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Flesh of My Flesh	By : lashton Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9435 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Legacy of Light
Laurence Ashton
Prologue:
Flesh of my Flesh
Part C

Term began and Draco settled as comfortably as possible into his room by his godfather's. When asked if he wanted to rejoin Slytherin House in the dorms, Draco declined, although he didn't tell anyone why. He suspected Snape knew anyway. Lucius probably had appealed to some or most of the Slytherins to watch Draco and keep him updated on most of Draco's activities and emotional state. Draco simply couldn't bear the thought that his father could creep into his privacy like that, that he would still try to, especially after� what happened.
It was nearly a month and a half into term when, during a demonstration in Defense against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors, Draco grew dizzy and collapsed. He was sent promptly to Madam Pomfrey to be looked over.
Quidditch season was nearing, and Draco thought he may have over-taxed himself the night prior during practice. It had been raining and terribly cold, and Draco sped through the crisp air on his LQ in a soaked riding cloak. It didn't take long before he grew dizzy and tired and sore, but he kept doing sprints and exercises with the rest of the team.
"Come now," said Madam Pomfrey, handing over a wad of ugly plaid clothes. "Into the flannels. You're running a fever and look pallid. Get right to bed and I'll be over in a few moments, hmm."
Draco hurried into the bathroom to change into the standard issues then crawled into the bed she'd assigned to him, relaxing under the heavy covers. Madam Pomfrey came over after a few minutes and cast a myriad of diagnostic spells, seeming to get more and more flustered until she hurriedly excused herself to check some sources.
Worry bit at Draco's thoughts, and he struggled to push it aside. Eventually he succeeded and drifted into a light, fitful sleep. When he woke, he was hungry, and still alone. He went to the bathroom and when he came out, Madam Pomfrey was there with a tray full of food. She said that dinner had been a few hours ago, but that she'd had the house elves bring something up for him just now.
"Is something wrong with me?" said Draco as he sat down and Madam Pomfrey drew the hospital table closer to him, shifting it over his bed. "It's just that earlier you couldn't seem to make sense of something then you went off before I could ask about it."
"Headmaster Dumbledore is better fit to answer your questions than I am," said Madam Pomfrey. "Eat now, and I'll send for him and Professor Snape."
Draco tucked into his dinner, grateful for the steamy, broth soup, salad, and bread. The food was light, which was good, for Draco couldn't seem to stomach much else lately, and often ended up sick after meals anyway.
Madam Pomfrey bustled away. She returned with Professors Snape and Dumbledore in tow a little while after Draco had finished eating and had lain back down to rest, idly petting the cool, smooth skin of Mirage.
"How are you feeling, Draco?" said Headmaster Dumbledore, looking at Draco with grave blue eyes. Looking into Dumbledore's eyes made Draco feel as if he were drowning. He didn't answer. "I have�. some rather unfortunate news for you, I am afraid."
"Is it terrible?" said Draco, steeling himself. Nausea swirled through his stomach and Draco now regretted having eaten anything at all. Dumbledore nodded, shoulders tense.
"When you arrived at Hogwarts this year, Madam Pomfrey was able to counteract the potions you took and spells cast on you, but not, it seems before they took effect in a rather unpredictable way." Snape placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, attempting to be comforting. But Madam Pomfrey couldn't look Draco in the eye, which he found dreadfully disheartening and disturbing. "I shall be frank with you, Draco: you are with child."
Draco had just enough time to grab the bedpan before he was sick.

"I� I quit," said Draco, staring blankly at the emotions that passed over the faces of his (former) quidditch teammates: first realization, then confusion, then anger. Draco braced himself for the outraged replies that he knew were to follow.
The team erupted, demands bursting from them like the steam of a geyser. They wanted to know why, what would make him do a thing like that, how did he expect them to find and train a new seeker before the first match against Gryffindor? Draco had no acceptable answers to give.
"I'm sorry," was all he said, and then walked away. He went back to his bedroom to collect his books for classes. Five days had passed since he'd found out about his� condition, two since his fever had broken, and only one since he'd been permitted out of the infirmary. Draco felt as if he were waltzing through a cold and distant dream, someone else's dream, and that soon all of his troubles should fade away in the dawn light.
Draco was not surprised when, upon reaching the Great Hall for breakfast, he was met with stares, some accusatory, some confused, others gleeful. The students were wondering what was going on with him, why he would quit the team so precipitously, and Draco did not meet their questioning gazes because there was nothing to say. He certainly did not think, 'I'm carrying my father's bastard child; sorry if this inconveniences you in any way,' would go over very well.
As he sat, alone, at the far end of the Slytherin table for breakfast, Draco clung to whatever shreds of dignity he could scrounge up and wrapped them tightly about himself. People stared at him openly and Draco was only grateful that they did not know, although that wouldn't last for long. When Draco's secret was out, Draco would be left bare for everyone to view and judge, and Draco would have nothing left, not even his own thoughts, for who would not be able to guess what Draco would be then thinking?
After only a few bits of plain toast and a few swigs of pumpkin juice, Draco's sickness returned full force and he pushed his plate away from him and grabbed his things. There was no use staying in the Great Hall to be ogled if he wasn't going to eat anything, and he started towards the greenhouses for his first class of the day.
Someone met him in the hallway and grabbed his wrist, spinning him around. That someone was Potter, red-faced and angry, although Draco was not certain why. Draco thought Potter would have come to gloat, nothing more.
"What do you think you're doing, quitting quidditch?" Potter demanded, his clasp on Draco's wrist growing harsher with each word.
"There are more important things than schoolyard games," said Draco coldly. He was grateful that his voice didn't crack, that he could pull it off, if only to say a little. "One would think that you would be wisest to that."
"Don't toy with me, Malfoy. I want to know why you quit the team."
"Because," snapped Draco, flushing from anger, "I can't risk the fall."
"What?" said Potter stupidly. "Are you sick or something?"
Draco snorted and snatched his arm out of Potter's hold. "I am in a delicate situation. Now, if you'll excuse me, Potter �� Draco stormed away, gasping to bring his breathing under control as he strode swiftly out into the cool autumn air.
He saw a group of Slytherins in his year when he was on his way to the greenhouse and cursed under his breath. Among them was Pansy Parkinson, his best friend since as long as he could remember and the girl he supposed he would have married� had things gone the way his father had originally planned. She started to approach him, a familiar angry glint in her dark brown eyes. Draco spun around as if to flee in another direction, but he smacked directly into Blaise Zabini, another of his friends, but one not quite as close to Draco as to Pansy. Blaise swiftly grabbed Draco's wrists and sneered at him, holding Draco so tight that Draco didn't even bother struggling.
"What do you want, Blaise?" said Draco, trying to breathe deeply so as to stave off the panic rising in his gut. The feel of being restrained did not sit well with him, and he tensed against the hysterics flashing through his thoughts.
"Where did you think you were running off to, Draco?" said Pansy, coming to stand at his side. She placed a hand on Draco's arm and even through the thick fabric of his robes Draco could feel her nails digging into his skin. "What the bloody hell has gotten into you lately?"
"Nothing," said Draco, jerking back away from Blaise. Blaise held him fast and sneered at Draco's bid for freedom. "Let me go."
"Honestly, now, we're old friends," said Blaise coldly. "What are you afraid of?" Blaise's grip tightened and he jerked Draco forward so that he stumbled and fell awkwardly onto Blaise for support. Draco could feel the heat radiating from the other boy, could feel his wrists chafing under Blaise's iron grip, and he could no longer fight the mania singing in his veins, couldn't restrain his fear. He began to struggle in earnest.
"LET ME GO, ZABINI!" screeched Draco, yanking futilely in an attempt to get away. "GET OFF OF ME � LET ME GO � "
"DRACO, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" said Pansy, panicking as well, near to screaming in Draco's ear. "Draco � what � "
Draco could remember to coolness of the silk bonds against his skin, could still feel it as they slowly began to chafe and burn, how he'd yanked and gripped them and pulled with all his strength, but he couldn't get free. Remembered, as if it were happening all over again, how his muscles ached and tensed, how his heart beat wildly, thundering in his own ears. He could still smell the musk of his father's cologne as it mixed with sweat and blood. Could still see his father's eyes� hear his father's voice� and he had begged.
"GET � DADDY � "
"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!" shouted someone else, nearby.
Suddenly Draco was yanked away, and he fell sprawled on the grass then scrambled frantically back. He backed into someone's knees and jerked away, but a hand came to rest on his shoulder comfortingly. He didn't look up � the touch was light, almost pleasant � but he stared unabashedly as Pansy and Blaise squared off against a red-faced Harry Potter. Potter had his wand out and aimed, unwavering, in Blaise's face.
"What is going on out here?" demanded Professor Sprout as she came darting across the lawn, breathless, from the greenhouses not too far away. Potter turned to her and glared. Draco felt his world slipping away from him � felt his life crumbling around his feet, and he couldn't stop his sob.
"Zabini and Parkinson were harassing another student," said Potter coldly. He turned his glare back to Zabini. "Harassing him beyond what can be overlooked as harmless, if inappropriate, peer aggression, might I add."
"Oh Merlin," whispered Draco, struggling to his knees. "Oh fuck."
Sprout leveled a stern stare on Pansy then Blaise, and nodded towards the castle. "To the Headmaster's office with you both," she said icily. "No dallying."
Draco started pushing himself to his feet and startled when someone else hauled him up, almost effortlessly. He glanced up to thank whoever helped him and ended up gawking. Weasley stood over him looking vaguely concerned and stark pale so that his freckles were glaringly obvious. Next to him stood Granger, her hand still on his sleeve.
Pansy and Blaise stormed by him, giving him worried and confused glances over their shoulders. Draco ducked away from their gazes and stared in humiliation at the grass. Tears were welling in his eyes but he absolutely refused to cry where just anyone could see him.
"Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?" said Professor Sprout kindly, touching a hand to his shoulder with no little amount of apprehension.
Draco shook his head, not daring to look up at any of them. He didn't even want to think of who else might have seen him in his madness or heard what he had � Oh Merlin no, thought Draco furiously, feeling bile rising in his throat. What he had said just now � what he had almost said! Surely everyone had figured it out by now � they were probably all going to run off and laugh at him and �
Draco spun around on his heel so quickly that he fell over on his hands and knees in the grass. He hunched over there, shoulders shaking, rocking viciously as he vomited all over the lawn. He hadn't eaten much at breakfast, so there was not much in his stomach to empty, but he stayed like that for moments more, dry-heaving violently, until he'd given himself a terrible headache.
"Let's get you to the infirmary, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Sprout as she took Draco's arms hefted him to his feet. Draco looked at her, stunned, for she was a rather strong woman, and swayed slightly on his feet. "I'll conjure a stretcher � "
"I can walk, thank you," said Draco, turning to go.
"Mr. Malfoy," began Professor Sprout, in a huff.
"I'll make certain he gets there," said Potter, stashing his wand up his sleeve as he fell into step beside Draco. Grimacing in embarrassment and worry, Draco didn't put up a fight as he quickened his pace and nearly raced back into the castle. "Whoa, slow down there," said Potter, grabbing his arm when he'd caught up to Draco in the entrance hall. "There's no rush." Draco glared at him, thought better of it, and went right back to staring at the tile. "Hey, Malfoy, are you all right? I know you said you were sick, so�." He trailed off awkwardly.
"Thank you," said Draco, voice hoarse, "for what you did back there."
Potter hesitated in his step, then seemed to relax once more. "Did they hurt you? I mean, they might be angry with you for quitting the team, and I'll admit I was, too, but that's no reason for what they did."
Draco snorted and risked a glance at Potter. He looked confused. Typical, thought Draco before turning away again.
"Potter, that had very little to do with quidditch." Draco bit his tongue as soon as the words were out, angry with himself for saying anything at all and piquing Potter's interest. "Look, just forget it. I wouldn't expect you to understand."
"You'd be surprised by how much I might understand of what you're going through."
"AND WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF IT?" snarled Draco, spinning around to glower at the arrogant bastard.
"Hey, you're not the only one to have ever been betrayed, so don't think � "
Potter's words were like a knife in Draco's soul, tearing to shreds every last bit of his honor that he'd managed to scrape back together since his time at Hogwarts this summer. Those words burned, consumed him like a hungry abyss, and shattered his fa�ade like the pale imitation of himself that it truly was.
"How could you know about that�." he began, voice cracking and faltering. The tears came, hot and painful, streaking down his face and wiping away all the brave, stoic faces he'd managed to carefully paint on before school started up again. "What did I do wrong?"

Draco did not alter his breathing as he began to stir from his sleep. There were voices in the room with him � wherever he was, it was dark, he could tell, and he was lying in a bed, covered in heavy blankets. The voices were close by and speaking openly.
Your greatest asset, Draco, his father had told him when he was only six and had been caught spying on his father and friends in his father's private, forbidden study, is the ability to become invisible. People will tell you anything if they think you are not there; to be more precise, I should say, people will tell you everything if they believe that you are not there.
For a while, Draco lay still, curled on his side in a fetal position, listening to the voices above his bed.
"I didn't know," Potter said quietly, voice guilt-ridden. Draco could hear him shifting awkwardly � his beat-up sneakers make soft squeaky noise on the floor as he twisted his feet. "I didn't mean to� I didn't mean what I said, not in that way."
"Nonetheless." Snape, cold, as usual. He was stiff as well, Draco could tell by the restless rustling of his robes as he moved about. Worried, then, thought Draco, for me. "What you have done � "
"Severus," said the Headmaster, tone warning.
Snape snorted and continued on. "What you have done will have its consequences, both the catastrophic and the � "
"Ah, good," said Dumbledore, obviously catching Draco as he hedged closer to the sound of the voices. "You are awake."
Sighing, Draco sat up and glanced around. Professors Snape and Dumbledore stood to one side of the bed with Potter sitting in a chair between them, looking absolutely miserable. A quick glance around told him that he was in his own room instead of in the infirmary as he had expected.
"What happened?" asked Draco curiously. He was nervous, as well, to know how much of his own betrayal Potter had been told.
Snape nudged Potter viciously in the shoulder and Potter turned, rather ironically, Gryffindor red. "You fainted in the entrance hall," he muttered. "Snape found us before I got to the infirmary and brought us here instead when he heard what happened."
"Oh," said Draco, having nothing intelligent to say. It felt as if he'd swallowed a swarm of bees. "Um� Did they say�."
"Yes," said Potter, going a deeper shade of red and ducking his head until his chin touched his chest. Draco looked away from him, utterly humiliated, and fiddled with the silver embroidery on his navy blue duvet.
"How are you feeling?" asked Snape. "Madam Pomfrey has already been down and she has� tended you. All is in order."
Potter glanced up quickly at that, then looked away. But Draco had seen the curiosity in his eyes. So Potter had not been told everything, for which Draco was grateful.
"Thank you, Professor," said Draco. "I am fine, just tired."
"Well, we shall let you rest then, Draco," said Dumbledore. "You are excused from classes for the rest of the day. I should like to speak with you tomorrow before breakfast, however, and Madam Pomfrey plans to drop by today after dinner. If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend."
Dumbledore was nearly out the door when Draco stopped him, suddenly remembering his friends � for they still were his friends, even if they'd gotten caught up in his father's games, as he suspected. "Headmaster! About Pansy and Blaise�. They didn't�. It wasn't all that it seemed, sir, and I may have panicked just a bit."
Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling as he nodded. "I suspected as much. I wasn't planning to dole out any punishments until I'd had an opportunity to speak with you on the matter, though. Thank you, Draco. I'll be off, now."
That left Draco alone with Potter and Snape. For a moment, the three stayed there awkwardly, the silence thick enough to choke. Draco turned his attention back to the blossoming silver tree on the duvet cover and picked at the cords.
"Potter!" barked Snape suddenly, which was enough to make both Potter and Draco jump in surprise. "You will serve out your detentions with me this week. There are certain potions that I must brew and you will be my help. Go now to my study and wait for me. You need to become acquainted with them."
"Yes, sir," said Potter, and he hastened out of the room, probably eager to get away from Draco. That thought almost brought a sneer to Draco's lips but he sighed instead. He was not very good company before the incident over the summer and certainly could never make good company now that he was� unclean.
"Are you all right, Draco?" said Snape once more, concern lacing his voice as he stroked Draco's hair. Draco leaned into the touch, glad for it, glad that there was a least one person in the world who could still bear to touch him.
"I will� I will make due," said Draco quietly. "I am glad, at least, that I didn't hurt� when I fainted�."
"I understand."
Draco sighed, frustrated because he was certain that Snape did not � could not � understand. "Yes. It is very hard to hate it sometimes, when I think that it is dependent on me, at least for now. I can only pity it, for I am a disgrace, and will only bring shame into its pathetic life."
"Do not say such things," said Snape, voice stern, but somewhat gentle. He mussed Draco's hair affectionately. "And really, Draco, it is a child. Your child."
Draco snorted in disgust. "Do not remind me that this little perversion is mine alone to bear. I should like to kill it. That would be the kindly thing to do, to spare it such a scandal as that into which it is born and call it still-born."
"You will do no such thing, Draco Malfoy," said Snape with a sneer, his fingers tightening painfully in Draco's hair. Draco winced and nodded his agreement. "If you do not want him, I shall take him, but you will never raise your hand against him. I hope that I am understood."
Draco sneered. "Clearly. And anyway, there is the little matter of that blasted law � Wizarding Preservation Act. Honestly. Well, they're not likely to find a child of purer blood than this monstrosity, so the Ministry will be pleased."
"Draco, please try to understand � "
Draco sniffed and shifted away from Snape to crawl out of bed and open his wardrobe. "Why does Potter have detention?"
"For upsetting you to the point � "
"Oh, I see," interrupted Draco, not exactly eager to talk about that either. "Which potions are you brewing, then? And why would you ask his help, anyway?"
"They are potions for you, to aid with your�" Snape coughed, awkward, "condition. Supplements and nutrients mostly, but also pain-killers that won't hurt the child. You will need quite a bit of those later as your body continues to adjust to the unnatural stress. You are free to join us to help. There are some complicated ones that I'm sure you'll be interested in. Also, I have taken it upon myself to fashion a� contraceptive," Snape blushed as he said the word, as if ashamed, "for your future use. I� hope I was not too bold or presumed too much."
Draco could feel a flush rising on his cheeks and he looked away. Contraceptives were a shameful, unnatural thing in the wizarding world, and went, most thought (especially purebloods) hand-in-hand with divorce and devilry. Witches who used them or wizards who advocated or accepted their use for their spouses and friends were shunned, treated as outcasts from society, and sometimes even feared. Needless to say, it was a touchy subject and bringing it up even in situations like this was reckless.
"Er, thank- thank you, Uncle Severus." Draco was glad that he at least didn't stumble over the words too pitifully.
They parted: Snape to his study to get books and materials for Potter, and Draco to his bathroom to have a nice, long relaxing soak in the tub.

A little while later, dressed in cream linen trousers and pale green linen shirt and lightweight indoor robes, Draco walked out into Snape's sitting room. The Professor was gone, probably to teach classes, but the door to the study was opened and Draco could see Potter sitting at the desk surrounded by opened books. Potter hadn't noticed him, yet, and Draco was grateful for that because it gave him time to brace against the humiliation of having to look Potter in the eye again. He could never forget that Potter knew that he had been taken against his will, that he was weak and succumbed, and that he was whorish and dirty.
"Are you going to say anything?" said Potter, looking up and shoving a book aside as he scribbled some notes on a piece of parchment. "Or were you planning to simply stare?"
I can't do this, Draco thought, cheeks burning from shame. He couldn't meet Potter's gaze, couldn't bear knowing that Potter would look at him from this moment on as a filthy rentboy, a cheap trick.
"Malfoy?"
Draco crossed over to the door to Snape's study and closed it without a word. Then he went to sit on the couch by the bare hearth and pulled his knees to his chest, clutching his wand in his fist. Mirage lifted her head and looked him in the eye, and Draco felt his cheeks burn.
"I am sorry, pretty one, that you got saddled with one the likes of me," he told her, voice wavering. She blinked at him and hissed. "You are too good for me. I am worthless now."
"You don't really believe that, do you?"
Draco spun around and stared at Potter in shock. His heart was pounding in chest, his eyes wide, blood suffusing his cheeks from the small fright. He had not heard Potter open the door, had not heard Potter approach. But now Potter stood only a few feet away and he stared unblinkingly at Draco. Draco looked down at the snake coiled around his wrist and shrugged as he turned back to face the hearth.
"Malfoy�. Draco, do not judge yourself so harshly against� against an ideal. Sometimes things happen to you that you cannot control, but that doesn't steal your worth away, that doesn't destroy you � "
A true man allows nothing to simply happen to him, son, Lucius told Draco when he was very small, and for every day of his life since, Draco believed it. A true man is made by his own will, his own resolve, and his own ability to shape the world to fit around his life.
"You know nothing, Potter."
Potter sighed and came around the couch to sit beside Draco, but not so near that they were close enough to touch. Draco snorted inwardly, but he scooted away until he was against the arm of the couch and there felt to be a great divide between Potter and himself. Potter glanced at him sidelong but said nothing. In their oppressive silence, Mirage hissed; it was long and cold.
"You were right about one thing," said Potter after a moment, smiling slightly and he edged closer until he pressed against Draco's side. Draco tensed and tried to repress the urge to flee into his bedroom and ward the door. "She is very beautiful."
Potter's head bent over Draco's arm which rested on his knee, and Potter's hair fell forward into his face so that Draco could not see his expression. One of Potter's hands came up gradually, as if he was attempting to be slow and obvious so as not to startle Draco and send him into a panic. Draco watching him, hawk-like, clutching his wand even tighter, but he made no move against Potter when he took Draco's wrist and pulled it closer to him. With his left hand, Potter covered Mirage's tiny head with his palm and spoke to her in Parseltongue. The sound sent chills down Draco's spine, and Mirage tightened around his wrist.
For a while they spoke in the snake language, and Draco watched them, frozen in fascination. Eventually, their conversation ended and Potter set Draco's hand back on his knee and leaned back on the couch. He was smiling in a way that Draco had never seen him smile before, not even with his friends, and it made Draco ache with longing to be able to smile like that again.
"She fancies herself your mother," said Potter at last, indicating Draco's wrist.
"What?"
"Mirage," Potter explained, "is very old, older than you might expect from a mere snake."
"She is more than a snake, Potter," said Draco, but not with condescension. "She is Fay."
"Ah. That explains it, then," he said. "She says that she comes from a white desert where the sun puts a fire on her back and she must slink underfoot of the Big Ones to cool off. Their underbellies glitter with gems, and she has swallowed many of them so that she will be filled with magic. Even now they run through her veins and she uses all of her power to bring a knight for you." Potter smirked at Draco then, and Draco averted his gaze once more, unable to stand the strange gleam in Potter's eyes. "She says you need a savior�. Draco, I am a hero."
Draco snorted and jumped up from his seat. "Don't mock me, Potter. You are the Golden Boy and I am� I am filthy. You've won. I don't care beyond that."
Draco turned to go, but Potter grabbed his wrist and Mirage shifted to accommodate him. Draco stilled, clenching his wand so tight that he was surprised it hadn't snapped in half, but he did not have the strength to turn back and look upon Potter.
"What?" said Draco, angry with himself that his voice cracked. "What do I have left that you want from me? Everything that was mine has been stolen away, Potter, and whatever remnants there may be are not worthy of your notice. Just let me go."
"No," Potter said, giving a yank. Draco stumbled and fell over onto the couch, hard, making it rock back and slide a little way on the floor. He glanced at Potter, angry, but not nearly enough to fight back. Only, he did not wish to be touched, so he tried pulling his arm away, but Potter held fast. "Don't despair so soon. There is more to you than you realize, Malfoy. What you may have been is dead, I'm not going to argue that with you, and right now you are broken, shattered. But even the shards of you can be forged into something more beautiful than what it came from. The sooner you can learn to accept that, the easier it will be to put yourself back together."
"What do you know, Potter?" Draco said, managing a weak sneer. Potter looked at him, nonplussed.
"I was broken before, too, Draco," he said, finally letting Draco go, and rising. "I'd like to think I'm a better person because of it."
Potter went back into Snape's study and turned his attention back to the potions he was researching. Draco watched him scratching out notes for a moment, Potter seemingly unaware of Draco's notice. Potter's words had seared him with something that he could not name, but whatever that emotion was smote him and filled him with shame all over again. Quietly, he got up and slunk back into his bedroom. He fell into a fitful sleep.

"Minister, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is my responsibility to inform you of a certain situation that has arisen," Dumbledore wrote onto a blank piece of parchment in black-inked calligraphy. "A seventh-year student has recently been found to be in a delicate condition. The student is pure-blooded. In accordance with the Wizarding Preservation Act (1321) Section D, Clause 19, all pregnancies in which the offspring inherits a pure-blooded heritage must be registered with the Ministry of Magic before the completion of the first trimester. I request all pertinent paperwork for registration and will, upon receiving it, immediately oversee its finalization. Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore."
After drying the ink with salts, Dumbledore sat back in his chair and studied it, stroking his beard. He frowned at it, obviously unhappy, and read and reread it. He'd penned the letter in strict formality to cover his dread. Wizarding Preservation Act or no, naught good could come of it. Especially since he would be ruining a young boy's life in a terrible scandal.
But the scandal would come whether he willed it or not. The fact remained that he was not above the law and little could be done to aid the unfortunate child. Still, the trauma felt fresh, too fresh, and his instincts were screaming at him against this action.
"What is to be done, Fawkes?" he asked, glancing at the perch where a great red and golden-plumed bird stood, eyeing the letter with eyes filling with tears. It gave a loud squawk and ruffled its great wings. Dumbledore sighed.
"We do not approve," said one of the portraits, voice stern, "if you ever planned to ask our advice, Headmaster." Dumbledore looked up at the frame of a portly witch with curly red hair sticking out from under a lop-sided yellow bonnet. Her painted green eyes glared at him. "There are ways about that law. For one, no one expects a male should be able to get with child. That should buy you some time at least."
"But which would prove the lesser scandal?" said Dumbledore tiredly. "I cannot simply bypass the backlash altogether. If I could speak out against the father� but no, that will not be acceptable, and I think would probably make matters worse."
"Won't be such a terrible scandal if you've time enough to prepare against it," said the witch tartly. "Or have you forgotten your wits, yet? You're getting old enough for it, man."
Dumbledore laughed and looked the letter over once more. The witch harrumphed and marched out of her frame. She bumped the other headmasters and headmistresses angrily as she stormed away and eventually she made it into a painting not in the room. The others watched Dumbledore owlishly and he watched them back, filling more and more with trepidation. Eventually he turned back to the letter and waved his hand over it.
"Incendio," he said, and the letter crumpled to ash.
Draco jolted awake and glanced around the room. It was dark and Mirage was gripping his wrist fiercely, shivering. Draco sat up and ran his hands through his hair; they shook uncontrollably.
He passed into the sitting room. It shocked him to see the door to the study still opened, and Potter just standing up from the desk. Potter turned and came into the room, watching Draco but saying nothing. Draco was too shaken to find his own voice, and eventually Potter broke the silence.
"We've missed dinner," he said. "I was just going to get some from the kitchens. You should be hungry. You haven't eaten anything today that you kept down�. You can come with me."
Draco nodded and he pulled on some shoes so they could go. They walked in silence for the most part. Potter seemed to be anxious to say something but uncertain how so he didn't speak at all, and Draco was still reeling from his dream. He knew that it was not a true dream. It had been like the vision he'd had of his father � it had been like knowing that his mother was going to kill his father for his honor, and knowing that this was the wrong thing to let happen. What Dumbledore had done, or was going to do, that was right, that was meant to happen, and� It pained him to feel this way, but his child, his pitiable bastard child, should be his as well, should be loved.
Draco touched his abdomen uncertainly, biting his lip. Mirage hissed and slipped from his wrist to wind herself through the spaces between the buttons on his shirt, letting her head rest against the warm skin of his belly.
"Are you hurt?" said Potter, abruptly. Draco turned to him, questioning. Potter tilted his head towards Draco's hands as they tentatively touched his stomach. Draco blushed and let his hands fall away. "What are you thinking?"
"Nothing," said Draco, quickening his pace. Potter fell into step beside him, unperturbed. "What did Snape and Dumbledore tell you about me, exactly?"
Potter blinked at him, then said in a whisper, "Only that someone hurt you."
"And that is all?"
"It� it was your father, wasn't it? The one who� took you?"
"You are uncertain?"
Potter blushed and looked down the hall. A group of third year Hufflepuff girls were watching them and giggling in a way they thought was subtle and indistinct. Draco snorted and ignored them.
"It is only a guess," said Potter. "I remember the way you reacted in Diagon Alley when your father was there, like you were afraid of him. And earlier today when you freaked out when Zabini restrained you. When they said that you'd been� well, it all fit together. Sorry if I'm wrong."
"You're not," said Draco, sharp and terse. He wouldn't look at Potter after that; he couldn't. "My father did that to me. He always wanted to."
"Malfoy, I meant what I said earlier."
"What?" Draco scoffed. "About me getting over my pathetic little tragedy and�"
Potter bristled and glared. "That's not how I meant � no," he said, cutting himself off. He stewed for a moment, but pulled himself together and looked at Draco again, calm once more, as if Draco had never said a single thing to upset him. "The other thing. The thing I said about being there for you whether you want me to or not."
Draco swallowed hard, biting his tongue so as not to lash out. Potter was looking at him kindly � too kindly � and it hurt Draco more than any quips about his really being 'Daddy's little boy' might have.
"You don't have to be nice to me, Potter. And I especially don't want your pity. If there's any part of me left, it's the part of me that rejects charity."
"Your stupid pride won't let you see the obvious, Malfoy, won't let you see what�" Potter trailed off and blushed, looking resolutely at his dirty trainers. It took him a few moments to compose himself again, but he continued on as if he hadn't almost said something he didn't want to. "It's good that you're not looking for pity, Draco, because I don't pity you; and I never will. And as far as my being nice to you is concerned, you're right that I don't have to be nice to you, but it should be obvious that I want to be nice to you."
They came to a stop in front of a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Potter stared at it, eyes glinting brightly although the light in the hall was rather poor. Draco watched him, wary of this unexpected and unwarranted kindness.
"I don't trust you."
"You shouldn't," said Potter, turning to look at Draco. The light in his eyes disappeared. "But you can."
Draco snorted. "Pretty riddles, Potter."
"Hmm. Yes. I learned them from the master." Dumbledore, thought Draco. His thoughts were drawn once again to his dream-that-was-not-a-dream. The witch's words came back hauntingly: That should buy you some time at least. But buy the headmaster time for what? Mirage's tongue flicked against Draco's navel and he managed a weak, preoccupied smile.
Potter tickled the pear.
"You said it should be obvious that you want to be nice to me." said Draco as the portrait swung open to reveal the busy kitchen. Potter glanced at him, eyebrow arched in question. "It's not."
"Then I will tell you about it," said Potter, stepping into the room. "But not today."
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Flesh of My Flesh