ he begged quietly, feeling tears welling at the corners of his eyes. Oh, and he hated that too. He was so damn emotional lately. It made his histrionics last Valentines’ Day look like a walk in the park.

Ron loved him dearly, but his best friend had taken to avoiding Harry like the plague lately. When Harry whined about it to Ginny, she just told him it was his own fault. Ron was insensitive, yes, but Harry screaming at him like a fishwife wasn’t necessary. Harry pouted, but in his heart, he knew she was right. He couldn’t stop himself though. The only people who seemed to be oblivious to his crappy moods were Hermione, who looked at it as a fascinating peek into the world of the pregnant male, and Draco.

Draco never got angry with him. He never yelled. He never complained when Harry yelled. He just sat, soaking up the anger like a sponge and when Harry was done screaming and the tears began, Draco would pull him close and rock him, whispering words of encouragement and telling him how lovely he was. Harry smiled faintly at the thought of the blonde. Draco was like a soothing balm over his soul. He was like a warm blanket.

Harry frowned. He kicked his covers off as the ‘fondly warm’ thoughts of Draco reminded him how bloody hot it was in the room. He could feel the heating spells radiating off of his roommates curtains and he glowered at them. Heating up the whole bloody room, they were! Finally, he growled and rolled out of bed, literally. He couldn’t sit straight up anymore; he had to waller around like a bloody pig in mud.

Angry at the mental imagery he’d conjured up, he made his way down to the common room and flopped into an armchair. He’d learned the hard way never to sit in something that didn’t have arms. He’d spent nearly five whole minutes trying to get out of that damned fluffy chair in the library and he had no intention of ever humiliating himself like that again.

He pulled up his pajama top and stared at his swelling belly. The baby’s was making his stomach do a slow wave from one side to the other. It was actually kind of cool to look at, but the acrobatics going on inside sucked. It felt like she was spinning at top speed. “Brat,” he said fondly. He pulled the shirt down and stared into the fire, hoping to let it lull him. Long minutes later, he eased onto his left side and dropped his head back against the chair back. With a final sigh, he closed his eyes and sunk into a light slumber.

______________________________________________________________

The next day found Harry seated in a carriage between Draco and Hermione and on the way to Hogsmeade. He could feel the nervousness building up in his chest and he began fidgeting. Draco reached over and plucked his twitching fingers out of his lap and twined them with his own. Harry settled back against the seat, the anxiety draining out of him like water.

Neither he, with closed eyes, or Draco, staring out the window, noticed the looks exchanged between the three remaining carriage occupants. He’d just managed to find a comfortable position and was attempting to fall into a light doze, resting against Draco’s shoulder, when they arrived. The Gryffindors and Draco formed a wedge, protecting Harry from prying eyes as they made their way from the carriage to the clothing store.

Harry moved immediately to the men’s section, planning on picking up a few robes in one or two sizes bigger than he was at the moment. Right. That lasted all of about two minutes. Draco snagged his arm and herded him to a chair in the center of the room. Harry glared, first at Draco and then at the chair—which was armless. “What?” he demanded.

Draco eyed him with a glimmer of his former snobbish upbringing. “You do not just walk into a clothing store and pluck something up off of the rack, Harry,” he stated slowly, as though Harry were a particularly dense child. “You must choose your styles, then your colors, then try them on. After that come the precise tailoring and the accessorizing.”

Harry just sat, jaw agape, as Draco commandeered the clothing store staff. They paraded robe after robe after robe in front of him. As far as he was concerned, they all looked exactly the same and any one of them would have been fine, but apparently that wasn’t so. Draco would glance cursorily at them, make a snap decision if it should go in pile 1 (yes, yes…we must have this), pile 2 (well, I suppose we can work with this), pile 3 (absolutely no way this can be salvaged), or pile 4, (woman, are you blind?)

The part that disturbed Harry the most was the joyful glee that Draco took in subverting Mione and Ginny to his cause. The three of them were rather frightening in their solidarity. Neville was sent to sit with Harry after he made the mistake of stating he liked three of the robes that had been sent to pile 4. Harry smiled weakly at him and shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, six styles of robes had been chosen. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He shouldn’t have. Draco ordered a swatch book brought out to him. He took over the counter and began pointing out various colors and textures that would look ‘brilliant’ on Harry and ‘work wonders’ with the styles chosen. Harry considered apologizing to the staff for his friends’ irritating behavior until he realized that the ‘annoyed looks’ the staff was sporting cleverly hid roiling excitement.

He finally grasped that they enjoyed the production Draco was making. He supposed that it was probably nice to get someone in that actually knew what they were talking about and knew what they wanted. Come to think about it, the saleswoman had actually flinched when Harry walked right up to the rack earlier. He sighed. Fine. Whatever made them happy. Then he smiled. But it made Draco happy too. And that was reason enough to sit quietly and let the Malfoy shine in his accustomed arena.

Finally came the part where Harry was needed. He found that his active participation was not actually necessary. Actually, he found that if he stood stock still until he was physically placed in the proper positioning, that everyone was much happier. No one seemed to like his slouching, or his habit of cocking a hip out, or his attempts to see for himself what he looked like. And so he sighed again, and did what he was told.

After flinging robe after robe, style after style on him, they finally narrowed their choices down to three styles and six swatches. Then Harry was ordered to stand still one more time as the seamstress took exacting measurements and calculated for the expanding growth of his belly. By the time all was agreed upon, two hours had passed and Harry had never wanted so badly to get out of a store before in his life.

Draco sent them to look at scarves while he paid up the bill. Harry had protested originally, but Draco just gave him a desperately hurt look and so Harry had caved with a sigh. He realized that most of his responses to Draco lately had come with a sigh involved. Thus, he stared uninterestedly at scarves, not noticing the extra sum of money handed over or the carefully worded warning to the shop’s owner to keep quiet about Harry Potter’s visit this day.

The group had hoped that they’d made the transition from carriage to shop quickly enough, but after emerging from the store, they found a crowd outside. Cameras flashed and reporters edged forward, voices raised to a deafening roar from the frequent applications of sonorous. Harry froze like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t move, either to run to the carriage or back into the shop. All he could do was curl his arms protectively around his stomach and try not to cry. The demands of the reporters felt like gunshots against his closed eyelids.

“Harry! We heard you were raped? Who was it?”

“Harry? When are you due?”

“Mr. Potter, can you lift your robes up for our camera?”

“Harry, are you in a relationship with the father?”

“Did you take a contraceptive potion or is this a spell?”

“Harry, are you having any pregnancy problems?”

“Will the birth be open to the public?”

“Harry—“

“Back the hell off, you vultures!” Neville bellowed, surprising not only the reporters but also his friends with his sudden anger. He waded into the group of newspeople; flinging his arms about to scatter them as though they were the birds he’d labeled them. The girls took the opportunity to forcibly manhandle Harry into the carriage. Between the two of them, they managed to shove him inside before anyone was able to get close enough to touch him.

Neville, realizing that he was all that stood between The Boy Who Made Headlines and a pack of ravening reporters, bolted for the carriage a moment later. Draco however held his ground outside the carriage, calmly and quietly. He linked his fingers together and utilized the years of training he’d received at his father’s side. He stared the reporters into a dead silence.

Clearing his throat, he smiled politely. “Mr. Potter has no comment, ladies and gentlemen.” The noise level began to rise and Draco merely closed his mouth and pointedly watched the clamoring people until they realized they would get no quotes at all unless they proffered the appropriate quiet. “Mr. Potter’s pregnancy is going well,” he continued once he had control again. “His projected due date is classified for reasons pertaining to You-Know-Who, as is any information on the baby itself.”

Draco paused, allowing the quick quotes quills to catch up to him. He also turned slightly to allow cameramen on the outskirts of the crowd a better angle at photographing him. “ Mr. Potter and the child are in good health. As for the origins of the pregnancy, they are classified as well. Due to the delicate nature of this situation, there will be no further pictures taken of or questions directed to Mr. Potter today.”

He turned back to the front of the crowd. “Should you wish an interview with Mr. Potter after the birth of his child, you may contact Albus Dumbledore at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr. Potter will not be making another public appearance until after the birth. He may or may not grant interviews at that time. I can say with absolute certainty, however, that any paper caught badgering Mr. Potter, or attempting to sneak in for an interview or picture will be banned from any interview or any possible exclusive he may make. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Have a nice day.”

Draco gracefully moved passed the reporters, who didn’t realize that they were ‘allowed’ to speak again until Draco was already halfway in the carriage. Once inside, he locked the doors and pulled the curtains over the windows. He took a moment to cast a silencing spell around the interior of the carriage. As he pocketed his wand, a softly crying Harry practically climbed into his lap.

Draco wrapped his arms around him and gave him all the comfort and love he could pour into the embrace. His heart ached for his Harry and he dropped a tiny kiss on silky black locks before burying his face into Harry’s collar. The rest of the trip back to the school was conducted in silence.