Harry Potter and the Womb of Requirement NOW CODED

9

Until he awoke in the middle of the night, leaning into Harry, insecurity plucking at his mind with long bony fingers. Hating himself for his weakness, but loving Harry all the more for sensing it, even in sleep, tightening his arms around Draco. Rubbing his back, murmuring softly to ease the fear threading his lover’s thoughts. Draco sent, {How can I stop feeling so afraid, so useless. I just feel as if I’m putting everyone around me in danger}.

Harry’s sleepy mind sent, {Lover, I’ve been in danger from that bastard since I was eleven. And I’m afraid, mortally afraid. But somehow, you live your life. If that prophecy was correct, it’s me against him. I’ve been expecting him to kill me for six years, but I’m still here, and now I have you, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Somehow, you put one foot in front of the other. What is it someone one once said, ‘The biggest fear is fear itself’. You just cannot allow yourself to freeze, like a rabbit in car headlights. You keep moving, growing, learning, then when it comes to it, you act and think on your feet, not because you know what you’re doing, but because your instincts are strong, and you follow your nose. Open your channel to me, I’d like to send you what happened with the Basilisk in second year}

Draco opened his mind as far as he could. Nothing. By now Harry was wide awake, his specs on. He sat up, pulling Draco with him. He switched on the bedside lamp, and turned Draco to face him, touching their foreheads together. Tried again. Still Draco could not feel the scene in his mind. He huffed in annoyance and looked Harry straight in the eyes, had an idea. He leaned in again, and gently removed Harry’s glasses, and looked into Harry’s eyes, and saw.

Harry went right back as far as the polyjuice potion. Draco registered shock, {That was you and Ron?}. Harry sent, {Yes, but we had to know if the heir was you, Dragon}. Harry continued to send the scenes. A grim cold fear transferred itself as Harry once again stood before the Basilisk. Draco saw Ginny Weasley pale and cold upon the ground, near death, and Harry facing down the monster. For pity’s sake, the boy was twelve. Draco barely held his gaze steady, tears near the surface.

Then Harry flashed more mental images. This time the scene at Riddle’s grave, where Harry gave his blood to resuscitate Voldemort, Cedric dead beside him. Felt the naked fear in Harry’s mind, his instinctive reactions.

The fight at the Ministry came next. The only person who Harry had really loved as family dying horribly in a half-world beyond the veiled arch. Draco could feel more than the fear. He suddenly tapped into Harry’s grief and loneliness at having his godfather ripped away from him. At this, Draco closed his eyes, holding Harry’s face, his own cheeks wet, {No more, please, babe. For now, anyway. It’s all too much. I’m such a coward. I’m sorry, love}. Harry could feel the confusion coursing through Draco. Who lifted his eyes back to Harry, wincing as a little of his own history sparked across the gap between them.

Harry reared back in appalled surprise, grunting in pain, {Send that again. I only caught a fragment, but it seemed really painful}. Draco gathered himself up and sent his experiences of the last summer holidays to his beloved. Being locked in the dungeons until he saw sense, being taunted and tortured by the man he called Father, whom he had adored and looked up to all his life, trying to force his son to become a Death-Eater and take the Dark Mark. Draco had been dragged before Voldemort, who regarded him rather as a spider does a fly, as a sweet morsel to be consumed, and Draco had resisted. In excruciating pain from Cruciatus curses, burned all along his spine, leaving perfect round scorch marks. Writhing, bound, and in agony, lying in his own piss and vomit. His father jeering as he hurt him more, cursing his weakness and disowning him to lie there for many days before his Mother slipped in to his cell, and tended to his wounds in an affronted silence.

Draco sent just one more memory. He was lying in bed. His wrists bandaged where his bonds had cut him. He was alone in the room, bruised, battered and hurt beyond measure. Slowly his left hand disappeared beneath the covers as he touched himself. Harry felt the pleasure as it built. A touch of warmth in Draco’s cold, hard world. As Draco climaxed, he cried out Harry’s name.

Draco blushed as they drew apart, {I had to send you that one!}. But Harry was horrified at what Draco had been through and was speechless. Draco’s breathing was ragged, {Do you know much Muggle history, Harry?}. Harry’s brow creased. He shook his head, {A bit, that I learned at Primary school. The Romans, Henry the Eighth. Why?}. Draco shuddered, {Did you ever hear of the Second World War between Germany and Britain, back in the thirties and forties?}. Harry shrugged, {Yeah, some. Dursley senior’s dad fought in it. What of it?}.

Draco composed himself as best he could, {Because Voldemort is the Magical world’s Hitler. You know he plans to kill off all the Muggle families and half-blood witches and wizards within them. Within our world, it’ll be a genocide on a par with Hitler and the Jews. I know I had an attitude about racial issues, and to my everlasting shame, I was a bastard to Hermione because of it. But, last summer, I saw the truth, Harry. His followers are no more than fawning sycophants. He wants to kill, then dominate, and he doesn’t care who dies in the process. He wanted me to kill you, Harry, or to open the way for whoever would cause your death. I hate him, lover, I truly hate him...}, Draco dissolved into sobs.

{And now you love me}, Harry’s calm voice cut across Draco’s rising panic, {And you don’t have a Dark Mark. You have faced the insanity and lived, albeit scarred. You are in the process of bestowing the greatest gift one human can give another, that of life itself. That we, that you have created. Your whole body has changed within. You have been hurt, betrayed, abandoned by your family. If that’s not enough to make a person fear, then I don’t know what is. Feel your fears, Dragon, then use them, to be stronger next time, and pray and hope for next time. It’s all you can do really}.

Draco was humbled, wiping at his wet face with the back of his hand, sniffing loudly. Harry was right. There were many glimmers of hope in his world, not least of which was Harry’s immense love of him, the support of friends, the school wrapping itself around them like a wool cloak on a cold day, the care lavished upon them by staff and House-Elf, and not least, the baby quickening within him.

Harry held him tight, as Draco telegraphed his relief and gratitude, feeling the fog of fear lift at last. He wrapped himself around Harry as he let himself sleep, finally. Harry soon following.

xxxxxxx

The days were cold, the nights colder. A freeze had descended on Hogwarts as the students returned for the Easter term. As they arrived back, Draco and Harry had visitors. Pleased to see their friends after three weeks absence.

Draco was calmer. If not totally embracing his fate, he was at least reconciled to it. They told their friends the news. Hermione piped up, “I knew. I checked your supplies as I came in. No towels had gone, but the test was missing”, she shrugged. Harry sent, {See!. Isn’t it a bugger to have such smart mates?}. Draco was in pieces, laughing.

Ron tried not to, but kept glancing at his watch and fidgeting. Draco slid up next to him, “So. Are you and Blaise...?”, he let the question hang. Ron blushed, but held Draco’s gaze and nodded. Draco gently biffed Ron’s shoulder, “He’s a good guy, Ron. One of the best. Look after each other”, he murmured.

In a fit of bravery, Ron queried, “Did you and he?”. Draco looked at the ground and nodded, “A long time ago, towards the end of Fourth year. I treated him like shit. He didn’t deserve it. We’ve made our peace since then, but I know I hurt him”. Draco looked Ron in the face, “Be good to him, be nice, he’s had a rough life”. Draco looked down again, feeling Harry question the shame washing over him, {Tell you later}, he sent.

Ron left first, Harry saw him out. He had a big daft grin on his face, fit to burst, as he fair ran to their meeting point near the library, Blaise already there. They faced each other, Ron slightly breathless, smiling, holding his arms open, as Blaise stepped into them, tipping his head, opening his mouth, and Ron crushed them together, murmuring, “Missed you”, as they kissed. Three weeks longing poured into it. Somehow they made it to their space before Ron pressed Blaise against the wall, kissing him into oblivion. As Ron nibbled down his neck, Blaise whispered, “Want you, missed you too” laying silencing charms, lighting the fire. Regarding each other, slightly awestruck, desire pouring off them like steam. Then embracing, kissing. A little shy for all the heat. A slowness settling over them, as Blaise led them both to their soft resting place. They sank down, lost to everything but each other.

Hermione left the boys’ apartment a little while later, feeling a bit gloomy. She had seen the light in Ron’s eyes as he left to meet Blaise. Had seen the joy in Draco’s eyes as he looked at Harry, saw it returned. And felt bloody lonely. She tried to concentrate on a bit of reading, and gave up, gazing into the common room fire. When would it be her turn. Rubbing her eyes she made her way to bed. She lay in the dark, thinking. Of her friends and their relationships. Her mind alighting on Draco Malfoy, feeling that ghost of a tongue on her lips as she had many times before, fantasizing about her best friend’s lover as a hand crept beneath the covers, a whispered, “Sorry, Harry”, as she dreamt, she imagined. Her hands in that white-blonde hair, his mouth travelling over her body, his tongue entering her. She came, smothering her gasps in her pillow.

The blues hadn’t lifted as she trudged down to breakfast the next morning. No Ron. She sat alone, picking at her food, feeling sorry for herself. She abandoned the buzz of the Hall for the peace of the library, sinking into a dark corner for a good wallow. She had no classes until after morning break, so had an hour and a half for a nice long sulk.

She laid her cheek on the desk, closing her eyes. She had to admit it, she had a major crush on Draco. She could feel the two halves of her mind at war with each other, ‘Stop this, he’s Harry’s’, ‘Yes, but take a look at him, would you, he’s gorgeous, and pregnant too’. This was getting her nowhere. She sighed and sat up. Then she spotted it.

Something shiny between looming piles of books. Keeping her eye on the spot, she rose and moved around the table. With some difficulty, she shifted the books away. The bottom two shelves of this stack had had doors fitted over them. Which were locked by a bright shiny padlock. Her interest piqued, she drew out her wand and tapped the lock. Several unlocking spells later and the lock remained resolutely fastened. Hermione sat back on her heels, thinking. With purpose, she stood and rooted around the bottom of her schoolbag, extracting a bent hairpin. This was clearly a Muggle lock, and required Muggle craft and ingenuity to open it (well, when one lacked the key!).

She straightened the hairpin, inserting one end into the keyhole, carefully feeling for the cogs and spaces, twisted the whole lock, nothing. She tried again, wiggling the pin as it slid further in, hearing, with a grin of satisfaction, the lock click open. She unhooked it, undoing the hasp, and pulled the doors open towards her. No ancient parchments here, no leathery dusty tomes. She was faced with several rows of neat brightly coloured spines. Muggle books.

Leaning forward on her hands, she inclined her head to the right, and began to read the titles. They seemed to be arranged in no particular order, and covered a wide variety of subjects. History, Mythology, Religion as well as practical matters such as cookery, knitting and making furniture. Wedged into the very end of the top row was a paperback, it’s spine creased so badly that she couldn’t read it. She drew it out. A guide to pregnancy and birth. Hermione glanced around, she was alone, and slipped the book into her bag. She quickly re-locked the cupboard, lugging the heavy books back into place, and fled to her dormitory with her prize.

After Arithmancy, she sped to Harry and Draco’s rooms, arriving pink of cheek and out of breath. Draco let her in, “Whoa. What’s the rush?”. She passed him the book.

“Will this tell me why I’m throwing up in the mornings?”. Hermione nodded, “And why my nipples are so sore?”, Hermione felt a grin in the pit of her stomach, felt it rise and spread, twitching at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, and why I keep bursting into tears, or fainting?”. Hermione laughed aloud then, “Just read the thing, Draco. I’m sure you’ll find it very useful in it’s way. Now I need to go and get lunch”.

“Nah, stay here, we can order for three. I’m sure Dobby won’t object”. She stayed, chatting mainly with Harry, Draco completely absorbed in the book. She glanced at Draco from time to time, then spotted his food. “What are you eating, Draco?”, fighting down a feeling of mild disgust. Draco looked up. “This? Erm, mashed sardines and plantains on toast with a side order of dill pickles with grated cheese and crispy bacon bits”. Hermione lost the struggle, “Eeeww. All at once?”. Harry rolled his eyes, “Don’t even mention the deep fried banana pizza and hot chocolate at two o’clock this morning”. They all giggled. Draco pointed at the book with his fork, “Says in here, all about food cravings, completely normal”.

Hermione returned to afternoon school shaking her head and chuckling, considerably more cheerful than she’d been that morning.

Harry started work on his Potions project, as Draco took a nap. This wasn’t, strictly speaking a school-set project. This was for Draco. There were two potions brewing, and each took four weeks to make. He set about mashing and measuring his first few ingredients, set them to heat gently, and turned to his Transfiguration essay. He was stumped, he needed a book. He went to his desk and noticed the book Hermione had given Draco, lying open on the sofa. Giving up on Transfiguration for now, he settled down to read.

He could feel Draco wake in his mind, and sent, {Good afternoon, lover, sleep well?}. In reply, Draco sent him thoughts of such unbridled eroticism, that Harry gasped and doubled up. {Oh, no you don’t. You’ve got work to do, lazybones. Up you get}. {But, Har-r-r-r-y, we haven’t had one of our sleepy ones for a-a-ages, I’m always rushing off to be sick}, Harry could feel the wheedling tone in Draco’s send, {But, Dragon, we’ve got piles of work to do, and we’re both behind, as it is}. Harry felt another flash go through him, and bit his lip, {Lover, you know I can’t concentrate, when I’m this aroused. I’ll just have to touch myself then}, a hint of amused petulance. Harry stood his ground, but could feel his resolve crumble, particularly as another jolt shot through him, making him moan, biting the sofa back to suppress the sound. {Goddammit, Dragon, you are impossible}. Harry dived off the sofa, and locked the apartment door, shedding clothes as he joined his lover.