Let's try this again. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the
last incarnation before it Mysteriously Vanished (TM).

Title: Happy Christmas, Harry Potter!
Author: Nimori ( [email protected] )
Pairings: HP/LM, HP/DM implied
Rating: will probably be R
Disclaimer: See that lady over there? Hers, not mine. See
all the money? Same deal.
Archive: Beloved Enemies; my site; others please ask
Feedback: is a wonderful thing.

Summary: When Harry and Lucius lose what's most important
to them, they unexpectedly gain something precious.

Irrelevant Author's Note: Gosh, I seem to be writing an
awful lot of mpreg lately. Don't know why; it's not a
particular kink of mine. Apologies to Mr Schultz.

*italics*


WARNING: SLASH and MPREG. Don't like, don't read.


* * * * *

One: The Empty Cage


"Mr Harry Potter is waiting here while Nilly fetches
Master."

Feeling meek and insignificant in the cavernous hall, Harry
obeyed the house-elf. He dared not sit on the spidery,
unwelcoming furniture, though he was tired form the flight
and the marble floor felt cold and hard through the thin
soles of his battered trainers. He needed new shoes. He
shifted his weight to ease his feet.

Somewhere in the room a clock ticked, the only sound but
for his own breath, and he wished in vain for any number of
Weasleys to fill the cold emptiness with their warmth and
chatter. His throat tightened at the reminder. No more
unequivocal welcome from that quarter; those who forgave
him Draco could not forget Ginny. No matter that their lips
absolved him, whatever ease he felt with them evaporated,
and even Molly's once-free smiles dried up.

He pulled the travel cloak closer around his body, but the
chill had sunk into him somewhere over London. He had
regretted not accepting the Ministry's offer of
tranportation before he'd even left King's Cross, but he'd
had enough accusations of glory-seeking that he was
uncomfortable accepting special treatment from them. Bad
enough he asked for the three-day magic pass, but there was
no way he would enter the serpent's den without the freedom
to defend himself.

"Mr Potter."

*Ah, the snake himself*, Harry thought, and turned to greet
his host. Malfoy's appearance shocked him -- long hair tied
back in a sloppy ponytail, shirt untucked, signs of an
overly hasty depilatory charm on his jaw -- before he
remembered the man had lost as much as Harry these last two
weeks. "Mr Malfoy."

"To what do I owe the honour of having the child-hero of
the wizarding world grace my humble home with his
illustrious presence?"

"I couldn't say." Harry met the icy and too-familiar eyes,
though it took more courage that facing down Voldemort. "If
you're asking why *I'm* here, I could."

Malfoy smirked, and waved him toward one of the spindly,
dangerous-looking chairs, but Harry ignored the invitation.
"Far be it from me to deny you. Why are *you* here, Mr
Potter? I assure you, there are no more Dark Lords left for
you to slay, least of all in this house."

The words fell bitterly, and Harry regretted baiting the
man then, and searched for a way out of the antagonism he'd
created. "Draco... Draco left some things in my dorm. The
house-elf missed packing them. I thought you'd like them
back."

Malfoy's mouth tightened, and he nodded curtly. An awkward
moment passed before Harry realized he ought to produce the
items. He fumbled in his pockets, fingers sifting through
shrunken broom, trunk, invisibility cloak, and empty owl
cage before closing over the tiny box. A murmured
'engorgio' brought it back to proper size, and he set it on
a high table, ignoring Malfoy's sharp look; it wouldn't
hurt to let the man know he had permission to use magic,
though Harry chose not to tell him the pass was only good
for three days. Plenty of time for him to fly to Malfoy
Manor from the train station, drop off Draco's things, and
continue to Surrey for his final summer with the Dursleys.

The box contained little more than clothing, a few personal
items, a text book, and a bag of sweets from Honeydukes,
and Harry knew Dumbledore could have easily sent them by
owl-post. Which led him to the other reason for making the
trek to Malfoy Manor.

Malfoy had raised a brow, probably wondering what Harry was
still doing there.

"Mr Malfoy, you... I know you were aware of my...
relationship with your son." The brow came down like a
portcullis, and Harry cleared his throat. "I suppose I
should tell you... What I mean is--"

"Whatever it is, say it and get out, Potter," Malfoy
snarled.

Perversely, Harry continued with his story. "I don't know
if you realize I was injured in the battle. I woke up in
the hospital wing last week..."

* * * * *

The light blinded him as much as the darkness had, and for
a moment he wasn't sure if he was awake, asleep, or dead.
Then he heard voices again, and managed to focus his eyes.

"... remarkably little internal damage, thank Merlin, and
I've set his skin with Rederming potion."

Which explained why his skin tingled.

"Will he wake soon, Poppy? We'd best speak to him before Mr
Black returns."

Dumbledore. He always seemed to be there when Harry woke in
the hospital wing. "M'wake," he said, struggling for true
consciousness. "Whazzit, an' why can't Siri hear?" He
blinked, trying to clear his vision before he realized he
didn't have his glasses. "Any'ne see what hit me?"

"Oh, only a dozen or so unforgivables," Dumbledore said,
twinkling.

"Hope Hooch gave 'em a foul," he mumbled, then sat
abruptly, ignoring both Pomfrey's angry warning and his own
skin's shriek of protest. "Voldemort!"

"Dead and dust, my boy, thanks to you."

Harry lay back and allowed Pomfrey to recoat him with a
foul-smelling purple goo. "What happened?"

"Just the epic battle we've all been waiting for. We won,
by the way."

"Ginny?"

Dumbledore lost his twinkle. "I'm afraid Miss Weasley did
not survive the transformation. Voldemort's hold on her was
too strong."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to keep his tears inside,
or at least hovering beneath his lids. If he cried for
Ginny now, his tears would quickly turn to grief for Draco,
and then he might never stop. "What... What is it you don't
want Sirius to know?"

"Ah... Poppy?"

"Mr Potter, you're a very lucky young man. You survived a
blast which flattened half the Forbidden Forest with
nothing more than a broken leg and a few bumps and bruises.
And minus the top layers of your skin, of course, but if
you *lie still and let the potion work* it will grow back.
However, while running the diagnostic charm, I came across
a pre-existing medical condition."

"What is it?"

"Potter, are you sexually active?"

For a moment, pain laced his chest, then the rage which had
simmered beneath his skin since Draco's death burst free.
"What?!"

"I think what Madame Pomfrey wants to know is if you have
been, ah, experimenting with the Venusian arts," Dumbledore
said.

"Sex magic," Pomfrey clarified.

"No! Of course not, that's illegal." Harry glared at them,
and Dumbledore, at least, had the grace to look contrite,
though whether for the accusation or the reminding of Draco
Harry didn't know. The two shared a complicated look, and
seemed to conclude Dumbledore should do the talking.

"We're very glad to hear that, Harry. It does, however,
raise other problems."

"What problems? Is there something wrong with me?"

"Not wrong, per se, but... Are you familiar with the
phenomenon of autonomancy?"

Harry shook his head.

"Quite common, really, most magical children perform it a
few times during childhood, and in rare cases during
puberty, particularly young witches... ahem. In
extraordinary circumstances, an adult may perform
autonomancy, usually while under great stress. It's a form
of unfocused magic--"

"Wandless magic?"

"Yes, autonomancy is nearly always wandless, but in
addition to occurring without an exterior focusing medium
such as a wand or a potion, it also happens without
*interior* focus. In other words, without the wizard's
intent."

"Is this like my hair growing back overnight whenever Aunt
Petunia cut it?"

Dumbledore nodded and beamed.

"So what did my magic do this time?"

The headmaster's smile turned strained, and he waved
Pomfrey on with a subtle twitch of his fingers.

"Great Merlin, Albus... Harry, dear, you're pregnant.
Congratulations."

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry, Madame Pomfrey, but I thought
you said I was pregnant."

"You are, dear. Three months along, in fact. Looks like it
will be a Christmas baby."

"Male pregnancy is quite a feat, my boy," Dumbledore added.
"The Venusian equivalent is very advanced magic, and the
Ministry requires the wizard to pass advanced
transfiguration, charms, and potions tests before they'll
authorize one. Of course, you won't need to worry about
transfiguring any... body parts, or transferring the, er,
other father's... contribution... or taking supplementary
potions during your pregnancy. Autonomancy can do things
beyond the reach of modern magic. Really an astounding
phenomenon. Astounding."

Harry stared at his once-again beaming headmaster. *I'm
pregnant. Pregnant. Me. I'm having a baby.*

*Draco's baby.*

And that was all he could take. His chest hitched once, and
then the tears started, soundless, as he had always cried
in silence. They scorched across his half-healed skin,
burning salty tracks on his cheeks, and he curled up,
turning his back to Dumbledore and Pomfrey, not wanting
them to see his vulnerability. He hated crying in front of
witnesses.

*'Whassa matter, ickle Harrykins?'* Dudley's voice, half
memory, half voice of childhood demon. *'Little queer freak
all alone and up the duff? Boyfriend dump you? No, wait,
you got him killed before he could walk out on you.'*

*Shut up,* he told it, but it was hard to escape his own
thoughts. He dimly heard Pomfrey chase Dumbledore off, felt
her hands soothing more Rederming potion on his back,
sensed her leave him in peace.

And later, when his skin had gone numb and his tears had
mostly dried, he felt the weight of a dog on his legs, and
reached down to run his fingers through dark fur. And
Snuffles added his soft whimpers to Harry's, and he wept
again for all he had lost.

And perhaps, a little, for what he had gained.

* * * * *

Malfoy's eyes swept over Harry's stomach, making his skin
crawl. "Three months, you said?"

"Yes. The baby is due mid-December. You're... you're
welcome to, um, visit when it's born."

"And where will you be living while you're carrying my
grandchild?"

"With my aunt and uncle."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed to silver slits. "Muggles, aren't
they?"

"Yes." Harry tilted his chin up, daring Malfoy to protest.
Since the latter days of the war, the slightest anti-muggle
sentiment was cause for a paranoid Ministry to pounce, and
apparently Malfoy had learned that lesson, for he held his
tongue on the matter.

"I shall provide--"

"That's not necessary." Harry met Malfoy's raised brow with
one of his own. "My financial situation is sound, and once
my godfather's trial is over, I'll be living with him."

"Will you be finishing school?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm going back to Hogwarts in the fall.
The baby will be born at the end of first term, and after
that..."

"I can provide a nanny."

"*No.* Thank you. I will be raising my child myself."

"Your child is a Malfoy, Mr Potter. He deserves the best."

Harry smirked. "Precisely. I must be going now, Mr Malfoy.
I'll notify you when the baby is born."

"You didn't apparate here, did you?" Malfoy asked sharply.

Harry laid a protective hand over his belly. "Of course
not. I'm well aware of the dangers. I flew."

"You flew."

"Yes."

"On a broom."

"No, I grew wings."

"Don't be smart. You'll return home by carriage."

"I will not."

"Mr Potter, it's getting dark out. Do you really wish to
fly all that way, at that altitude, on an uncomfortable
broomstick, in the dark?"

Harry hesitated. He was still chilled from his flight from
King's Cross; the temperature had dropped since then, and
while it was June, the wind at that height would be fierce.
Gryffindor pride voted for independence, but the quiet
voice Draco had called his Slytherin sense told him to
think of their child.

Merlin, it hurt to think his name.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy." Harry inclined his head, trying for
graciousness and achieving only wounded dignity. "They live
in Little Whinging."

"I know." Malfoy smirked as though he'd won a victory, and
Harry supposed, from his point of view, he had.