Title: Alignment
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Rating: NC17/Adult
Word Count: 6402 (in 3 parts)
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Mpreg
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong JK Rowling and associated publishers. I make no profit from this endeavour.
Author's Notes (A/N): Written for harrydracompreg fest. Thanks singlemomsummer for the beta.
Summary: When Draco bet Blaise that he would finally make his move on Potter, he got a lot more than he bargained for.


"Have you heard the news?" Pansy whispered with her usual sense of drama as she slid into the seat beside Draco at the Slytherin table and began to help herself to roast beef and potatoes.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes – Pansy was always full of gossip, and most of it was exceedingly dull. "That depends on what 'news' to which you're referring," he replied in a bored voice, hoping she would get the message and leave him to his brooding contemplation.

"You can't have heard then." Pansy sounded gleeful at the idea that she could be the one to impart whatever the latest gossip was to Draco. "Have a guess. It's the last thing you'd everthink of."

Draco sighed, but he knew ignoring Pansy was an exercise in futility. "Luna Lovegood is marrying a Centaur named Barnaby?"

Pansy giggled. "Not even close. Try again."

"Professor McGonagall is pregnant by Flitwick?"

Pansy made a vomiting noise before shaking her head and saying, "No, silly – but someone ispregnant. Guess who?"

"Do I have to?" Draco took a sip of his pumpkin juice and scanned the room, not really sure what he was looking for as the pregnant girl wouldn't be showing yet or they would all have heard about this before.

"You're no fun. Come on, Draco. It's the last person you'd ever think of. It's brilliant."

"Alright – Granger?" Draco was almost hoping he was right, because that would be too funny. The smile fell off his face when he realised the father would be the Weasel which offered him a mental image of the two of them… He shuddered and turned his full attention to Pansy with his best fake smile.

"No, but close."

A cold clammy fist closed around Draco's heart and a feeling of dread spread through his stomach as his thoughts moved on from Granger and he said, "Not the Weaselette?" He wanted to lift his head and look over to the Gryffindor table and fix his eyes on her belly, look for clues that it was her because if it was then-

"No! Although that would almost as good as this. Try ag-"

"Just tell me!" Draco snapped, suddenly very sick of this game.

Pansy scowled but leaned into Draco's ear anyway and whispered, "Potter."

Draco gasped and dropped his pumpkin juice, spilling it all over the remains of his dinner. Immediately he leapt to his feet and pushed back from the table to avoid the liquid spilling onto his trousers. As he stepped back he allowed himself to look from under his lashes over to the person he hadn't been allowing himself to even as much as glance at for the last six weeks.

Green eyes were staring back at him, unfathomable and cold. Harry Potter. The hand around Draco's heart squeezed tighter. He allowed his gaze to drop lower, but Potter was wearing robes that gave nothing away. Could it be true? Draco knew men could get pregnant, but it was rarer than Veela hair. Potter never had conformed to the norm though, had he?

Draco flipped his gaze back upward and received a poisonous glare for his trouble before Potter pointedly turned away and struck up a conversation with Seamus Finnegan.

Ignoring Pansy's fussing over spilt juice, followed by cries of, "Where are you going?" Draco almost ran to the exit and didn't stop until he was in the dorm and on his bed with the curtains drawn firmly around him and a sticking charm in place.

Harry Potter was pregnant.

Now all Draco needed to know – before he started panicking - was if the baby was his.


Draco hadn't planned it; or rather he hadn't expected it, despite having fantasised about it for every night since he was thirteen. Shagging Potter had just happened as much as shagging your one time mortal enemy turned teeny tiny fucking hugeobsession could just 'happen'.

He'd always been attracted to Potter, from day one, back when Potter had snubbed his hand of friendship for Weasley's and Draco had been left out in the cold. Draco hadn't known what that feeling was at eleven, by thirteen he knew very well.

That was how it felt not to be basking in the joy of Potter's attention – cold. Fucking artic. Now the war was over and Potter had banished the Dark Lord back into the depths of the hell from which he had risen and they didn't have to be enemies anymore; but Potter had still spurned him. Yes, he'd shown up in court and saved Draco's arse from Azkaban, but he'd left just as quickly as he'd arrived and he hadn't paid Draco any attention since that day, not even when Draco tried to pick a fight.

Draco had been cold again. He couldn't bear it, but Potter refused to rise to his bait – and Draco baited Potter nigh on daily.

Blaise had called him out on it. "Either do something about it, Draco, or I will."

Draco had felt sick. Blaise had used that tone of voice; the predatory seducer; his mother's son. "What do you mean, 'youwill'?"

"Harry Potter's not the scrawny scrap he used to be. He's grown up very nicely indeed, and you're not the only one falling under his thrall," Blaise licked his lips and smiled, reminding Draco of Greyback eyeing his prey. "The best thing is that Potter doesn't even realise it. All that power-" Blaise closed his eyes and shuddered.

"Don't you dare-"

"You're the only reason I haven't, Draco," Blaise said. "Best mates have to count for something. But no one else is going to give a shit about your feelings, and soon, someone's going to sweep in there and take Potter for their own."

Images of Potter naked had flashed into Draco's head, followed by visions of him writhing in passion with the Weaselette; she was always sniffing around him.

The blood rushed to his groin at the same time as the jealousy stabbed through his fluttering heart.

"No. I'll do it. I'll make a move. I'll do something about it. I will. I will."

"I bet you a month's History of Magic homework that you won't make a move. You're too scared he'll reject you again."

Blaise was right; Draco was petrified of holding out his hand to Potter again, only to have those green eyes peer down his nose at Draco with a sneer of disgust, before turning and walking away.

"I bet you a month's worth of Arithmancy homework that I will do something; in fact, get your pensieve ready, you can look at the evidence when I have." Draco had thought it was going to be the evidence of his humiliation, but he forced the image out of his head.

That evening at dinner he'd watched Potter from beneath his lashes as a succession of five separate individuals approached him, flirted with him, dared to touchhim, and Potter hadn't seemed to even notice he was being flirted with. This was both good – Potter had not yet given in to someone else – and bad, because if Potter really was that oblivious, then Draco was going to have to be quite plain about what he wanted from him.

As it turned out, when he'd gone looking for Potter that evening with fire in his belly and butterflies in his chest, and had found him flying furious circles around the Quidditch pitch alone, things had not gone to plan.

Potter had seen him watching and swooped down to the ground in front of him, "What do you think you're looking at, Malfoy?" he'd challenged, and Draco had immediately slipped back into the old learnt behaviour of 'Potter speaks, Draco reacts'.

"Just getting a few pointers on how notto handle a broom," Draco had shrugged, his heart speeding up as Potter's eyes had narrowed and he'd dismounted the broom and stepped an inch closer.

"Is that the best insult you've got?" Potter laughed and spun around in the direction of the locker rooms. Draco had followed.

"How about 'your hair looks like something died on top of your head five years ago'?" He was still behind Potter when he slammed into the changing rooms and propped his broom against the wall inside the door.

"Pathetic," Potter replied and started to peel off his practice clothes. As his skin tight jersey top popped off his head revealing his half naked torso, Draco's probably very witty retort had dried in his throat. Merlin.

Draco was hard in an instant.

"You're perfect," Draco heard himself say and immediately wanted to sink into the floor. Could he have been any more cheesy?

Potter had stilled. "What?"

"I said, you arepathetic."

Potter raised a dark eyebrow. "No you didn't. You said, 'you're perfect'." He stepped closer and Draco backed up, only then realising he was already almost back against the wall. "Are you trying to tell me something, Malfoy?"

Draco's erection was throbbing against the fastenings of his trousers, and with Potter's close proximity he could smell his musky sweat scent from Quidditch practice. He was here for a reason; he had to tryand this was the perfect opportunity. If Potter rejected him, then at least there were no witnesses.

He pointed his wand at the door and muttered a locking spell, and whilst Potter's wide eyed attention was on that, he slipped his other hand around Potter's neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

From the first moment of contact, Draco was lost. Potter responded with vigour, yanking Draco towards him, muttering something about a Slytherin idiot, which just made Draco want to smile.

"Potter-" he interrupted, wanting to tell him how much he wanted him, how he'd wanted him for so long that he couldn't remember ever notwanting him.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter said, grabbing Draco's tie and pulling him back in.

It was all heavy breaths and low moans, clothes being discarded carelessly onto the floor, hands exploring places that the daylight rarely saw and teeth grazing soft skin.

Potter's naked form was even more magnificent than Draco had fantasised about; he'd filled out over the years, his stomach was flat with dark hair tapering down to Draco's prize, his hips muscular and toned and- Draco dropped to his knees at Harry Potter's feet, curled his hands around the back of those wonderful, wonderful thighs and closed his mouth over the head of Potter's cock.

He licked, sucked and teased, loving the power he felt at making Potter moan and fed his hands into Draco's hair, and when Potter's breathing sped up and his fingers tightened on Draco's scalp, Draco opened his eyes and looked up, catching Potter's gaze in the moment before he cried out, "Draco!" and came, hard, down Draco's throat. Draco had to press a hand against his own crotch to stop himself from coming right then, in his trousers, because he had every intention of being inside Potter when he came for him the first time.

"Oh, Merlin," Potter breathed, dropping his head back against the wall. "Remind me why we've not done this before?"

"We're not done yet," Draco said, standing slowly. "I want to fuck you."

Potter's eyes widened, as though the thought had not occurred to him, before he grinned and said, "Come on then, Malfoy, do it." He carded his hand into Draco's hair and pushed in for another kiss, pressing the length of his body against Draco.

Even a Malfoy couldn't keep self-control when he had a very naked saviour pressed against him. "Come on," he said, taking Potter's hand. "You need a shower and I want to wash your back."


If you would like to leave a comment, I would love to read it! ;-)

Part 2 tomorrow.