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hp_bunintheoven2021-04-05 08:58 pm
hp_bito_mod) wrote in hp_bunintheoven2021-04-05 08:58 pm
Entry tags:
Fest Entry: Then You Came Through My Door (Harry/Draco, G)
Title: Then You Came Through My Door
Author: faerie_lullaby
Pairings: Harry/Draco
Prompt: Draco is a successful fertility specialist, creating potions to help even the most difficult of cases. When Harry Potter comes to him looking to become pregnant without a partner, Draco has to decide which is more important: his career or his personal life.
Summary: His next client is the one that changes everything.
Word Count: 5,266
Rating: G
Warnings/Contains: Mpreg
Notes: I did not see that there was a word count limit until I went looking for the headers...honestly, this was going to be longer. Sorry, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of JK Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
If you had asked Draco at the end of the war what plans he’d had for his career, fertility specialist had not been on his list. Honestly, he’d just wanted to keep his head down, especially after the trials in which his family had played a large role.
They’d gotten off pretty light in Draco’s opinion; the Manor had been seized as reparations but was unlivable, so Draco and his mother had been relegated to a townhouse in London proper that belonged to his mother’s side of the family. The first year after the war had been given over to the testimonies and trials, confessions forced from unwilling lips with Veritaserum, or in Draco’s case, haltingly spoken through nearly a whisper, reliving everything behind closed eyes. They were constantly escorted by Aurors to and from the Ministry, and a guard remained at their door night and day.
Considering, too, that he hadn’t graduated from Hogwarts had put a bit of a damper in his career plans. His mother thankfully had thought ahead and arranged for someone to continue on his studies and by the end of the first year after the war had ended he had caught up on everything he’d missed during his sixth and seventh years.
He’d become used to the quiet there, to being alone, wandering the halls silently lost in thought, or on the nice days, in the modest garden that took up the entirety of the backyard. On one such wander, he discovered a locked door off a hallway he hadn’t yet traversed and curiosity peaked, opened it with a whispered Alohomora.
It was dark and a little dingy, and smelled faintly of herbs and medicine but it was clear to Draco what it was: a potions lab. When he asked, his mother said one of her great uncles had been a master potioneer, and quite renowned in France and kept a room here in London for when business brought him out that way.
The shelves were filled with an seemingly endless amount of books, and Draco found his mind interested once more with his former love for potion making and too, with the remaining connection to his godfather.
They’d spent one more year on house arrest and for Draco it seemed to go quickly as he threw himself into potions research. He churned out theory after theory, designed and experimented with making his own potions. He found a Potions Master in France willing to work with him and spent hours in front of the Floo talking out his research.
Despite all this, it hadn’t escaped his notice that his mother seemed to be lonely. She had always had his father for company and extensive gardens when he was gone, and now she only had Draco. She was still as graceful as ever, and put together, but there was more silvery strands in her blonde hair, the ice in her eyes melted, her soul more fragile.
He asked her one winter night as they sat by the fire, why her and Father hadn't had more children. Her eyes closed for a brief moment and when they opened, the firelight caught the few tears she’d allowed to escape.
With a waver in her voice, she explained haltingly that they had tried. After a few years, it got too difficult and she couldn’t bear to keep trying. She had heard that the Muggles had other ways to conceive children but never brought it up as she knew Lucius would never accept such a thing. His need for a Pureblood child far outweighed the desire Narcissa had for more children and she had quietly accepted that she would never hold another baby in her arms.
The story spurs Draco to research these Muggle methods of conception and he spends another six months on documenting the process (so many needles, why?), the successes and failures, the costs, the hows and whys, the pros and cons of the procedures.
He wonders, as he lays in bed every night, wonders if he can tailor the process to magical means, if he can create potions that can mimic the Muggle methods, if he can help someone who’d given up on the idea of children.
He wonders, and whispers to himself in the dark of the night, and he thinks.
***
It takes time. It takes a while to actually happen, far longer than Draco had thought it would take. Part of it, obviously, is because he’s a Malfoy and people don’t easily forget, but that slowly becomes a smaller part. It’s mostly because what he’s trying to do has never been done, the potions he’s creating never created, let alone thought of. There are a million and one hoops to jump through, forms and paperwork to fill out, people to sit and talk to and convince, papers and research to write and publish.
He’s had several meetings already the head MediWitch of the Neonatal ward at St Mungo’s. Cecilia Worthington has a reputation among the wizarding medical community, and too, as a half blood, in the Muggle medical community. She has numerous awards lining the walls of her offices and people lining up to make appointments to see her.
Draco was lucky that she had been interested in his research, enough that she had reached out to him after he’d submitted his first paper. They’d been meeting once a week for the last year, and released a paper they’d co-authored on the subject which had been received better than Draco thought it would.
It had given him the final push to be able to see patients at the hospital, Flooing in and out when Cecilia had deemed a patient ready to talk about other options for conception.
All of that had culminated in the opening of his own clinic, situated in the fetal medicine ward. His patients came to see him with referrals from Cecilia and after a required meeting with a Mind Healer in the also newly established mental health ward.
At the end of his first year in the clinic, he’s seen near perfect results, healthy babies, save for a small number. Unfortunately sometimes, even with magic, the human body just doesn’t accept pregnancy. Those cases had nearly driven him mad, staying up all hours of the night determined to find a solution.
In the end, the patients-to-be thanked him for his help and had turned instead to the wizarding orphanage that had opened after the first war. They had reasoned that there would be a child who needed them and they had a lot of love to give. In fact, all the couples with fertility problems Draco hadn’t been able to find a solution for had adopted children from the orphanage.
So Draco can confidently say that his clinic has been a success but knowing that doesn’t prepare him for the next client who comes walking through his door.
**
It’s a completely normal day; Draco spends his morning finishing up some notes from his last client, slowly sipping at a cup of tea. It had gone very well, he always made sure he was at the hospital for the births and this couple was expecting twins.
(Twins! He almost couldn’t believe it when he’d first heard the news!)
It was the first time one of his treatments had resulted in twins and Draco was over the moon. Kyrissa, the birth mother, had invited him in after they were all settled and the Mediwitch had proclaimed all three were perfectly healthy. Draco had taken his leave shortly after, when the babies began to kick up a fuss, as it had been quite late by the time the twins had arrived.
Now, he closes up the McFarrow file and tucks it away before pulling the paperwork for his next client towards him, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
He’s incredibly curious about this one, the reports from Cecilia and the Mind Healer were practically glowing. There’s not much to see yet, just basic health information; male, 23, and single, needing to gain some weight but that’s easily remedied.
It’s not the first time he’s helped a man get pregnant; he’s had several gay couples come in, indeed, it would be hypocritical of him to refuse since he’s as queer as his father’s precious peacocks.
The process is just a little more involved as not all men have a womb. So there are a few more potions in the beginning and very regular appointments to keep an eye on things, but the end result is the same.
He gets a little distracted as he waits, flipping through a drawer of informative pamphlets in case the client wants some reading material, a physical copy of everything they’ll discuss.
In the end, he doesn’t even hear the door open,only looks up, startled, when there’s a soft throat clearing above him. The greeting dies on his lips as he finds himself meeting a very familiar pair of bottle green eyes.
Harry Potter.
Harry Potter is in his clinic. Presumably wanting a baby. Presumably looking for Draco to help him. Help him have a baby.
Well. It certainly explains why there had been no name on the file. Draco finds himself gaping for a moment before he shakes out of it and stands up, clearing his throat.
“Mr Potter, good morning,” he says softly with a careful, small smile. He doesn’t attempt to shake hands, wary of being rebuffed, but is happily surprised when Potter - no, Harry - does instead.
“Draco, morning. Imagine my surprise when Cecilia told me I’d be seeing you for this,” Harry replies, but instead of angry, his tone is pleasant and not at all forced. Draco gestures to the arm chair in front of his desk as he takes his own seat. He fusses with some papers, straightening them needlessly for something to do with his hands, before steeling himself and looking up at Harry.
“Cecilia has the final say on who comes to me. It’s why we have patients see a Mind Healer first, the process can be scary and uncertain, and depending on the patient, long.”
“ I will admit I don’t know much about the process,” Harry says, and the way he drags a hand through the ink dark strands of his hair is a familiar gesture to Draco. “I do have vague recollections of my Aunt Petunia reading those gossip magazines, and the derision in her voice when celebrities resorted to “outlandish measures” to have a baby made me wary of the whole thing. Also, in the Muggle world, as I’m sure you know, men can’t get pregnant.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the, shortcomings shall we say, of Muggle medicine. Though I seem to recall a movie, of an American man who had become pregnant. Cecilia showed it to me when I was just starting out, I must have watched it a dozen times, studying their methods intently. Imagine my surprise when I found out she had me believing it to be a true story when in fact it wasn’t real.” He laughs at himself upon remembering the look on Cecilia’s face when he figured out her trick, and according to her, his face hadn’t been much better.
“I’m afraid television and movies were unavailable to me, growing up with the Dursleys.” He sounds nonchalant about it but something in his voice tells Draco that he still mourned a bit for what his childhood could have been, and he feels a brief surge of anger at his father and Voldemort for taking that away.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “perhaps I could lend you my copy. Cecilia gave it to me as a Christmas present last year.”
Harry gives him a nod and small smile; the light mood in the room has lessened and Draco could kick himself for mentioning the whole thing.
“Anyway, let’s move on shall we? How about while I put together all the paperwork, you tell me your story, why you’re here besides the obvious, and what lead you to the decision that brought you here?” Draco rises once more from his desk and heads for the wall of cabinets that line one whole wall of his office.
“All that’s not in my file?” harry asks, and Draco turns back around to give him what he hopes is a comforting smile.
“No, Harry. Our patient files are protected until the client has spoken aloud about their wishes. If I opened your file right now, all I would see is your name and details about your person, like your height and such. It’s protection for the patient; if the first meeting doesn’t go well, the file remains locked and we cannot access your information. For example, before you walked into my office, all I could read was your age, gender, and weight. If you decide after this meeting not to go forward, your file will erase itself.” He watches as Harry’s face loses a bit more tension, his shoulders relaxing as he settles more into the chair.
“Well, uh. I guess you know Ginny and I ended things shortly after the war,” Draco hums to show he’s paying attention. “The Daily Prophet had a field day with the news, we could hardly leave Grimmauld without cameras going off in our faces wherever we went, hundreds of owls every day. Of course that got worse when the news came out that I had turned down Kingsley’s job offer but it meant that the focus was off Ginny and the rest of the family. I actually started speaking with someone here at St Mungo’s, worked through a lot of stuff. I still go once a month, which is how I met Cecilia.”
“I’ve always liked kids but I never thought I’d get to have any of my own, y’know? The idea of trying to date someone, get married and have kids, it hasn’t been what I wanted. So imagine my surprise when Cecilia told me I could, without a significant other or a surrogate to carry for me.”
“And that brings you here, today.”
“I don’t know how much you know about how I grew up, especially before I found out about Hogwarts, learned how my parents actually died. “It, it wasn’t a home Draco, the Dursleys weren’t family. I was scared for a while that I would end up being the same way.”
“The fact that you’re worried about it is a good sign you won’t be.”
“Yeah, that’s my therapist and Cecilia said. If three of you have said it now, it must be true.”
“You wouldn’t still be here if we thought you unfit for children, Harry. We have very strict protocols in place for the parents and children-to-be, to make sure everyone is as safe as possible.”
Harry is quiet for a few minutes, so Draco turns his attention back to the paperwork, closing the cupboard door as he returns to his desk. Harry still seems to be gathering his thoughts, so Draco taps his wand against the forms, which fill in his signature and, because he has a feeling and he’s not been wrong yet, prepares them for Harry’s signature.
Sure enough, Harry sighs gustily and straightens up, setting his shoulders. His eyes are bright and there’s a small smile on his face and Draco lets himself smile back, meeting those brilliant green eyes as he slides the paperwork across the desk.
**
The first two weeks of Harry’s treatments go smoothly for the most part. There’s a little trepidation when Draco explains about the potions for creating a womb:
“I had to grow an entire arm’s worth of bones in one night and it was hell and now I have to grow something else?!”
“Well, what did you think was going to happen? You don’t have one naturally, it has to come from somewhere!”
But despite Harry’s whining (“I wasn’t whining, shut up!”) the first part goes easily and without complications. His scans show the false womb has settled naturally in place and the next step can begin.
Getting Harry’s weight up proves to be a challenge; years without proper nutrition before he was eleven had stunted his growth a bit and six years of hearty meals at Hogwarts could only do so much. Still, he gains enough with Draco’s nutrient rich potions, along with healthy meals, lots of water, and exercise for Draco to be able to move on.
The next step requires Harry to stay overnight in the clinic as Draco mixes up the potion that will hopefully result in a baby.
Harry watches him with a fascinated expression on his face as Draco combines the ingredients he received from Harry the day before; a little blood, a little sperm, a false female egg to stimulate the natural process mixed together, along with some herbs to aid in conception. The chaste berry mutes the slight acidity of the stinging nettle, while the red raspberry leaf provides a little color and sweetness. That fascination disappears when Draco pours the mix into a glass and hands it over, but he drinks it down without hesitation.
Once he’s finished, Draco draws the curtains around Harry’s bed shut and takes himself over to the other waiting bed, where he’ll keep an eye on the process. From here, all they can do is wait.
It’s nearly two weeks before anything happens. Draco’s been sitting at his desk catching up some reports for the last hour when there’s a hurried knocking at his office door. He starts to stand but before he can even come around the desk, the door is opening and harry lurches in, face pale and sweaty.
“Something’s wrong, Draco, something isn’t right,” his voice in panicked and Draco walks over, trying to appear calm. “I can’t stop throwing up, what’s happening?”
“Shh, it’s okay, come lay down,” He takes Harry’s arm and leads him over to the lounge, waving over a chair so he can sit next to him, then conjures up a bucket to put on the floor. Harry’s frantic breathing settles a bit as he lays down and Draco finds himself running a hand over his hair soothingly, much like Narcissa had done for him when he young.
When Harry’s eyes close, Draco pulls his wand back out and waves it in a circular pattern over Harry’s stomach, a smile starting as he interprets the sparks and lights.
“Harry,” he says softly, and waits for the man to look at him, “Congratulations, Harry, you’re going to be a father.” He watches as Harry takes a breath and then promptly bursts into tears, causing Draco to choke back a chuckle. He’d be more alarmed, but each and every time he gets the same reaction when he tells his patients they’re expecting. He lets Harry cry until he’s tired himself out and fallen asleep, one hand clutching Draco’s and only then does Draco realize why his heart is thumping so strangely.
**
Okay. He can handle this, he thinks to himself later when Harry’s gone back to Grimmauld Place. Sure, it’s the first time he’s ever had feelings for a patient, but it’s not the end of the world, right? It’s not like he’s going to act on it, or gods forbid, say anything to Harry about it. It’s a fragile situation, one Draco doesn’t want to unbalance and especially since there’s the whole matter of him being Draco Malfoy and all.
He’s a professional, he reminds himself, nodding at the far wall of his office. He is a professional, and Harry is his patient, it would break all sorts of rules and regulations.
It’ll be fine, he’s sure of it.
It’s not fine.
Oh sure, he hasn’t said anything, hasn’t done anything weird.
Maybe he’s allowed himself to fall back into the quiet aloofness from the early days of his clinic and maybe he can tell that Harry has noticed and it’s affected his own mood, becoming snappy and aggravated when he comes in every week for his appointments.
But look, he’s trying not to let his feelings bleed into his work. This is his career, this is what he does. He has to stay somewhat unattached.
Only as the weeks progress, Harry begins to show more and more, to the point where he now has to Floo in to avoid the press as pictures have surfaced of his belly, of him in shops picking out baby clothes, of him pushing a pram out of a Muggle store, entrenched in baggy clothing to hide his belly.
There are pictures of him entering St Mungo’s and of course people know his office and clinic are here, so the stories come out, of his clinic and what he does, and of course the darkest parts of his past get rehashed.
It makes Harry moody and apologetic, despite Draco reaffirming that it’s not his fault, it would have gotten out somehow anyway, when the reporters had nothing else to talk about.
His belly grows rounder and so do his cheeks a bit, and Draco finds his hands lingering a little longer each time he examines Harry’s belly, listening to the baby’s heartbeat for long minutes just for the pleasure of it.
And Harry doesn’t seem to be annoyed by the attention, indeed, he seems to thrive under Draco’s eye.
It’s getting out of hand, he thinks. He doesn’t even know if Harry likes other blokes and he’s certainly not going to ask. He doesn’t even know if it’s the pregnant bit, he’s never had feelings like this for his other patients. Then again, they’ve never been Harry and Draco is old enough to realize that maybe the feelings aren’t completely out of left field, that maybe there could have been something earlier; if they hadn’t had their roles to play, their opposing sides of the war, maybe something could have sparked.
In the end, it’s not Draco that makes the first move.
It’s November, and Harry’s due date is quickly approaching, about a month left to go. The press have been massing outside the hospital, waiting to see what happens, waiting to catch a few more glimpses to no luck as Harry continues to use Draco’s office floo.
It’s a blustery November evening when Harry floos over for a quick check up. He’s never been the most graceful person to use the Floo, and even less now that he has more weight to deal with. Draco makes sure he’s always waiting to catch him just in case, and tonight that looks to be the case as Harry comes whirling out of the fireplace, one hand on his belly and one hand out to catch himself, and Draco catches him one hand round the upper arm, the other at his side.
Draco stifles a groan in his throat as his hands find purchase on the incredibly soft sweater Harry is wearing, stretched appealingly over his belly and backs up as Harry regains his footing and laughs at himself. He makes it across the floor to the lounge and lays down with a grunt, which makes Draco chuckle.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, as he pushes Harry’s sweater above his belly to examine him.
“My back hurts some, but I’ve been using that rub you made and that helps. Ron and Ginny laugh when I walk, they say I waddle and that my ankles are fat.” He winces when Draco presses down on his lower belly and he makes a note of it, moving his hands to Harry’s sides.
“The baby is in a good place,” Draco says, “I can feel the feet here, good kicks. Shouldn’t be much longer, we have you booked to deliver December 28th but of course things could happen sooner.”
“And you’ll be there, right?” Harry asks, brow furrowing.
“Of course, Harry. I told you I always am, and anyway, there are some potions to administer to help you afterwards with healing, and to dissolve the artificial womb. Try not to worry, things will be fine.”
“I know. I trust you, Draco.” Thank the gods Harry had his eyes closed and couldn’t see what he was sure was a gobsmacked expression on his face.
“Well, I would hope you’d trust your doctor, Harry,” he said after a moment, unsure what else to say.
“It’s not,” Harry said as he struggled to push himself up to a sitting position. Draco moved to help him, setting his hands on Harry’s arms. “It’s not because you’re my doctor, Draco. It’s you, I trust you.” And before Draco could come up with a suitable response, Harry leaned forward, his eyes bright, and kissed him.
It was brilliant, despite Harry being encumbered, a little clumsy and for a moment Draco let himself fall into it and respond, before he pulled away with a gasp, suddenly cold even with the fire.
“We can’t. Harry, we can’t. I’m your doctor, you’re pregnant, I, there’s a million reasons why we can’t do this.”
Just like that, the spark in Harry’s eyes changed to fire, blazing hot like pools of molten emeralds, as he shoved himself to his feet, pulling his sweater over his belly.
“Of course, Draco Malfoy can’t deign to mingle with the commoners, is that it? Or is it because I’m knocked up, which you know, you helped me with?”
“No, Harry, that’s not-”
“Save it, Draco. I don’t want to hear it.” With that, Harry tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, called out “Grimmauld Place!” in a broken voice and stepped into the green flames, his back turned to Draco the entire time. As Harry whirled away, all Draco could do was gaze into the fire, wondering how things had ended up like this.
**
Two weeks had gone by, and Draco had barely left his office. He could hardly concentrate on work, his paperwork had exploded over his desk one day and he hadn’t had to energy to clean it up. He spent the nights on the lounge in his office, thinking about the kiss and the look in Harry’s eyes as he Flooed away.
He’d sent owl after owl the first couple days, but gave up when all were sent back unopened. He’d heard from Cecilia that Harry had gone to see her, so at least he wasn’t avoiding the hospital entirely.
Just Draco. But he deserved it, really.
On the other hand, would it have been so bad if he’d said yes to Harry? If he’d allowed to kiss to continue, maybe more?
Or would it have ruined his career, if word had gotten out?
If Cecilia had found out, he could lose his clinic and her respect.
His career was important to him, but Harry was also beginning to be important to him, and Draco was already getting attached to the baby he carried.
Would he have to give up one to have the other?
Could he have both?
Draco falls asleep thinking about it, and dreams about a house, and the echo of a baby’s cries.
He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to a loud banging and startles upright, grasping his wand as he stumbles to his feet and wrenches open his office door.
“Cecilia? What are you doing here? What time is it, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Harry, Draco. He’s in labour and he’s asking for you.” Her voice is tense but firm, so it must not be going badly, but still, he promised Harry he’d be there for him.
He locks his office door behind them as they Apparate to the labour and delivery ward, and Draco is thankful as always for silencing charms. Cecilia leads the way down the hall to the very last room where the entirety of the Weasley family are waiting anxiously. Draco gives them a nod as he enters Harry’s room and fights a smile as he listens to Harry cursing up a storm from where he lays on the bed.
The knot in his belly tightens when Harry turns his head and catches his eye, and it dissolves just as quickly when Harry gives him a small smile and beckons him closer. Draco steps up to his bedside and takes Harry’s hand, bending over to brush a light kiss over his forehead.
“You’re doing well, Harry. We just need you to try and relax, alright? We just need to numb the area so we can get your baby out, okay?” Harry gives him a nod as his eyes close, squeezing his hand as he settles to allow the Mediwitch to begin.
It happens pretty quickly; from the first incision to hearing the first cries, to mending the incision and cleaning up the baby before the nurse hands over the baby to Draco. Draco finds himself breathless as he smiles down at the baby, its squalls quieting as he leans over to place the baby into Harry’s waiting arms.
“It’s a boy, Harry,” Draco whispers, his heart full to bursting as Harry smiles down tiredly at his baby.
“His name is James Orion Arthur Potter,” Harry whispers back and looks from his son to Draco.
“I’m sorry, Harry, about before.”
“It’s okay. Draco. I understood, after. But how about right now, you take James out to meet everyone? I apparently have more potions to take.” He hands James back to Draco as the nurse brings over a tray of potions. “They said they’d give me a sleeping potion. Will you be here when I wake up?”
“I promise, Harry,” Draco says, as Harry downs the first potion, grimacing at the taste.
Draco leaves the hospital room with James in his arms to be met with with a flurry of people, who all silently coo at the baby when Draco beckons for quiet. He passes James over to Molly who has tears in her eyes as she rocks him, and over her shoulder he spots Blaise standing with Ginny. He nods and smiles at the taller man who responds in kind, then takes James back from Arthur so he can bring him back to Harry.
The nurse has set up a bassinet and an extra bed next to Harry’s bed, so he sets a sleeping James inside the bassinet and checks on Harry, who’s curled up on his side, eyes half open.
“Hey you,” he whispers, running a hand through Harry’s hair. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Sore. Tired,” he mumbles. “Are you coming to bed now?” he asks, and Draco feels his cheeks flush at the suggestion.
“The nurse set up an extra bed, so I’ll be right over there if you need me.”
“Would you stay here, with me?” his voice is soft and tentative, and Draco feels his heart crumble and then feels it get put back together as Harry tugs his blanket back.
He toes off his shoes and climbs in next to Harry, tucking the blanket around them both as he rolls over to face him.
“You did so well, Harry,” he whispers into the crown of his hair. “James is so lucky to have you as his father.”
In response, Harry lifts his head and presses his lips to Draco’s, kissing him slowly until he pulls away to yawn.
“Sleep, Harry. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Harry tucks his face into the crook of Draco’s neck, exhaling softly.
Draco closes his eyes, feeling warm with Harry curled into him and thinks that it’s not perfect and he doesn’t have all the answers, but it doesn’t need to be perfect and the answers will come in time.
Author: faerie_lullaby
Pairings: Harry/Draco
Prompt: Draco is a successful fertility specialist, creating potions to help even the most difficult of cases. When Harry Potter comes to him looking to become pregnant without a partner, Draco has to decide which is more important: his career or his personal life.
Summary: His next client is the one that changes everything.
Word Count: 5,266
Rating: G
Warnings/Contains: Mpreg
Notes: I did not see that there was a word count limit until I went looking for the headers...honestly, this was going to be longer. Sorry, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of JK Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
If you had asked Draco at the end of the war what plans he’d had for his career, fertility specialist had not been on his list. Honestly, he’d just wanted to keep his head down, especially after the trials in which his family had played a large role.
They’d gotten off pretty light in Draco’s opinion; the Manor had been seized as reparations but was unlivable, so Draco and his mother had been relegated to a townhouse in London proper that belonged to his mother’s side of the family. The first year after the war had been given over to the testimonies and trials, confessions forced from unwilling lips with Veritaserum, or in Draco’s case, haltingly spoken through nearly a whisper, reliving everything behind closed eyes. They were constantly escorted by Aurors to and from the Ministry, and a guard remained at their door night and day.
Considering, too, that he hadn’t graduated from Hogwarts had put a bit of a damper in his career plans. His mother thankfully had thought ahead and arranged for someone to continue on his studies and by the end of the first year after the war had ended he had caught up on everything he’d missed during his sixth and seventh years.
He’d become used to the quiet there, to being alone, wandering the halls silently lost in thought, or on the nice days, in the modest garden that took up the entirety of the backyard. On one such wander, he discovered a locked door off a hallway he hadn’t yet traversed and curiosity peaked, opened it with a whispered Alohomora.
It was dark and a little dingy, and smelled faintly of herbs and medicine but it was clear to Draco what it was: a potions lab. When he asked, his mother said one of her great uncles had been a master potioneer, and quite renowned in France and kept a room here in London for when business brought him out that way.
The shelves were filled with an seemingly endless amount of books, and Draco found his mind interested once more with his former love for potion making and too, with the remaining connection to his godfather.
They’d spent one more year on house arrest and for Draco it seemed to go quickly as he threw himself into potions research. He churned out theory after theory, designed and experimented with making his own potions. He found a Potions Master in France willing to work with him and spent hours in front of the Floo talking out his research.
Despite all this, it hadn’t escaped his notice that his mother seemed to be lonely. She had always had his father for company and extensive gardens when he was gone, and now she only had Draco. She was still as graceful as ever, and put together, but there was more silvery strands in her blonde hair, the ice in her eyes melted, her soul more fragile.
He asked her one winter night as they sat by the fire, why her and Father hadn't had more children. Her eyes closed for a brief moment and when they opened, the firelight caught the few tears she’d allowed to escape.
With a waver in her voice, she explained haltingly that they had tried. After a few years, it got too difficult and she couldn’t bear to keep trying. She had heard that the Muggles had other ways to conceive children but never brought it up as she knew Lucius would never accept such a thing. His need for a Pureblood child far outweighed the desire Narcissa had for more children and she had quietly accepted that she would never hold another baby in her arms.
The story spurs Draco to research these Muggle methods of conception and he spends another six months on documenting the process (so many needles, why?), the successes and failures, the costs, the hows and whys, the pros and cons of the procedures.
He wonders, as he lays in bed every night, wonders if he can tailor the process to magical means, if he can create potions that can mimic the Muggle methods, if he can help someone who’d given up on the idea of children.
He wonders, and whispers to himself in the dark of the night, and he thinks.
***
It takes time. It takes a while to actually happen, far longer than Draco had thought it would take. Part of it, obviously, is because he’s a Malfoy and people don’t easily forget, but that slowly becomes a smaller part. It’s mostly because what he’s trying to do has never been done, the potions he’s creating never created, let alone thought of. There are a million and one hoops to jump through, forms and paperwork to fill out, people to sit and talk to and convince, papers and research to write and publish.
He’s had several meetings already the head MediWitch of the Neonatal ward at St Mungo’s. Cecilia Worthington has a reputation among the wizarding medical community, and too, as a half blood, in the Muggle medical community. She has numerous awards lining the walls of her offices and people lining up to make appointments to see her.
Draco was lucky that she had been interested in his research, enough that she had reached out to him after he’d submitted his first paper. They’d been meeting once a week for the last year, and released a paper they’d co-authored on the subject which had been received better than Draco thought it would.
It had given him the final push to be able to see patients at the hospital, Flooing in and out when Cecilia had deemed a patient ready to talk about other options for conception.
All of that had culminated in the opening of his own clinic, situated in the fetal medicine ward. His patients came to see him with referrals from Cecilia and after a required meeting with a Mind Healer in the also newly established mental health ward.
At the end of his first year in the clinic, he’s seen near perfect results, healthy babies, save for a small number. Unfortunately sometimes, even with magic, the human body just doesn’t accept pregnancy. Those cases had nearly driven him mad, staying up all hours of the night determined to find a solution.
In the end, the patients-to-be thanked him for his help and had turned instead to the wizarding orphanage that had opened after the first war. They had reasoned that there would be a child who needed them and they had a lot of love to give. In fact, all the couples with fertility problems Draco hadn’t been able to find a solution for had adopted children from the orphanage.
So Draco can confidently say that his clinic has been a success but knowing that doesn’t prepare him for the next client who comes walking through his door.
**
It’s a completely normal day; Draco spends his morning finishing up some notes from his last client, slowly sipping at a cup of tea. It had gone very well, he always made sure he was at the hospital for the births and this couple was expecting twins.
(Twins! He almost couldn’t believe it when he’d first heard the news!)
It was the first time one of his treatments had resulted in twins and Draco was over the moon. Kyrissa, the birth mother, had invited him in after they were all settled and the Mediwitch had proclaimed all three were perfectly healthy. Draco had taken his leave shortly after, when the babies began to kick up a fuss, as it had been quite late by the time the twins had arrived.
Now, he closes up the McFarrow file and tucks it away before pulling the paperwork for his next client towards him, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
He’s incredibly curious about this one, the reports from Cecilia and the Mind Healer were practically glowing. There’s not much to see yet, just basic health information; male, 23, and single, needing to gain some weight but that’s easily remedied.
It’s not the first time he’s helped a man get pregnant; he’s had several gay couples come in, indeed, it would be hypocritical of him to refuse since he’s as queer as his father’s precious peacocks.
The process is just a little more involved as not all men have a womb. So there are a few more potions in the beginning and very regular appointments to keep an eye on things, but the end result is the same.
He gets a little distracted as he waits, flipping through a drawer of informative pamphlets in case the client wants some reading material, a physical copy of everything they’ll discuss.
In the end, he doesn’t even hear the door open,only looks up, startled, when there’s a soft throat clearing above him. The greeting dies on his lips as he finds himself meeting a very familiar pair of bottle green eyes.
Harry Potter.
Harry Potter is in his clinic. Presumably wanting a baby. Presumably looking for Draco to help him. Help him have a baby.
Well. It certainly explains why there had been no name on the file. Draco finds himself gaping for a moment before he shakes out of it and stands up, clearing his throat.
“Mr Potter, good morning,” he says softly with a careful, small smile. He doesn’t attempt to shake hands, wary of being rebuffed, but is happily surprised when Potter - no, Harry - does instead.
“Draco, morning. Imagine my surprise when Cecilia told me I’d be seeing you for this,” Harry replies, but instead of angry, his tone is pleasant and not at all forced. Draco gestures to the arm chair in front of his desk as he takes his own seat. He fusses with some papers, straightening them needlessly for something to do with his hands, before steeling himself and looking up at Harry.
“Cecilia has the final say on who comes to me. It’s why we have patients see a Mind Healer first, the process can be scary and uncertain, and depending on the patient, long.”
“ I will admit I don’t know much about the process,” Harry says, and the way he drags a hand through the ink dark strands of his hair is a familiar gesture to Draco. “I do have vague recollections of my Aunt Petunia reading those gossip magazines, and the derision in her voice when celebrities resorted to “outlandish measures” to have a baby made me wary of the whole thing. Also, in the Muggle world, as I’m sure you know, men can’t get pregnant.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the, shortcomings shall we say, of Muggle medicine. Though I seem to recall a movie, of an American man who had become pregnant. Cecilia showed it to me when I was just starting out, I must have watched it a dozen times, studying their methods intently. Imagine my surprise when I found out she had me believing it to be a true story when in fact it wasn’t real.” He laughs at himself upon remembering the look on Cecilia’s face when he figured out her trick, and according to her, his face hadn’t been much better.
“I’m afraid television and movies were unavailable to me, growing up with the Dursleys.” He sounds nonchalant about it but something in his voice tells Draco that he still mourned a bit for what his childhood could have been, and he feels a brief surge of anger at his father and Voldemort for taking that away.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “perhaps I could lend you my copy. Cecilia gave it to me as a Christmas present last year.”
Harry gives him a nod and small smile; the light mood in the room has lessened and Draco could kick himself for mentioning the whole thing.
“Anyway, let’s move on shall we? How about while I put together all the paperwork, you tell me your story, why you’re here besides the obvious, and what lead you to the decision that brought you here?” Draco rises once more from his desk and heads for the wall of cabinets that line one whole wall of his office.
“All that’s not in my file?” harry asks, and Draco turns back around to give him what he hopes is a comforting smile.
“No, Harry. Our patient files are protected until the client has spoken aloud about their wishes. If I opened your file right now, all I would see is your name and details about your person, like your height and such. It’s protection for the patient; if the first meeting doesn’t go well, the file remains locked and we cannot access your information. For example, before you walked into my office, all I could read was your age, gender, and weight. If you decide after this meeting not to go forward, your file will erase itself.” He watches as Harry’s face loses a bit more tension, his shoulders relaxing as he settles more into the chair.
“Well, uh. I guess you know Ginny and I ended things shortly after the war,” Draco hums to show he’s paying attention. “The Daily Prophet had a field day with the news, we could hardly leave Grimmauld without cameras going off in our faces wherever we went, hundreds of owls every day. Of course that got worse when the news came out that I had turned down Kingsley’s job offer but it meant that the focus was off Ginny and the rest of the family. I actually started speaking with someone here at St Mungo’s, worked through a lot of stuff. I still go once a month, which is how I met Cecilia.”
“I’ve always liked kids but I never thought I’d get to have any of my own, y’know? The idea of trying to date someone, get married and have kids, it hasn’t been what I wanted. So imagine my surprise when Cecilia told me I could, without a significant other or a surrogate to carry for me.”
“And that brings you here, today.”
“I don’t know how much you know about how I grew up, especially before I found out about Hogwarts, learned how my parents actually died. “It, it wasn’t a home Draco, the Dursleys weren’t family. I was scared for a while that I would end up being the same way.”
“The fact that you’re worried about it is a good sign you won’t be.”
“Yeah, that’s my therapist and Cecilia said. If three of you have said it now, it must be true.”
“You wouldn’t still be here if we thought you unfit for children, Harry. We have very strict protocols in place for the parents and children-to-be, to make sure everyone is as safe as possible.”
Harry is quiet for a few minutes, so Draco turns his attention back to the paperwork, closing the cupboard door as he returns to his desk. Harry still seems to be gathering his thoughts, so Draco taps his wand against the forms, which fill in his signature and, because he has a feeling and he’s not been wrong yet, prepares them for Harry’s signature.
Sure enough, Harry sighs gustily and straightens up, setting his shoulders. His eyes are bright and there’s a small smile on his face and Draco lets himself smile back, meeting those brilliant green eyes as he slides the paperwork across the desk.
**
The first two weeks of Harry’s treatments go smoothly for the most part. There’s a little trepidation when Draco explains about the potions for creating a womb:
“I had to grow an entire arm’s worth of bones in one night and it was hell and now I have to grow something else?!”
“Well, what did you think was going to happen? You don’t have one naturally, it has to come from somewhere!”
But despite Harry’s whining (“I wasn’t whining, shut up!”) the first part goes easily and without complications. His scans show the false womb has settled naturally in place and the next step can begin.
Getting Harry’s weight up proves to be a challenge; years without proper nutrition before he was eleven had stunted his growth a bit and six years of hearty meals at Hogwarts could only do so much. Still, he gains enough with Draco’s nutrient rich potions, along with healthy meals, lots of water, and exercise for Draco to be able to move on.
The next step requires Harry to stay overnight in the clinic as Draco mixes up the potion that will hopefully result in a baby.
Harry watches him with a fascinated expression on his face as Draco combines the ingredients he received from Harry the day before; a little blood, a little sperm, a false female egg to stimulate the natural process mixed together, along with some herbs to aid in conception. The chaste berry mutes the slight acidity of the stinging nettle, while the red raspberry leaf provides a little color and sweetness. That fascination disappears when Draco pours the mix into a glass and hands it over, but he drinks it down without hesitation.
Once he’s finished, Draco draws the curtains around Harry’s bed shut and takes himself over to the other waiting bed, where he’ll keep an eye on the process. From here, all they can do is wait.
It’s nearly two weeks before anything happens. Draco’s been sitting at his desk catching up some reports for the last hour when there’s a hurried knocking at his office door. He starts to stand but before he can even come around the desk, the door is opening and harry lurches in, face pale and sweaty.
“Something’s wrong, Draco, something isn’t right,” his voice in panicked and Draco walks over, trying to appear calm. “I can’t stop throwing up, what’s happening?”
“Shh, it’s okay, come lay down,” He takes Harry’s arm and leads him over to the lounge, waving over a chair so he can sit next to him, then conjures up a bucket to put on the floor. Harry’s frantic breathing settles a bit as he lays down and Draco finds himself running a hand over his hair soothingly, much like Narcissa had done for him when he young.
When Harry’s eyes close, Draco pulls his wand back out and waves it in a circular pattern over Harry’s stomach, a smile starting as he interprets the sparks and lights.
“Harry,” he says softly, and waits for the man to look at him, “Congratulations, Harry, you’re going to be a father.” He watches as Harry takes a breath and then promptly bursts into tears, causing Draco to choke back a chuckle. He’d be more alarmed, but each and every time he gets the same reaction when he tells his patients they’re expecting. He lets Harry cry until he’s tired himself out and fallen asleep, one hand clutching Draco’s and only then does Draco realize why his heart is thumping so strangely.
**
Okay. He can handle this, he thinks to himself later when Harry’s gone back to Grimmauld Place. Sure, it’s the first time he’s ever had feelings for a patient, but it’s not the end of the world, right? It’s not like he’s going to act on it, or gods forbid, say anything to Harry about it. It’s a fragile situation, one Draco doesn’t want to unbalance and especially since there’s the whole matter of him being Draco Malfoy and all.
He’s a professional, he reminds himself, nodding at the far wall of his office. He is a professional, and Harry is his patient, it would break all sorts of rules and regulations.
It’ll be fine, he’s sure of it.
It’s not fine.
Oh sure, he hasn’t said anything, hasn’t done anything weird.
Maybe he’s allowed himself to fall back into the quiet aloofness from the early days of his clinic and maybe he can tell that Harry has noticed and it’s affected his own mood, becoming snappy and aggravated when he comes in every week for his appointments.
But look, he’s trying not to let his feelings bleed into his work. This is his career, this is what he does. He has to stay somewhat unattached.
Only as the weeks progress, Harry begins to show more and more, to the point where he now has to Floo in to avoid the press as pictures have surfaced of his belly, of him in shops picking out baby clothes, of him pushing a pram out of a Muggle store, entrenched in baggy clothing to hide his belly.
There are pictures of him entering St Mungo’s and of course people know his office and clinic are here, so the stories come out, of his clinic and what he does, and of course the darkest parts of his past get rehashed.
It makes Harry moody and apologetic, despite Draco reaffirming that it’s not his fault, it would have gotten out somehow anyway, when the reporters had nothing else to talk about.
His belly grows rounder and so do his cheeks a bit, and Draco finds his hands lingering a little longer each time he examines Harry’s belly, listening to the baby’s heartbeat for long minutes just for the pleasure of it.
And Harry doesn’t seem to be annoyed by the attention, indeed, he seems to thrive under Draco’s eye.
It’s getting out of hand, he thinks. He doesn’t even know if Harry likes other blokes and he’s certainly not going to ask. He doesn’t even know if it’s the pregnant bit, he’s never had feelings like this for his other patients. Then again, they’ve never been Harry and Draco is old enough to realize that maybe the feelings aren’t completely out of left field, that maybe there could have been something earlier; if they hadn’t had their roles to play, their opposing sides of the war, maybe something could have sparked.
In the end, it’s not Draco that makes the first move.
It’s November, and Harry’s due date is quickly approaching, about a month left to go. The press have been massing outside the hospital, waiting to see what happens, waiting to catch a few more glimpses to no luck as Harry continues to use Draco’s office floo.
It’s a blustery November evening when Harry floos over for a quick check up. He’s never been the most graceful person to use the Floo, and even less now that he has more weight to deal with. Draco makes sure he’s always waiting to catch him just in case, and tonight that looks to be the case as Harry comes whirling out of the fireplace, one hand on his belly and one hand out to catch himself, and Draco catches him one hand round the upper arm, the other at his side.
Draco stifles a groan in his throat as his hands find purchase on the incredibly soft sweater Harry is wearing, stretched appealingly over his belly and backs up as Harry regains his footing and laughs at himself. He makes it across the floor to the lounge and lays down with a grunt, which makes Draco chuckle.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, as he pushes Harry’s sweater above his belly to examine him.
“My back hurts some, but I’ve been using that rub you made and that helps. Ron and Ginny laugh when I walk, they say I waddle and that my ankles are fat.” He winces when Draco presses down on his lower belly and he makes a note of it, moving his hands to Harry’s sides.
“The baby is in a good place,” Draco says, “I can feel the feet here, good kicks. Shouldn’t be much longer, we have you booked to deliver December 28th but of course things could happen sooner.”
“And you’ll be there, right?” Harry asks, brow furrowing.
“Of course, Harry. I told you I always am, and anyway, there are some potions to administer to help you afterwards with healing, and to dissolve the artificial womb. Try not to worry, things will be fine.”
“I know. I trust you, Draco.” Thank the gods Harry had his eyes closed and couldn’t see what he was sure was a gobsmacked expression on his face.
“Well, I would hope you’d trust your doctor, Harry,” he said after a moment, unsure what else to say.
“It’s not,” Harry said as he struggled to push himself up to a sitting position. Draco moved to help him, setting his hands on Harry’s arms. “It’s not because you’re my doctor, Draco. It’s you, I trust you.” And before Draco could come up with a suitable response, Harry leaned forward, his eyes bright, and kissed him.
It was brilliant, despite Harry being encumbered, a little clumsy and for a moment Draco let himself fall into it and respond, before he pulled away with a gasp, suddenly cold even with the fire.
“We can’t. Harry, we can’t. I’m your doctor, you’re pregnant, I, there’s a million reasons why we can’t do this.”
Just like that, the spark in Harry’s eyes changed to fire, blazing hot like pools of molten emeralds, as he shoved himself to his feet, pulling his sweater over his belly.
“Of course, Draco Malfoy can’t deign to mingle with the commoners, is that it? Or is it because I’m knocked up, which you know, you helped me with?”
“No, Harry, that’s not-”
“Save it, Draco. I don’t want to hear it.” With that, Harry tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, called out “Grimmauld Place!” in a broken voice and stepped into the green flames, his back turned to Draco the entire time. As Harry whirled away, all Draco could do was gaze into the fire, wondering how things had ended up like this.
**
Two weeks had gone by, and Draco had barely left his office. He could hardly concentrate on work, his paperwork had exploded over his desk one day and he hadn’t had to energy to clean it up. He spent the nights on the lounge in his office, thinking about the kiss and the look in Harry’s eyes as he Flooed away.
He’d sent owl after owl the first couple days, but gave up when all were sent back unopened. He’d heard from Cecilia that Harry had gone to see her, so at least he wasn’t avoiding the hospital entirely.
Just Draco. But he deserved it, really.
On the other hand, would it have been so bad if he’d said yes to Harry? If he’d allowed to kiss to continue, maybe more?
Or would it have ruined his career, if word had gotten out?
If Cecilia had found out, he could lose his clinic and her respect.
His career was important to him, but Harry was also beginning to be important to him, and Draco was already getting attached to the baby he carried.
Would he have to give up one to have the other?
Could he have both?
Draco falls asleep thinking about it, and dreams about a house, and the echo of a baby’s cries.
He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to a loud banging and startles upright, grasping his wand as he stumbles to his feet and wrenches open his office door.
“Cecilia? What are you doing here? What time is it, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Harry, Draco. He’s in labour and he’s asking for you.” Her voice is tense but firm, so it must not be going badly, but still, he promised Harry he’d be there for him.
He locks his office door behind them as they Apparate to the labour and delivery ward, and Draco is thankful as always for silencing charms. Cecilia leads the way down the hall to the very last room where the entirety of the Weasley family are waiting anxiously. Draco gives them a nod as he enters Harry’s room and fights a smile as he listens to Harry cursing up a storm from where he lays on the bed.
The knot in his belly tightens when Harry turns his head and catches his eye, and it dissolves just as quickly when Harry gives him a small smile and beckons him closer. Draco steps up to his bedside and takes Harry’s hand, bending over to brush a light kiss over his forehead.
“You’re doing well, Harry. We just need you to try and relax, alright? We just need to numb the area so we can get your baby out, okay?” Harry gives him a nod as his eyes close, squeezing his hand as he settles to allow the Mediwitch to begin.
It happens pretty quickly; from the first incision to hearing the first cries, to mending the incision and cleaning up the baby before the nurse hands over the baby to Draco. Draco finds himself breathless as he smiles down at the baby, its squalls quieting as he leans over to place the baby into Harry’s waiting arms.
“It’s a boy, Harry,” Draco whispers, his heart full to bursting as Harry smiles down tiredly at his baby.
“His name is James Orion Arthur Potter,” Harry whispers back and looks from his son to Draco.
“I’m sorry, Harry, about before.”
“It’s okay. Draco. I understood, after. But how about right now, you take James out to meet everyone? I apparently have more potions to take.” He hands James back to Draco as the nurse brings over a tray of potions. “They said they’d give me a sleeping potion. Will you be here when I wake up?”
“I promise, Harry,” Draco says, as Harry downs the first potion, grimacing at the taste.
Draco leaves the hospital room with James in his arms to be met with with a flurry of people, who all silently coo at the baby when Draco beckons for quiet. He passes James over to Molly who has tears in her eyes as she rocks him, and over her shoulder he spots Blaise standing with Ginny. He nods and smiles at the taller man who responds in kind, then takes James back from Arthur so he can bring him back to Harry.
The nurse has set up a bassinet and an extra bed next to Harry’s bed, so he sets a sleeping James inside the bassinet and checks on Harry, who’s curled up on his side, eyes half open.
“Hey you,” he whispers, running a hand through Harry’s hair. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Sore. Tired,” he mumbles. “Are you coming to bed now?” he asks, and Draco feels his cheeks flush at the suggestion.
“The nurse set up an extra bed, so I’ll be right over there if you need me.”
“Would you stay here, with me?” his voice is soft and tentative, and Draco feels his heart crumble and then feels it get put back together as Harry tugs his blanket back.
He toes off his shoes and climbs in next to Harry, tucking the blanket around them both as he rolls over to face him.
“You did so well, Harry,” he whispers into the crown of his hair. “James is so lucky to have you as his father.”
In response, Harry lifts his head and presses his lips to Draco’s, kissing him slowly until he pulls away to yawn.
“Sleep, Harry. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Harry tucks his face into the crook of Draco’s neck, exhaling softly.
Draco closes his eyes, feeling warm with Harry curled into him and thinks that it’s not perfect and he doesn’t have all the answers, but it doesn’t need to be perfect and the answers will come in time.