Disclaimer: If Harry Potter was mine, you'd be seeing some Draco/Harry loving in it. So obviously, it's not. How sad.
Author: Gay Rain
Title: The Worthy Father
Summary: Harry's a magical creature? What's new? Oh yeah, he needs to choose a father for his children. After all, being a Mathayan means he'll want to give birth to strong children.
Pairing: Draco/Harry, Harry/others (minor), Ron/Hermione
Warning/s: Mpreg, slash, bottom!Harry (don't like it? I suggest you leave)
Author's Note: I've written HP stories for years but I have never once put them up on the internet until now. The reason for this? Because I was sick of seeing bottom!Draco stories. Please don't take offence to my words, but I just can't stand them. A long time ago, it was most bottom!Harry and how times have changed. So I decided we needed some more Harry loving stories.
If you wish to flame me, feel free. I am not going to stop you sweethearts. If you are that desperate to waste your time, I am not going to stop you. I must say though, I am sorry, but I don't pay particular interest in the flames. The reviews however, I treat like a prayer. Each one is special!
Please excuse me if there are mistakes. I am in need of a beta. If you are on the net a lot and would like to be my beta, please feel free to leave your AIM/MSN/Email. I am going to try update twice a week, but it will depend on my schedule. I am writing an actual novel as well. Thank you for your attention
Chapter One: A Little Change
He could feel it pumping through his blood. His skin burned and he arched his back and let out a low moan of pain. Grabbing his bed sheets almost desperately, Harry Potter hissed and groaned as his skin agonizingly stretched. His bottom lip was bleeding from where his teeth had held it in a vice grip and the sweat on his forehead rolled down his face as though it was water from a shower. He huffed as his left hand gripped the right side of his neck in which started to burn. He had no idea what was happening to him, but Harry could feel his body change dramatically.
The screams of his aunt and uncle were like a distant sound as his eyes dilated. Rolling off the bed and landing hard on the ground, the black haired boy used all his strength to push himself up on his feet. Grabbing his stomach, he walked almost drunkenly over to his mirror, gripping the side of it so tightly, it broke the wood frame. He ignored the blood that now oozed from his hand that was holding the sharp glass under the broken wood and eyed himself in the mirror.
His green eyes were darker, a tinge of black circling the emerald and his eyelashes were longer. His scar, the one of legend, did not appear on his forehead anymore and to that, Harry was actually overjoyed. Though the rest of his appearance had dampened his emotions quickly. His lips were more plump but instead of the moist red that they should be, they glowed a light purple. On the right side of his neck was what looked to be a symbol carved into his collar. Almost nervously, Harry brought his left hand up again and felt it tenderly. It felt as though someone had imprinted it on there with a knife. The symbol had curled lines, slithering from one direction to another. A snake appeared to be curled in the middle of the lines and to Harry's surprise; it held a miniature head of a lion in its mouth. Shaking his head, Harry's eyes continued travelling downwards, taking in his naked body. He had filled out a lot more; making his once too skinny body flourish is an almost feminine way. As his hand travelled over his chest and stomach, he noticed it was smooth. It felt as though his body was covered in slime and the thought alone made Harry shiver. More curved lines from the symbol on his neck could be found on his left hip, travelling down his leg as though it was music notes. It finished at his thigh, curling until it once again had a snake curled in the middle of the lines. This symbol was different; it was not craved like the first. More like ink from a muggle tattoo.
Gasping a little, the Boy Who Lived pulled back, his eyes widening. What had happened to him? The night before, Harry had felt pains in his stomach, but as usual, he had shrugged them off as himself having the flu. His dreams had been vivid that night, consisting of himself holding a child. His youngling. The youngling was only a baby and almost desperately, he had held his son to his chest, cooing incomprehensible words to the child. Harry had tried hard to hear the dream version of him, but he could not understand the language in which he spoke. The words came out like hisses, yet the hisses were no where close to parseltongue. He watched carefully as another person came up behind him. It was a man, Harry had realized, but his form had been in the shadows, not allowing him to get a proper view of the other male. He watched himself hand the baby lovingly to the man before the dream version turned, hissing angrily at the version of him who watched. It was then that Harry woke; a horrible pain jolting through his body.
Breathing heavily now, the teenager turned, pulling the door open with a bang. Ignoring the shocked looks from his muggle family, Harry glided past them.
"Boy!" Vernon was not happy with him, Harry realized. He had most likely woken them up. But he did not stop his movements, walking bare naked down to the fireplace. He felt more then heard the heavy footsteps behind him and in what seemed to be slow motion, Harry turned in a speedy manner, dodging the punch aimed at him. Walking calmly over to the sofa, the teenager pulled on the sleeping gown that lay neatly over the armrest and once again turned to his family. Vernon stood in a shocked position, his fists still clenched and his face contorted in what seemed to be between confusion and anger. Petunia and Dudley stood behind him, huddled together, fright clear on their face.
Harry felt light as though he was in a dream. Walking felt as though he was flying, he feet barely touching the ground as he moved. Standing in front of Vernon, the teenager moved his palm elegantly until it reached the side of Vernon's plump cheek. Turning it in a dazed motion and back again, before Harry could control his actions, he slapped his uncle, hard. It was quick and before the black haired teen knew it; his uncle was against the wall, grunting in pain. His cheek was red and blood dripped out of his nose and mouth.
"It would be wise, muggle, not to touch those who are more worthy then you" The voice Harry once knew was not there anymore. His voice was soft and melodic, almost as though it was soft love song.
Hissing at the older man, the Boy Who Lived turned towards the fireplace, moving swiftly. This summer, the Order of the Phoenix had connected the Dursley's fireplace to the network in case Harry needed them and Harry felt it was the perfect time to use it. Flicking his hand, he watched in amazement as the jar of floo powder flew towards him. Had this curse that had been put on him allowed him to do wandless magic as well? Not dwelling on it, the young teenager turned, throwing a bit of the green substance in the fire. Walking in it, he turned, before shouting out his destination. And before Harry knew it, the Dursley's house disappeared.