Harry Potter and all its indicia are © JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. I own none of the copyright, and this fanfiction makes no money.
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione other minor pairings.
Warnings: mPreg- if this is not your thing you will not like this story. Non-explicit sexual scenes between two men. Language.
A/N: So, yeah. I said I'd never write an mPreg fic. I just don't buy the concept that just because a wizard can perform magic, they're biologically capable of becoming pregnant. So naturally I'm writing one... go figure. It's set post-DH, ignoring epilogue, and is set during Harry's '8th year'. It's also set in a world where men cannot get pregnant, and the chances of it happening were next to zero. But it is Harry we're talking about. He's never conformed to the rules.
I expect this to be either long novella or shortish novel length. I hope you like it.
He bit down on the boy's neck, causing him to cry out in a combination of pain and unadulterated pleasure. He knew he shouldn't be doing this but it felt too amazing to stop. He thrust deeply, wildly, as every ounce of self-control he possessed snapped. He was getting close now; he could feel the tingling begin to spread through his body, the familiar sensation of his balls tightening, as his body prepared for orgasm. With a final deep thrust into the other boy, he stiffened, releasing a hoarse cry as he came, spilling himself into the tight channel.
He felt strong hands weave themselves into his hair and then he was being pulled into a kiss, one that was both soft and passionate. A sense of contentment that had been all too rare recently washed over him. Far sooner than he'd have liked, the kiss ended. He slipped out of the other boy, and still panting hard, climbed off the bed and began searching for his clothes.
Now fully dressed, he turned to his lover, ready to declare how utterly fantastic that had been, but the words died on his lips. Instead he simply gaped in horror, the euphoria we was feeling draining away instantly. "No…."
His bed partner just laughed; it was an unpleasant sound full of taunting. The expression contorted into a sneer.
"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but did you just say Harry is pregnant?" Hermione squeaked. The Hogwarts matron surveyed the scene in front of her. Harry was laying on the examining table in the Hospital Wing, his ever-present best friends either side of him. Ron Weasley was white-faced, which emphasised the freckles on his face horribly, as his blue eyes bulged slightly with shock. He was holding onto the headboard of the bed, as if in need of the physical support. Hermione Granger, hair as bushy as ever, cheeks flushed, and her face holding the expression anyone familiar with the girl had come to associate with pre-exam nerves, was holding Harry's hand in her own, a grip so tight that her knuckles were chalk-white.
And then there was Harry himself. He was propped up in the bed with pillows, looking faintly green- a combination, no doubt, of the recent constant vomiting and the news he had just received, looking as if Voldemort himself had suddenly returned from the dead and broken into the school. He suddenly startled everyone by bursting out laughing.
"Hysterical, Madam Pomfrey," he said, the incredulity he was currently feeling laced into every syllable, "but it's still months until April Fools' Day, you know."
"I'm deadly serious, Mister Potter," she replied sternly. Harry scanned her face, looking for a hint of a lie. He wondered who had put her up to this. Was it George? Of course not, Harry reminded himself. George hadn't been the same since the Battle of Hogwarts and the loss of Fred.
"I need to congratulate you on your completely accurate diagnosis then," he said drily. "Pregnancy is clearly the obvious conclusion. I really should have suspected it myself. Except for two tiny little details. For one, I'm a virgin. And for another, I'm male."
"It is not something I've ever come across in all my years of practising Healing," Madam Pomfrey said, "but there is no doubt whatsoever, Mister Potter. You're pregnant. I've performed the diagnostic spell three times as I didn't believe it myself, and each time it's displayed a positive result for pregnancy."
"Then there's something wrong with your charm!" Harry yelled, feeling his cheeks flush. "I'm a bloke! I have, er, bloke parts! And I highly doubt that if God wanted to send the next Messiah to Earth he'd choose me to carry it! So, how the bloody hell did I get pregnant?"
"I honestly don't know," Madam Pomfrey replied. Harry noticed she looked as agitated as he'd ever seen the usually unflappable matron. "But there is certainly nothing wrong with my charm work. You're with child, Harry. I need to speak to the headmistress. But before I do that I would like to perform two specific diagnostic spells designed for pregnancy, if you're agreeable?"
"Sure, why not," Harry sighed. "It's not like they're going to reveal anything, because I. Am. Not. Pregnant." Harry knew he sounded rude, but he was getting irritated now. Irritated with Madam Pomfrey for actually believing he could be carrying a baby. Of all the stupid things he'd ever head… Okay, so he'd heard pregnant women were sick in early pregnancy, and he'd been feeling grotty for weeks now with nausea and extreme tiredness, but people had to have had sex and have girl bits for pregnancy. He met neither of those criteria.
Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at Harry's bare abdomen and uttered, "Repertum Gravida." Harry watched in morbid fascination as his stomach emitted a periwinkle blue colour that was intensely bright. His stomach felt feverishly hot, then suddenly ice-cold, before the light faded from him completely. But instead of disappearing, it formed a cloud that hovered mid-air. Harry blinked a few times and realised the cloud was forming words. He felt himself gape in blank shock.
Detection of viable pregnancy: positive. Number of foetuses: one.
The matron waved her wand again. "Tempus Gravida." More periwinkle light, that in any other circumstance Harry would have described as beautiful. However at the moment the light was nothing except terrifying.
Foetal age: six weeks and three days. Gestational age: eight weeks and three days. Conception estimate: second September, 1998. Estimated date of delivery: twenty-sixth May, 1999
"I don't… I can't… how did… oh fuck," Harry babbled, barely noticing Hermione's grip on his hand had intensified so much she was now crushing it. "I don't understand," he whispered. Disbelief was flooding through him. He realised he was shaking violently.
"I'll leave you for a few moments, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said kindly. "I'll go and speak to Headmistress McGonagall. With your permission, of course. But I think she really needs to know about this." Harry simply nodded, too dumfounded to speak further. "OK, then. I'll be a few minutes."
"I don't know how this happened. I've never done anything, with anyone. I swear I'm telling the truth!" Harry said desperately, once the door to the Hospital Wing closed. He realised his eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
"We believe you, mate, don't we, Hermione?" Ron said. Hermione nodded her head vigorously.
"Of course we do, Harry! And there's bound to be a logical reason for this. I remember reading in Healing Through the Ages that there have been three other documented cases of male pregnancy in the last seven hundred years. Hang on, I'll just run to the-"
"If the end of that sentence was 'library' then, please, don't bother," Harry said wearily. "Even if there have been a few freak cases, it doesn't explain how I've ended up pregnant." Pregnant. He was pregnant. There was a baby growing inside him. Bile rose up in his throat with alarming speed and his stomach churned. "Oh, oh! Pass me that kidney dish, Ron."
Ron got the metal dish under Harry's chin just in time before Harry was sick into it. This was all too much to take in. His head was spinning with the information he'd received in the last half an hour.
"I'm going to have a baby," he said aloud as he wiped his mouth on a corner of his blanket whilst Hermione Vanished the contents of the kidney dish, "oh god."
"You know we'll be there with you every step of the way, Harry," Ron said sincerely, gripping Harry's shoulder in a supportive way. "You're not going to do this alone. You'll always have me and Hermione, and Ginny, and Mum and Dad will help loads too. You know how Mum is around babies. She's going to adore this."
Harry forced a weak smile that was fooling no one.
Just then the door to the Hospital Wing was flung open and Professor McGonagall, thin-lipped and her hair pulled tightly back into a bun, strode into the ward.
"Oh, Potter," she said as soon as she saw Harry, and her voice was gentle, sympathetic. "Why do these things always happen to you?" Then she strode around the bed and stood at his side, and did the last thing Harry was expecting; she took him into her arms. "Don't worry, Potter. You'll have the support of the school. I'll personally ensure that."
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Harry, if it's OK with you, I'd like to perform a paternity test. To find out who the foetus' other parent is."
"Other parent?" Harry repeated. Madam Pomfrey smiled. Harry thought the smile was slightly patronising, which didn't help improve his current mood one single iota.
"Yes. You know, it takes two people to make a child, Mister Potter."
"I know that!" Harry shouted. "Which, aside from me being a boy, is why I can't understand how this has happened. As I've said, I've never had sex with anyone, or even- you know, um, been naked with anyone else-" Harry's cheeks where burning with embarrassment now- "so how can there possibly be another parent?"
"Actually, Potter, I have a theory about how you came to be in this situation," Professor McGonagall said. "This is an exceptionally rare situation to the point where it's not been seen in a few centuries, but it's not unprecedented. And If I'm right then there is another parent involved."
"Fine," Harry said, and screwed his eyes tightly shut. If he concentrated hard enough then maybe he could pretend he was in Gryffindor Tower, in his own bed, that he had just had the strangest and most ludicrous dream, and hadn't woken up yet. "Just go ahead. Do whatever you like."
"Harry." Madam Pomfrey's voice forced him to abandon that idea. "As you may know, Muggles determine paternity after the birth of a child, through testing of DNA. But we don't have to wait until the birth. There is a charm that will reveal the parents of a child whilst he or she is still in utero. I can do that right now. And then, we'll take it from there, once they're identified."
For the third time that hour she pointed her wand at Harry's stomach. "Paternitas."
More coloured light. More gentle this time though, Harry thought, like a warm glow, rather than a dazzling bolt. It was a soft lilac, and its wispy consistency reminded him of memories just before they were dropped into a Pensieve.
After a couple of minutes, the smoke rose into the air, as before, and began to form letters.
Parent one: Harry James Potter.
"Well, the child is definitely biologically yours, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said. Harry was barely listening. He was too busy focussing on the smoke, which was rearranging itself once more to form more letters.
A collective gasp filled the room. Hermione let out a small scream, whilst Ron groaned and flung his hands over his face, shaking his head almost violently in evident disbelief. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall began talking very rapidly and urgently in whispers. But Harry was paying them no mind. He was struggling to comprehend what he was reading. It simply wasn't true. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, hoping against hope that when he replaced them on his face he would see a different name. But no such luck. There, in three-foot-high letters of lilac smoke was written, perfectly clearly, the last name he'd wanted to see:
Parent two: Draco Malfoy.