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Expecting the Unexpected	By : Phoenixstrike Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21919 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: 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.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two: Knocking Up Harry Potter

“Please, please tell me that Malfoy and I aren’t having a child together,” Harry said weakly, for what was perhaps the twentieth time in the last hour. He felt faint, and more than a little sick. If he had anything left in him to bring up, he was in no doubt he would have done so several minutes ago. “In fact, please tell me this is all some hideous trick and Noel Edmonds is about to pop out at any second and yell, ‘Gotcha!’.”

“Unfortunately this is definitely no trick,” Professor McGonagall said, “and who is Noel Edmonds?” Harry didn’t answer her. He was sitting in the headmistress’ office, alone except for Professor McGonagall; Ron and Hermione had been ordered back to the Gryffindor common room. Madam Pomfrey had gone to the dungeons to collect Draco Malfoy. The other parent, Harry’s brain helpfully supplied.

Harry thought back to this morning, and was suddenly desperate for a Time-Turner, to go back to a time where he just blissfully thought he was ill, rather than- Merlin, he couldn’t even think the word. Pregnant. Hermione and Ron had practically frogmarched him down to the Hospital Wing after Ron had found Harry passed out on the floor of the boys’ toilets, white-faced and dripping in sweat, having evidently just thrown his guts up. It wasn’t by a long shot the only time Harry had been sick in the past three weeks, but it was the first time he’d not managed to hide it from his friends. Hermione had revived him, and she and Ron had both ignored Harry’s protests that he didn’t need Madam Pomfrey. The matron performed her diagnostic spells, frowned, and- instead of the Pepperup Harry was expecting to receive- dropped the bombshell of the century on him. Yes, life was much easier this morning.

He jumped slightly and looked up as Madam Pomfrey, accompanying a confused and nervous-looking Draco Malfoy, entered McGonagall’s office.

“Professor,” Malfoy began, “Madam Pomfrey said you needed to speak to me urgently. Is this about my mother? Is she well?”

“As far as I’m aware, Mister Malfoy, your mother is fine,” Professor McGonagall replied, not unkindly. “However there is a matter of supreme urgency I need to discuss with you.” She gestured with her hands to sit down, and Malfoy did. Only then did he seem to spot Harry, already seated. He started slightly, his confusion evidently growing.

“Potter? What…” he said, but Professor McGonagall held up a hand to silence him. Harry looked away, suddenly finding it impossible to fix his gaze on the boy in front of him.

“Mister Malfoy. Can you please tell me what your relationship with Mister Potter has been like since term started six weeks ago?”

Harry spluttered at the word ‘relationship’. He chanced a glance at Draco; his arms were folded and he was staring at the floor. He had the appearance of a person who would rather be anywhere than where he was currently.

“Potter and I haven’t even spoken to one another since term began,” he said, and it was the perfect truth; there had been none of the heated animosity each held for the other during their early years at Hogwarts since they had arrived for the start of their ‘eighth year’, as some of the teachers called it. Instead, both Harry and Draco had come to an unsaid agreement for each of them to just leave the other well alone. “I don’t understand what any problem Potter has includes me, or vice-versa, Professor.” Harry noticed Malfoy was deliberately avoiding his gaze. Good, he thought. Let the git feel uncomfortable.

“That tallies with what Potter has told me,” said Professor McGonagall, “which means what I have to tell you will come as an even greater shock. There’s really no gentle way to break this to you, so I’ll just say it. Mister Malfoy, as unbelievable as this may sound, Harry is pregnant. And spells have determined that you are the child’s biological father.”

Harry hadn’t thought it possible that Malfoy’s porcelain skin could pale any further, but he was wrong. Every drop of blood drained instantly from his face, leaving him looking deathly ill and sallow. Harry noticed he was gripping the arms of his chair incredibly tightly. Harry wondered if Malfoy was about to throw up. He was perfectly still. In fact, Harry thought, he looked every inch that he was carved from marble.

“Pregnant? What do you mean, ‘pregnant’?” Malfoy said in barely more than a whisper. Harry, suddenly furious, found his voice.

“You know, Malfoy. Pregnant. Knocked up. With child. Up the duff. In the family way. Bun in the oven. Expecting. Is that enough euphemisms for you, or would you like me to continue?” Harry didn’t know why he felt so venomous when this was clearly as much as a shock to Malfoy as it was to him, but all he knew was this was all somehow Malfoy’s doing, and Harry hated him at that particular moment.

“I know what the word means, you idiot,” Malfoy replied. “I was just… you know what? Never mind. What do you mean, Professor, that Potter is pregnant, and with my child? That’s absolutely impossible! I’ve never so much as hugged him, let alone anything else, and he’s a boy!”

“Thanks for pointing out the bloody obvious. Ten points to Slytherin,” Harry drawled. Malfoy was still refusing to meet his eye and this was making Harry extremely angry. “Look, I don’t know how this happened, and I’m not exactly delighted by it myself, OK?”

“It’s impossible,” Malfoy repeated.

“When it comes to Potter, Mister Malfoy, we should all know by now that the ‘impossible’ is achievable,” Professor McGonagall said. “It should have been impossible to survive the Killing Curse once, let alone twice. Robbing Gringotts is supposed to be impossible. Defeating the most evil Dark wizard who has ever lived with a simple Disarming Charm learnt well before OWL level should not have been possible. Yet Potter has achieved all those.”

“Yeah, and that makes me feel so precious and special,” Harry said sarcastically. “But this time, I’m not the one who’s done anything! I don’t know how you did this, Malfoy, but you’ve done something, and now we’re having a baby together! This is your fault!”

“I haven’t done anything!” Malfoy protested. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

“Actually, Mister Malfoy, if my theory is correct, then this is down to certain, er, behaviour on your part,” she said, silencing Harry with a look as he opened his mouth to say something at that. “Although there is no way you could have been expected to foresee this happening, so to say it’s your fault per se is perhaps unfair. I’m going to have to ask you some deeply personal questions, I’m afraid, and I require the absolute truth.”

“Truth and Malfoy are incompatible,” Harry muttered under his breath. Both Malfoy and his headmistress gave him a look, and Harry shut up.

“Malfoy- Draco- I’m sorry to ask you this,” Professor McGonagall continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken, “but have you had sexual contact with any students since the start of the school year?”

Malfoy’s face, which had been so white from shock, flooded with colour and he looked deeply uncomfortable now.

“Does Potter have to be here, Professor? I’d much rather he left before I answered this,” Draco said.

“Mister Potter will be staying,” Professor McGonagall replied sternly, before Harry got a chance to speak. “This matter, after all, greatly concerns him, and he has a right to hear it. Now, please answer the question.”

“Fine,” Draco said, incredibly quietly. “Yes. Once.” He threw his face into his hands but Harry could still see the blush seeping out from behind his fingers. He was clearly mortified.

“And was there Polyjuice involved in this encounter?” Professor McGonagall asked. Harry’s head snapped up.

“Yes,” Draco replied, and his voice was barely audible now. He was still refusing to look at anyone. Harry gaped at him in disbelief, as did Madam Pomfrey, whilst Professor McGonagall looked as if this was exactly what she suspected to hear. “Although I didn’t know that until after we’d, er, finished.”

“Perhaps, Draco, you should start from the beginning,” Professor McGonagall said.

*

Six weeks earlier

“Malfoy!”

Draco froze but didn’t turn instantly around. He knew that voice. Of course he did. It belonged to the person he’d thought more about than anyone since the Battle of Hogwarts. He took a deep breath and turned round slowly.

“Potter. What do you want?”

“To talk.” Potter’s expression was unreadable, his green eyes boring into Draco. He turned and walked away, heading for the stairs that led up to the seventh floor. There was no question Draco wouldn’t follow.

He caught up to Potter as he was pacing in front of an all-too familiar wall. He suddenly felt dizzy and realised his palms were sweating.

“I can’t… Potter, you cannot seriously want to talk in the Room of Requirement? I mean, after, well, you know… does it still even work?”

The appearing door answered that question, and Draco was loath to appear frightened of the room if Potter wasn’t. Apparently saving each other’s lives hadn’t quelled some of the competition that existed between them. He took a deep breath and followed Potter into the Room.

It could have been any of the four houses’ common rooms, although the colouring and décor were neutral enough to as not distinguish which. It was small, but incredibly homely, Draco thought. There were comfy, squashy armchairs, a large, roaring fire, and a shaggy cream-coloured rug laid out on the wooden floor. It couldn’t have less resembled the Room of Hidden Things, for which Draco was extremely grateful. He felt himself relax, although not fully. This was still the Room in which he nearly died just four months’ previously, where Crabbe, idiot that he was, did lose his life. And he was still here with Potter.

“What did you want to discuss, Potter?” he asked. Potter’s mouth drew up into a crooked smile.

“Oh, you know, little of this, little of that,” he said, and licked his bottom lip. Draco’s eyes widened. Did Potter just- is he flirting with me?

“What the fuck are you-” Draco began, but Potter forcibly shoved him against the wall and crushed his mouth onto Draco’s. Draco meant to push Potter away. He meant to punch him in his stupid ugly face and storm out of the Room and Requirement. He meant to do both of those. He certainly didn’t mean to moan, feel himself growing hard, and begin to kiss Potter back.

“Like that, do you?” Potter purred in his ear, as his hand snaked down to the growing bulge in Draco’s school robes. “This is a much more productive way to work out some of that, ah, tension between us, don’t you think?” The he sank to his knees, unfastened Draco’s robes, and took Draco into his mouth.

Up until that point Draco had still meant to end this. But he was an eighteen-year-old boy full of hormones, who hadn’t had sex with anyone except himself since sixth year, and Potter was surprisingly talented with his mouth. He surrendered almost instantaneously. What was one shag between former enemies? He had passed the point of caring who was doing it, and focussed instead on the fact that it was happening. He could feel himself getting close….

Potter pulled off and stood up abruptly, leaving Draco feeling very frustrated. “Not yet,” Potter whispered. “I want you to fuck me.”

Draco simply groaned in response, as his hands began to fumble with Potter’s clothing, as fingers began working on his. Clothes were discarded haphazardly around the Room and the two fell onto the shaggy rug by the fire. It was every bit as soft as it looked, Draco’s brain had time to process, before Potter was doing delightfully lewd things to him and he was no longer thinking at all…

It was after he had got himself dressed that he realised something was very, very wrong. The sex had been fantastic and he was still on a post-orgasmic high. A strong sense of calm had overcome him; the sensation was so alien to him that it took him a while to acknowledge it for what it was. He turned, silly grin plastered on his face, to Potter, and felt every drop of calm drain from him.

For, lying on the rug, stark-naked and smirking, wasn’t Potter, but Pansy Parkinson.

“No…” Draco said, tears prickling his eyes. She simply laughed, as if taunting him.

“Surprise,” she mocked.

“What…” Draco said. His brain was struggling to process just what was happening.

“Oh don’t look so shocked, darling,” Pansy smirked. “I’d always wondered what there was between you and that Mudblood-loving freak. Ooh, just wait until the rest of our house hears that you have a thing for Potter! I’m sure Theo and Greg in particular will be just delighted to know you wanted to fuck the boy who’s responsible for landing their fathers in Azkaban. I’ll make you regret ever having betrayed us, Draco.”

*

“You had sex with Pansy Parkinson, thinking it was me, and she was doing it for some kind of sick revenge against you?” Harry yelled. “What the hell were you thinking? Malfoy, I don’t even know where to start with just how twisted this is!” He ran a hand over his face. “Did you seriously think I’d drag you into the Room of Requirement for sex? I’m not even gay! And even if I was, do you really think I’d choose you as the ideal person for a quickie in between classes?!” He realised that Malfoy was extremely close to tears. He was staring at the floor, very white, and biting hard on his lip. Harry found he didn’t care. “OK, so you slept with Parkinson, who was Polyjuiced as me. We’ll deal with that later. Professor, this still doesn’t explain how I managed to get pregnant.”

“As to that, Harry, I believe I know,” Professor McGonagall said. “However I will ask that you’re both quiet and refrain from interruptions whilst I explain. Harry, Draco, as you both know, the change that happens when a dose of Polyjuice is consumed is not an instant one. It is a continuous change over a short space of time. The reverse is also true; once Polyjuice begins to wear off, a person returns to themself in stages, rather than immediately.”

Harry thought back to the numerous occasions when he’d taken Polyjuice. Each time he’d noticed his own features returning through the disguise- a return of his own messy hair, or maybe his eyes returning to their own colour. He remembered Ron in their second year, disguised as Crabbe but with his own red hair returning, whilst in the Slytherin common room. He understood what McGonagall meant. “In this case, which is one of extreme unlikeliness, Miss Parkinson’s body was in the process of shifting from male back to female when she conceived. Parts of her had returned to her female self enough to conceive, yet she was still in the body of Harry. The fertilised egg, therefore, contained Harry’s DNA, not hers.”

Harry couldn’t help thinking that this was perhaps the most fucked-up thing he’d heard since Dumbledore had revealed the existence of Voldemort’s Horcruxes to him two years ago. Malfoy had had sex with what he thought was Harry, got the girl pregnant during the effect of the Polyjuice wearing off, and then-

“Um, Professor, how did I end up pregnant? Why not Parkinson, as she’s the one who actually conceived?” Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

“Ah, Mister Potter, and there lies the magic of the Room of Requirement,” Professor McGonagall said. “Had this, ah, copulation occurred anywhere else in the castle, pregnancy would have been impossible due to how the human body is designed. The particular act Malfoy and Miss Parkinson engaged in cannot, and does not, ever result in pregnancy in either heterosexual or homosexual relations. Except in an extremely rare situation such as this. Miss Parkinson, obviously feeling particularly vindictive towards Draco at that moment, was wishing to hurt Draco and make his life complicated as much as she could, and the Room apparently obliged her.”

She paused and reached for a glass of water on her desk. Harry had a very uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He knew very well what the Room of Requirement was capable of. He looked at his Professor as she took a sip of water before continuing.

“It ensured Miss Parkinson conceived. After all, becoming a parent at eighteen will be extremely difficult. However once Miss Parkinson began to return to herself, the conception faced a very real, critical threat. You see, once Miss Parkinson was completely back to normal, her DNA would have interwoven with that of yours and Draco’s in the embryo, which would have resulted in a spontaneous abortion. So the Room removed it from her and placed it in you, Harry, as the true natural parent. I suppose one could say it took on a form of Apparition, if you will. I daresay Mister Malfoy and yourself both being male confused the Room as it was unsure who make the transfer to, but I suspect that as Mister Malfoy was the one to impregnate Miss Parkinson in the first place, it selected you as the carrier.”

“Merlin on a broomstick,” Harry said, fully deciding in that moment that sometimes magic was a meddlesome force that should keep its big fat nose out of other people’s lives.

“Would Pansy have known this?” Malfoy said, and Harry noticed he was shaking violently. He also had a tear track running down his left cheek, and was still refusing to even glance at Harry. “Did she do this on purpose?”

“Get pregnant, you mean? Almost certainly not,” Professor McGonagall replied. “It’s far more likely she just wanted to play a very vicious trick on you. It’s not something that’s been documented. I myself am only aware of this because Albus told me about a case here at Hogwarts two hundred years ago, which troubled the headmaster of the time deeply. But I take it your relationship with Miss Parkinson is still not a good one, Draco?”

Malfoy shook his head, and Harry thought there were only two times he’d ever seen him look worse: the night of Dumbledore’s death, and when Harry saved him from the Fiendfyre. He looked worse now than he had when the headmistress had informed Draco that Harry was pregnant with his child. “Pansy cooked it up with the other Slytherins,” Malfoy said. “She apparently thought it would be a hysterical joke and teach me a lesson. Blaise told me about it afterwards. She got one of Potter’s hairs from somewhere, snuck a spare set of Gryffindor robes out of the laundry, and, well, you know the rest. And since then I’ve been-” Malfoy paused and took a deep breath. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” It was at this point Harry felt an unwanted but nonetheless real pang of sympathy. Draco was being tormented by his house for his family’s last-minute defection from Voldemort; a decision which had landed many of the students’ parents in Azkaban whilst keeping the Malfoys out of it. And Parkinson had given them the perfect tools with which to carry out their torment. Merlin, he detested that bitch. By the look on Professor McGonagall’s face it was clear she, too, was feeling sympathetic.

“If you’re still experiencing problems with your house, Draco,” she said kindly, “I can have you removed from the dungeons by nightfall. There is a private room on the fifth floor next to the portrait of Eris and Dysnomia. I’ll have the house-elves move your belongings shortly.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Draco replied, and Harry could hear the sheer relief in his voice.

Madam Pomfrey cleared her voice nervously. “There is something I need to discuss you,” she said. “I can perform a termination and end the pregnancy. Obviously it’s something you’ll need to talk about and agree upon, but we can abort if you wish-”

“No,” Harry and Draco both interrupted at the same time. Harry looked over at Malfoy quickly. It was the first time since they’d entered the room that Malfoy was looking directly at him. He offered the other boy the smallest hint of a smile, which was returned.

“Then I suggest we leave it for today. This has come as a major shock to you both, and I need to speak with Pansy Parkinson- don’t worry, I will not be revealing the consequences of her actions to her,” Professor McGonagall said, in response to an alarmed look from both boys. “I will, however, say this to you both. You’re having a child together, something that will connect you both for the rest of your lives. You need to be able to be in the same room with one another and be able to be civil towards one another without resorting to name-calling and duelling. You’re dismissed.”

Harry had just reached the bottom of the spiral staircase when he heard Malfoy calling his name.

“Can… can we talk? Please?” Malfoy asked. His voice was soft, dead, as if he’d given up.

“Not now,” Harry replied, only slightly surprised to hear that defeat echoed in his own voice. “I’m exhausted, I feel sick, and I’ve had the shock of a lifetime thrown on me. It’s been an extremely eventful few hours and I think holding a polite conversation with you right now would be the icing on the Cake of Weirdness, and probably cause the universe to implode on itself or something. I’m just going to go up to Gryffindor Tower and crawl into bed. We’ll talk later.”

Draco looked as if he was about to argue, but he shut his mouth and simply nodded. “Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” agreed Harry.

“And, Potter?” Harry turned round again.

“I’m really fucking sorry.”

“Tomorrow, Malfoy,” Harry said, ignoring the apology, and turned once more and headed for the stairs. Only once he was completely alone in the corridor did he allow the emotion that had been threatening to overcome him for the last couple of hours surface. All he’d wanted was one year. Just one year at Hogwarts where he could be a normal eighteen-year-old boy; study, maybe have a few dates, land himself in detention, and spend time with his friends. Yet once again he was as far removed from normal as it was possible to be. He blinked angry tears from his eyes, cast a Silencing Charm around himself, and let out an almighty scream of fury.
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Expecting the Unexpected