Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Author's note: This is a challenge fic between me and ChocolaTTelover. Check out the competition, A Disastrous Mission.


Chapter 1

A Thousand and Two Deaths

"I mean, he's really got a nerve being all scary and big in his little fortress when he turned tail and showed his back to Dumbledore the second he appeared!"

Ron was shaking his head in amused disbelief, a potato cube drenched in gravy speared onto his fork. He peered over his shoulder at the Slytherin table, still shaking his head. "And they still look up at him? Don't they feel stupid?"

"They've always felt stupid, Ron," replied Harry, who wholeheartedly agreed with Ron's words, even though they contained a slight exaggeration. He couldn't describe the sheer joy and smugness that overwhelmed him when Dumbledore crashed into Malfoy Manor with his forces, which swiftly overwhelmed the Death Eaters while Dumbledore and Voldemort duelled to the death. It was only a few minutes before Voldemort blocked yet another spell from Dumbledore and Disapparated away.

With a trace of hesitation, Harry joined Ron and looked over to the Slytherin table, and the first person he spotted was one had been trying to avoid for the past couple of weeks since the rescue.

Unfortunately the rescue had not come before Harry, Ron, Sirius and Lupin were forced to swallow potions which changed their internal anatomy to accommodate a growing foetus. And it had come after they had been bred by the Death Eaters.

Ron had been taken by Macnair. He came around only just a few days ago and stopped exploding on anyone who mentioned the words 'pregnant,' 'nauseous,' or 'emotional' in front of him.

Lupin had been taken by Lucius, whom – if it were possible – looked more revolted than Lupin managed to, scars and all.

Snape had chosen Sirius, and Harry still remembered and thought even that he too had felt the intense loathing of the look Sirius gave Snape as he approached to grab his arm. Snape had merely sneered after Sirius flung his arm way and gestured towards the door.

Harry's case – though it had the same results as all others – had been quite different, and rather sadder. He remembered vividly the moment of horror when Voldemort deigned to relate his plan: to impregnate his prisoners – man, woman, and child – and swell his ranks, with a little help from the Imperius Curse and Snape's brews.

The line of dark-cloaked figures had stood behind Voldemort.

"Would you like to make your selection?" he had asked, turning to his servants. "Goyle, Crabbe, Macnair... Lucius..." His strides had halted at the sheet of platinum-blond hair flowing out of the mask and onto the dark robes. "Lucius," Voldemort had hissed. "I don't imagine you want any part of this farce. You might think yourself above it. A wife at home waiting to call, the luxuries at home, ready to comfort you..."

"Hardly, My Lord," had replied Lucius quietly, but there had been a quiver in his voice. "I am not above a relaxing session of stimulation. How can I refuse?" But Lucius' voice had fallen weaker with ever word, as he had felt the lie in his bones, and had felt the knowledge that Voldemort had known he was lying, that he had been repulsed by what he had been asked to do.

Voldemort had smiled. He had dropped his gaze from Lucius to the young man beside him.

"Draco, you feel yourself above such a crude task?" Voldemort had asked.

"No, My Lord," Malfoy had muttered, even as his gaze at a point only he could see had been rather fixed, and his small form had shaken.

"Your son is a better liar, Lucius," Voldemort had laughed. He turned around. "Death Eaters, choose your partners. I suppose you, Draco..." Voldemort had raised his hand and brushed the top of the white-blond hair, the exact shade of his father's. "...would rather choose someone roughly your size, yes? Someone… not a blood traitor…?"

Voldemort had spoken the last few words as he had leered at his father, as if mocking Lucius' disdain for the Weasleys, with whom the Malfoys were in an age-old feud. It was a feud which Voldemort had seemed not to have the time for anymore.

"Yes, My Lord," Malfoy had replied automatically.

Before he had received prompt, Malfoy had stepped around Voldemort and eyed Harry standing besides Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Ron Weasley. Harry had been rubbing the back of his leg with his foot, discomforted by the potion they had been forced to take the previous day that left his anus and perineum moist and pulsing most demandingly and most irritatingly.

Malfoy had glared at Harry as if in warning that he should not resist. But Harry had had no intention to resist, for his shock had passed and he had calculated which the better scenario was between having sex with a fully grown Death Eater and having it with a boy as meek as he was.

Malfoy had stalked over to him and grabbed him by the wrist, before he had yanked him aside. As if merely to honour their schoolyard feud, Harry had tugged disagreeably away from Malfoy, but only a few times – just, in a way, to tell Malfoy he would not be completely cowed, not by him at least.

At this point Voldemort had swept out of the room, and in his absence there had seemed to be something freer about Lucius. He, however, had still been unable to remove that hint of a snarl on his face as he had stridden over to Lupin.

"This way, if you will," Lucius had drawled, as he had gestured towards a door to the left. A muscle in his jaw had been twitching slightly. Lupin thereupon had thrown a glance at Sirius, and then Harry, to whom he had nodded. His features had hardened slightly when he had moved his eyes onto Lucius' son. But nevertheless he had followed the flowing blond locks out of the room.

When Snape had glided over to claim him, Sirius had thrown a sneer at him as well as he had given him a once-over that unequivocally summarized all the disgust he harboured for Snape. It was the ugliest expression Harry had ever seen his godfather make. Sirius had stalked away from Snape and over to him. "You hurt my godson-"

"Draco will do as he likes with Potter, Black," Snape had drawled. "The bedroom is this way."

Sirius had ignored him and had fixed his glare on Malfoy.

"If you hurt my godson, somehow, someway-"

"Sirius, it's okay," Harry had interrupted him, rather embarrassed his godfather felt he had to warn someone Harry's own size not to hurt him. Then again Sirius had not seen how he could deal soundly with Malfoy and send him scurrying with his tail between his legs after each defeat in a corridor duel.

"This way, Potter," Malfoy had commanded, turning his back on Harry and Sirius. Sirius hadn't looked Harry directly in the eye but had given him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, after which Harry followed Malfoy outside.

The journey to the bedroom had been something of a death march. All of a sudden Harry had appreciated Sirius' words of warning even though he had known they would hardly be honoured.

He had stood with his back to the boy closing the door. This anus had felt as if had swelled somehow during the time from when he had taken the potion, and if it hadn't been Harry's imagination, it had also felt moister and more impatient than ever. The click of the door shutting close had seemed to dissolve the last nerve Harry had held.

"Listen, Malfoy, if you-if you-" His suddenly catching breath had constricted his throat, so too had the sight of Malfoy advancing towards him. The reality of the situation had suddenly hit him. Voldemort had been there and said what his Death Eaters would do to them, but nothing had realer and more sobering than the pale boy approaching him, his every step towards Harry spelling each iron bar of his cage.

Having had realized the slow pace with which Malfoy approached him had been obviously to elicit some kind of dread and fear in him, Harry had dropped his warning finger, clenched his jaw, and stood steadfast in front of the boy whose seed was to go inside him and bear Voldemort a soldier.

"It's my first time!" Harry had blurted out, flushing purple.

But Malfoy had neared towards him further.

"Just don't-don't" Harry would have never said, for his pride wouldn't have let him. Just don't hurt me…

Harry's face had dove into the deepest, yet undiscovered shades of red as he had watched Malfoy stop and stand shyly in front of him.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Malfoy had sneered, mocking Harry's sensitivity. He had dropped his eyes down Harry's robe-clad body, past the grime-stained neck to the blackened toenails; his jaw too, almost like his father, had tightened in quiet revulsion. He had then rummaged inside his robes, and a second later produced a vial, its contents a white viscous fluid.

Harry's brow had twitched into a frown, but he had relaxed it so he would not have seemed clueless in front of Malfoy. Obviously a vial with a memory is somehow going to save me. I know that. He would have been damned if he had showed confusion.

Malfoy had extended the vial to him. Harry had kept a frown still clear of his face and took the vial. But he had been no longer able to pretend to have a clue, as he had squinted at the contents of the vial, while his body had been tilted backwards as if it were instinctually repulsed by Malfoy's proximity.

"Take it," Malfoy had ordered. His gilded cheeks had been more scarlet than Harry had never seen on the pale boy before.

Malfoy had begun making his way towards the door.

"Malfoy," Harry had called. "What-?"

"Use it, I said," Malfoy had rapped, as he had lengthened his strides towards the door.

"But what is it?" Harry had asked, on the verge of shouting.

Malfoy had reached the door and hung on it, and had turned around to face Harry.

"It's..." Malfoy had made a strange motion of shaking his body briefly, and widened his eyes as if to force Harry to realize the meaning of this gesture.

Harry's frown had only deepened. "What is-?"

Malfoy had shaken his body again, bending his knees and making as if he had been bumping himself against something.

Harry had remained frozen in bewilderment. "How is a memory supposed to-?"

Malfoy had squeaked impatiently and had again, but more vigorously than before, made a lewd motion with his middle, clearly ramming his middle into an invisible person.

"Wha-Oh!" Harry had squealed. "Eurgh, Malfoy!" And before he could have stopped himself, Harry had flicked the vial out of his hand in disgust. It had gone sailing across the room and had shattered on the floor, spilling the white thick fluid inside.

Malfoy's jaw had dropped. It had been joined by Harry's onto the floor as Harry had realized what he had done: flushed his only chance at keeping his virginity.

"Potter! What the fuck!" Malfoy had shouted. He had moved away from the door and had advanced on Harry. "That was my father's idea to do that! How the-?"

"You could've told me that your spunk I was holding, then!" had shouted Harry, furious at both Malfoy and himself.

Malfoy's face, flushed with anger, had contorted as he had tried to form words but which failed him.

Harry had been torn, angry with the both of them and feeling as though he had to defend his stupidity. But beyond that, he had been quite disappointed in himself.

Malfoy had finally stopped attempting to speak through his fury and had let his shoulders heave until he calmed down. Harry had glared back at him from across the room.

"What position do you want then?" Malfoy had asked calmly, after a few seconds, the colour in his face somewhat faded. But the thin line of his lips had still spoken of his lingering frustration.

Harry had stared at him quietly, and he had almost wanted to cry.

After he had thrown away his lifeline, which remained splattered on the floor, he and Malfoy had no choice but to climb onto the bed.

They had avoided looking into each other's eyes even after returning to Hogwarts and resuming their academic year. And Harry's hesitation to look in the direction of the Slytherin table was justified as he – by chance the deities must have had hand in concocting – caught a glint of platinum-blond hair, the owner of which was holding court. As though he had sensed his impending stare, Malfoy looked at Harry and their eyes met once more. But Harry tore his away quickly, turned back around in his seat, and reacquainted himself with his shepherd pie. The deep colour in his cheeks told Hermione all she needed to know.

However, far from sympathetic, she pursed her lips, grabbed her Arithmancy tome, and sighed over it, "You two need to get over yourselves, urgently."

"Easier said than done," Harry muttered, before putting a piece of pie in his mouth.

"I don't know how many awkward moments I can survive if you two continue to snap your heads in the other direction and blush the moment you spot each other."

"How many do you think I can?" Harry snapped at her. "If you feel so awkward every time, how d'you think I feel?"

Hermione looked at him over her book without a change of expression for a few moments before her lips began to tremble. She threw the book aside and her body gave a strange shiver. Harry knew what such body language portended.

"I think it was really cute, even if it was kind of sick!" she squealed, for what Harry felt like the umpteenth time, a warm colour creeping up her neck. Before she could tap Ginny, who sat a chair away from her, Harry glared at her warningly.

"You promised!" he hissed, outraged.

Hermione's hand froze. "Oh please, Harry? Can I at least tell Ginny you and Malfoy made love to each other and were having a baby?" she whispered back, as her eyes took on a feverish gleam. "Please, Harry!"

"No!" Harry fumed. "You can't tell her! Not after—No, not her. I'd rather die! No one's gonna know!"

"It's not like I'm telling the whole school if it's only Ginny!" Hermione argued. "And you should be ashamed that you could tell your dorm-mates about it faster than – well – family basically!"

"Yeah but…" Harry stopped himself. Since being pregnant he had grown new sympathies for women which he would have rather had not and which – should he tell Hermione that his dorm-mates were slightly more likely to keep a bloke's secret than Ginny, who would gossip and sprinkle the news all over the school like the Patil loudmouths – would feel dismissive of them.

"I just want it to stay between the three of us, and Seamus, and Dean, and Neville, and Padfoot and Lupin… and Snape… and Dumbledore…"

Harry's face fell at just how many people knew of his pregnancy. Fortunately after Dumbledore rescued them from Malfoy Manor he had worked with Snape and a select and discreet group of people he had said he trusted outside of the capabilities of the Order to reverse the pregnancies and anatomical changes made to the bodies of him, Lupin, Sirius, and Ron. It had taken little less than a weak for their bellies to shrink and the foetus to – "Not die, Harry, but rather "disappear, with the blessing of magic!" Dumbledore had assured him, before he had given Harry a deeply missed twinkle of his blue eyes – and the scorned moisture around their anuses to clear.

Particularly the removal of the latter had to Harry felt like an act of mercy, for even after his requisite impregnation, his twitching anus had still trickled juices down his thighs, and there been nights when he had been so sorely tempted to insert a finger that he had been as close to doing it as running the side of his hand through the crease of his buttocks, which had produced a gloriously relieving friction.

Harry sincerely hoped he would not have to see all those new people who seen men growing babies in their stretched bellies and helped heal them for the rest of his life. But of course he could not hope for Snape, who, however, gave utterly no sign that he had participated in their impregnation still: even as Harry sat in his seat, Snape, behind the High Table, was still a sallow mask as always.

Not that Harry cared for what Snape thought of him. Dumbledore was still reluctant to explain to him why he let Snape continue teaching at his school even after he had seen him in full Death Eater regalia during the rescue. Harry also wouldn't forget how fast Dumbledore's face had turned white with shock when he had realized who the Death Eater annihilating one of the flanks of his army was, moving as he must have known Snape to move, and spotting that infamous hooked nose creased with effort, for Snape, along with the other Death Eaters, had not had time to prepare for the attack and don their masks.

As for Malfoy there had been a huge squabble about whether or not to expel him from the school, as he had been discovered in the service of Lord Voldemort. When no solution had seemed within sight, Dumbledore had decided that what would determine the fate of Malfoy's academic life at Hogwarts would the exact solidity of his allegiance to Voldemort. Against his wishes, as he had made clear to all, Dumbledore had first questioned Malfoy about his commitment to Voldemort under Veritaserum. Malfoy had – to Harry's great disappointment but relief nevertheless – done well in the interrogation. Then, as if he had been saving it for the climax, Dumbledore had, in front of everyone – including Harry, who was the loudest voice in the pro-expulsion camp (not least because he would not have to see Malfoy's again), pulled up Malfoy's sleeve to reveal a clear stretch of pale skin. Malfoy stayed.

"But the rest of the Weasleys are your family too, Harry!" Hermione whined. "Oh, please, Harry? Can I tell her?"

"Harry said no, Hermione!" Ron cut in, coming to his friend's aid. Hermione threw him a revolted look.

"Fine then!" she snapped. "But please do each other the—I mean-" she corrected herself, when Harry glowered at her. "-do something about each other! Goodness knows I die a thousand deaths every time you two are forced to speak to each other! It's painful to watch!"

"It's not like I can help it!" Harry snapped back.

It felt obscene to look in those familiar grey eyes of Malfoy the few times he had careless enough to since returning to Hogwarts after two months in captivity in Malfoy Manor's dungeons. The uneasy feeling that spread from his stomach towards his toes and his ears every time he looked into those eyes was rather like that which he felt whenever he stared at something he knew he shouldn't be staring at, like the place between a girl's legs, or the face of a crying man.

"Yes you can!" Hermione tossed back. "Just talk to each other!"

"I'm not talking to him!" Harry grumbled, rather miserably, staring into his dinner. "If anything he should come and talk to me!"

Harry thought he heard someone nearby choke. When he looked up reluctantly under his forehead at Hermione he saw she was clutching her chest and had just gasped, frozen in her seat.

"Do you want me to tell him to come over and speak to you?" she blurted out excitedly.

Harry opened his mouth to say something really ugly to her, but Ron cut across him.

"D'you wanna go back to the common room, Harry?" Ron asked coolly, as the slight catch in his breath told of his strain to keep his voice level. He seemed to have had enough of Hermione's girlish enthusiasm every time the topic of Harry and Draco having to do or having done anything together came up.

"Who's speaking to whom?" Ginny enquired, as she entered the conversation, fresh on the heels of talking Snorkacks and Wrackspurts with Luna (apparently Harry's nether region was swarming with Wrackspurts now, hence Ginny's swift exit from the conversation).

"No one!" Ron yelled, as he and Harry stood up to leave.

"Oh, boys! I was just—messing around!" Hermione cried, sincere for a moment, but her lips twitched. "Don't be so emotional!"

Ron's face turned purple faster than any ear registered Seamus' burst of laughter. But Seamus this time dared not rub Ron's stomach in a mock gesture as was his running joke since Harry and Ron had revealed to them their "terminated pregnancies". Ron took Harry's arm – more to keep himself in check than Harry – and marched in a straight line towards the great doors of the Hall.

"Let's go, Harry."

Harry slipped out of his grip gently. And as they crossed the Great Hall Harry couldn't quell his five-year-old reflex to cast a cursory glance at the Slytherin table upon exit, and upon his entrance into the Hall. And inside he murdered himself as he spun his head back around away from Malfoy's eyes. He knew his face was burning, and it didn't help that he then recalled that the moment Malfoy had penetrated him – and Harry vowed he would die with this secret – he had gasped with relief.