Ice Shadows

Harry entered the examination room already anxious. He’d accompanied Draco to St Mungo’s because his boyfriend was too nauseous to handle Flooing or Apparition on his own.

The Mediwitch beamed at him. “Congratulations, Mr Potter—you’re going to be a father!”

“That’s possible? Draco, isn’t this great!”

Draco sat very still on the exam table and looked wan.

*

“I hope everything will go well,” Narcissa murmured as she slipped into bed.

Lucius grunted. “Malfoy men have been doing this for centuries. And it does solve the problem of the lad’s being gay.”

“Malfoy men haven’t historically had the Black hips,” Narcissa snapped. “You do remember why Draco is an only child, don’t you?”

Yes, my love, I do, Lucius thought as he gathered his wife to him. And if things go as badly with Draco as they did with you... I’d rather have my son and have him be the last Malfoy than Harry Potter’s baby. Somehow.

*
The Grishom Curse appears randomly in men descended from Adias Winkle—which, given the course of time and intermarriage, means virtually every pureblood male is at risk. The Curse itself causes men to become pregnant with the same frequency as would happen in a healthy woman when they engage in intercourse with another man.

Abortion, being taboo in pureblood circles, rarely comes up even for women, but in men abortion will trigger a magical backlash which causes internal organs to rot within hours. Thus in this case abortion is heavily contra-indicated.

During the course of a Grishom pregnancy, the man will experience all the usual effects of pregnancy as well as: pain as internal organs are pushed aside and the pelvis assumes a shape more appropriate for supporting the developing fetus; loss of magic from Month Three as all magic is directed inwards for supporting the fetus; and general exhaustion from Month Six until delivery, typically requiring constant bed rest.

The loss of magic is particularly troublesome as most pain potions react to an individual’s ethereal body. With the father’s magic all focused inward, potions will have no effect on him and may kill the fetus, which the curse will interpret as an abortion and which will cause the death of the father within hours.

Delivery will be via c-section. Unfortunately, given the matter regarding potions, the father will not be able to receive pain medication during this procedure. There is a decided reluctance to experiment with potions even in the case of delivery. Happily, however, most men will not remember the experience---and those who do can be treated with Obliviation.

*
Draco looked at himself as he wobbled out of the shower.

He’d seen how happy Harry and his parents had been, researched the curse, and tried to put on a happy face. He was a Malfoy, he could do this.

He had no choice.

Then he’d had three fucking months of nausea.

That had only been the merest whisper of what was to come.

I look like a diseased oak, he realized. Tall, thin, with an ungainly, mottled bulge throwing off his balance, sucking up his magic, and reducing him...

He closed his eyes. “Tipsy!”

“Master Draco?”

“I want the mirrors removed from this room.”

“All of the mirr—”

“Now!”

*
Harry bent low and rubbed his cheek against Draco’s belly. “Hullo there, little guy. Shite, you’re a strong kicker! This is so cool, Draco—I wish I could feel him kicking inside me.”

You would, Draco's worse self sneered.

Because you’re braver than me, the Draco who really did love Harry Potter whispered.

Because you’re stupid, answered the other.

Harry pushed aside Draco’s shirt and kissed the misshapen lump. “It’s like a miracle,” he whispered as he beamed up into Draco’s eyes.

There’s a reason it’s called a curse.

*

Draco didn’t like having his picture taken—even as a baby he’d always glared at the camera as if he wanted to break it. Harry, however, had found a new love of wizarding photography. Now, with Draco’s hair gleaming, his skin glowing, and their baby growing in his belly, Harry couldn’t resist.

He just had to be sneaky because Draco was turning more inward every day. Ron assured Harry that this was normal—and, if anybody should know, it would be Ron.

It was odd, though, that Draco never rubbed his belly absently, the way Hermione did. In fact, Harry realized as he flipped through his pictures, Draco went out of his way not to touch his stomach, which added a certain stiffness to his usually graceful stance.

This did not stop his breath from catching when he looked at his favorite picture. Draco sat near a window, leaving everything shadowed but him. He looked to the right, head up, his grey robes for once drawn close enough to make his pregnancy obvious. He glowed with a saint's inner fire, the picture of beauty and grace.

*
Draco lounged on the couch and fought to keep his eyes open. He lay with the book between himself and... it. But the... it wouldn’t allow him to push away reality now—it kept attacking him. It was hardly new—he’d felt under attack since this whole hell had opened under his feet, but being physically assaulted from within and unable to do a damned thing about it made him want to find one of his father’s old Muggle guns and...

He hadn’t looked in a mirror in a month. The elves shaved him and he wore the most voluminous robes he could find. He had never felt more vulnerable in his life—no magic meant he couldn’t even shave himself or get as clean as he would like.

He wondered in odd moments what a strong scourgify would do to it.

He still knew he was deformed. He’d never had his body betray him so completely—it disgusted him.

But he dare not let on. His parents and Harry were so bloody happy that they didn’t notice he had no opinion on the nursery or the tutors or anything at all.

Harry came by to kiss it several times a day. His father had even patted the thing.

Draco felt as if he had been reduced to the holder of a squirming little devil. He knew it was irrational—his family still loved him—but he didn’t dare let anyone know how he felt about what was happening to him. He didn’t want to spoil their happiness. And, after all, what could be done? He had to endure and he had to do it with dignity.

As if thinking summoned him, Harry appeared. He dropped to his knees to place the requisite kiss on the thing.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispered.

“I’m deformed,” Draco said, then mentally cursed himself for letting his tongue escape his control—like everything else had.

Harry laughed.

Harry laughed at him.

And months before his child, hate was born.

“Come to bed and I’ll show you how beautiful I think you are,” Harry chuckled, running his fingers through Draco’s hair.

Draco turned away from him. “I want to finish this book.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll wait up.”

“Don’t.”

*
They tried to tempt him, before the months of inevitable confinement arrived. He refused to leave the Manor grounds—Merlin knew he didn’t want to world to see him as such a freak. Then... then there was something about being on the grounds, under the sun. It felt wrong. He was a deformed aberration—things like him shouldn’t be in the light.

And so Draco’s world became his suite—he’d encouraged Harry to go elsewhere by simple dint of flinching whenever the father of it touched him.

They no longer spoke, though Potter continued his obeisance to his child.

Draco kept the drapes drawn—if he opened them he’d just have to close them again, and that was far too much bother. He was still sick with all-day nausea and the pain was growing worse, so he didn’t bother hobbling down to take meals with the family.

His mother sat with him and he felt like the corpse at a silent wake.

*

As the curse-maker had intended, the birth was pure torture. Draco felt every cut and contraction, felt the thing jerked violently out of his body, and wondered how he was still alive with his steaming entrails exposed to the light of day.

He’d clamped his jaws shut against the screams and relied on Malfoy control to let him keep his dignity. They’d tied him down, though, to keep him from struggling.

“I want it out,” he wheezed.

“Your son is out,” the nurse chirped.

“The womb—I want it out—”

She giggled and patted his hand. “They all say that ‘round this time. Just you wait, the next one will be easier.”

He was quiet after that, until they sewed him up and released his hands and gave him his wand.

“Incendio uterus,” he said, pointing his wand at himself before anyone realized what he was doing.

That earned him one hysterectomy and three days observation by mind healers.

The next week was spent saying in the calm voice of someone holding off shrieking rage that he wanted his body returned to exactly the state it had been before, sans the uterus. And, no, he didn’t care how expensive or painful the treatments. He wanted all traces of the past nine months removed from his body and he wanted them gone yesterday.

*
“So,” Draco said over the first breakfast he’d enjoyed in what seemed like centuries.

Harry blushed. “I didn’t... I mean, she was there and you weren’t speaking to me and...”

“So, you’re a wizarding stud,” Draco said as neutrally as he could manage. Which was very, actually. He’d frozen over where Potter was concerned months ago.

“I’m so sorry—I love you. I’ve broken it off with her.” He gave Draco a peck on the cheek. “All forgiven, yeah?”

Draco wiped his mouth with the fine linen cloth before answering. “Even if I was inclined to risk nine more months of utter hell—which I am not—my forgiveness is not so easily given. Go to the Weasley girl and your child there. She wants you.”

Harry’s face flexed between emotions. He seemed to think Draco was joking for a moment, then was still, then sad, then angry, and finally, as usual, puzzled. “But... they took out your womb. You can’t get pregnant again—”

“It’s a curse, Potter. They’ve been known to grow back.”

“You can’t even get it up for a woman! You told me so! What are you going to do, be celibate the rest of your life?”

“Compared to the risk otherwise, it’s not a hard decision to make,” Draco replied equably.

Harry slammed the door on the way out and the elder Malfoys breathed a sigh of relief.

*

Two years later, Harry arrived on the doorstep, unannounced but bearing a book.

“I want to see my son,” he informed Narcissa and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The boy was playing with his nanny—or, rather, the girl Draco had married, who had been the nanny. Now she did the same duties but in better clothes.

“Hullo there, Scorpius. Your dad probably hasn’t told you much about me, but I’m Harry Potter.”

The little boy—the very image of Draco—blinked up at him with enormous eyes.

“This is your baby book. I’m also your daddy, see? This is your daddy Draco when he was carrying you...”

Within half an hour—while Narcissa blithely thought Astoria was supervising the visit and Astoria thought there was no harm Harry Potter could possibly do any child—Scorpius had seen proof of some very strange things.

“So, you see, Astoria isn’t your belly mummy, your daddy is, and I’m your daddy, too. I have another little boy your age and I think it’s time you got to know him.”

Harry smiled down at the pictures of Draco. He hadn’t looked happy, but Harry had never had cause to suspect how unhappy he had been. True, he’d never seen these pictures move, though they were taken on wizarding film. Even the ones where he was awake Draco never acknowledged the camera but sat, frozen, staring at nothing.

And he had been so achingly beautiful Harry wanted to do nothing more than embrace him and assure him they would get through it, and come out the better for it.

But we didn’t, did we. We didn’t survive it at all.

A door opened. “Potter, what—come here, Scorpius,” Draco commanded. The puzzled toddler raced away from the strange man and giggled as his father picked him up. “What do you want?” he demanded.

Harry lifted his chin. “I want him to know the truth. I saw that you married her—are you happy? Are you happy lying to our son? Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth?”

“Has this man been telling you stories, Scorp?”

“Yes, Daddy. He says I grew in your belly and that he’s my daddy, too. Girax can’t say he has two daddies,” he whispered proudly.

“No, Girax certainly can’t say that,” Draco replied.

“Mr Potter,” Lucius said from the opposite door. “A word, if you please?”

Harry looked ready to refuse but he knew the look in Draco’s eye indicated no good would come of it. “I’ll be right back, Scorpius.”

The boy hid his face against Draco’s collarbone.

*

Lucius closed the door behind him once Potter was safely corralled away from the two younger Malfoys.

“You have no legal right to the boy,” he said, feeling anything more would be a waste of courtesy. “You allowed us to name him: that is all it takes to indicate you have no interest in him.”

“I have plenty of interest!”

“You didn’t before you heard Draco planned to give his son a mother. If you enter our home again, I will report you to the Ministry for harassment. Scorpius is ours.”

“Draco hates him—”

“Draco hated his pregnancy, never his child. And I rather think you shouldn’t be casting any stones here yourself—you certainly abandoned the boy to Draco’s ‘hatred’ readily enough. Go back to your wife and your son and leave mine alone, or you will come to regret it.”

“Are you threatening me, Malfoy?”

“Yes,” Narcissa answered from behind him. “We are.”

*

Draco held Scorpius on his lap and let his son flip through the pages. He hadn’t realized Harry had taken so many pictures. Of course, most of them were of him asleep, so he could be pardoned for not knowing.

He stilled Scorpius' hand when they reached the largest picture, which held an obvious place of pride. Draco stared at himself, the perfect madonna, the vessel for Harry's child, who had been dreaming, as he sat near that sunbeam in his perfect grey silk robes, of slitting his own throat.

“Scorpius, you know I love you, right?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Draco kissed the top of his son’s head and raised his wand.

*

Harry looked at the drawn wands and closed faces. He didn’t think the Malfoys were mad enough to attack Harry Potter, tm. However, the people who’d defied the Dark Lord to protect their son would have no problem burying Harry, Draco’s old flame, somewhere well hidden.

He considered things.

Before he could come to a conclusion the set of Malfoys was completed as Draco approached.

“Mum, Dad, I don’t think the Malfoy name can take any more black marks at this point.” They lowered their wands but kept a close watch on Harry. Draco offered him Scorpius’ baby book. “Your book. I suggest you don’t trouble us again unless you want to meet our solicitors.”

The book was strangely light in Harry’s hands. He opened it... to a picture of Scorpius in the hospital, fresh and red.

The previous pages were gone.

“They were pictures of me,” Draco said silkily, “and thus they were mine to destroy. Forget it ever happened, Mr Potter. And don’t come here again.”

*
Harry stood alone, surrounded by his wife and children, and wished he’d realized before that this was how the world would end.