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Stricken: The Principles of Lust	By : Chocho Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 10291 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters, places or names. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Stricken: The Principles of Lust

Four-part

Written by: chochowilliams

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters, places or names. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Summary: No strings. No promises. No commitment. Just a single night of passion to ease the loneliness. It wasn’t until Harry discovered he was pregnant did things start to become complicated.

Warning: non-epilogue compliant, fantasy, drama, romance, language, sexual situations, infidelity, OOC, OCs, F/M, M/M, M-Preg

Pairings: Harry/Lucius, Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Ginny/Seamus

Inserts: “Glaring Dream” (Eng Translation) from the anime Gravitation

A/N: For those who are unfamiliar with it, “Glaring Dream” isn’t a poem but a Jpop song from the shonen-ai anime “Gravitation”. Once again, thank you for all your continued support.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Amidst a noisy crowd of people

The murmured words melt away

Scattered at my feet

Are memories that become blurred by it

I wander aimlessly

- “Glaring Dream (Eng Translation)”

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Last Time

Ginny returned the gesture before gently pulling away. “It’s okay,” she admitted with a watery smile. “Really.”

Hermione frowned as if she didn’t believe her.

Standing up, Ginny turned to face her brother’s girlfriend. “Come on. I’m starving.” Strangely enough, she was. After the one-two punch courtesy of her now ex-boyfriend Harry Potter, she would have thought she wouldn’t have an appetite. But as it was, it felt as if she could eat an entire hippogriff.

As she turned to exit the dormitory, Hermione called after her. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Ginny paused with a hand on the door handle. She smiled at Hermione over her shoulder and nodded. “Yes. I am.” Despite what Hermione seemed to believe, it wasn’t a lie. “But I have a feeling Harry won’t be after you and Ron get your hands on him.”

“I think Harry made a reasonable argument,” Hermione said. “Granted-”

“No,” Ginny interrupted as she climbed out of the portrait hole. “Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

“Oh? Then what-?”

“Harry’s leaving,” Ginny blurted causing her to wince. She hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but the damage was done.

“What?!”

Ginny halted her descent and turned to look up at Hermione who had stopped cold at the confession several steps behind her. She sighed. “Come on. Let’s go down to the kitchens. I’ll tell you what Harry said.”

Annoyed, Hermione marched behind Ginny passed the Great Hall and down into the dungeons where the kitchens were. Harry had better have a good explanation for this, she fumed.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Chapter 3: Wandering Consequences

A Month Later - 27^th March - The Mermaid’s Tail Inn - Northern Portugal

Harry wasn’t sure what time it was; only that it was still dark outside. There wasn’t even the slightest hint that dawn was approaching. With a groan, he tossed aside the thin sheet and stumbled out of bed, tripping over the mound of blankets piled at the foot of the bed as he staggered through the blurry darkness in the general direction of the bathroom.

He fell to his knees before the white porcelain toilet and proceeded to upheave everything that he’d managed to keep down the day before. Long after his stomach had been purged of its contents, his aching stomach continued to constrict almost painfully. Feeling like a dishrag that had been rung out and hung on the line to dry, Harry fell back against the wall with another groan. A hand fluttered to his stomach while the other took care of the evidence of his upset stomach and the disgusting taste that lingered in his mouth. It even managed to flush the toilet. He hadn’t even been aware he could do that.

Wanting to just curl up and die in some dark corner somewhere, Harry picked himself up off the floor and made his way to bed where he buried himself under the numerous layers of blankets to ward off the sudden chill that seemed to have hooked its claws deeply within him.

Hopefully Healer Iriye had some sort of anti-nausea potion he could take. He would have to remember to ask her next week.

There came a point when throwing up got old.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

A Week Later - 4^th April - The Wayward Traveler’s Inn - Southern Spain

The view from the windows on the eastern side of the centuries old building was exquisite. Interrupted only by the gently rolling hills that could be seen dancing in the distance. Laid out like a patchwork quilt stretching for as far as the eye could see were fields and meadows and tilled land ready for farming. A herd of what appeared to be sheep could also been seen grazing. It took one’s breath away.

“Well.”

Harry forced his gaze away from the windows and refocused his attention to the other person in the room.

“The two of you appear to be in good health,” Healer Iriye announced to the young wizard with a grin.

From his position on the bed, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and with it went the growing tension that always accompanied these appointments. “Thank Merlin,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“He’s not even born yet and you’re already acting like a parent,” Healer Iriye noticed in amusement.

Harry blushed as he pulled himself into a sitting position and swung his legs off the bed.

Was he really? A swell of pride rose within him. He hadn’t realized. With a wide toothy grin that he couldn’t seem to wipe from his face, he lifted a hand to touch his not so flat belly. All he knew was that just the thought of something happening to the child growing within him sent him into a fluttery of panic. Was that what it meant to be a parent? To be so worried about your child that it felt as if you would go insane? That just the thought of something happening to him broke your heart into a million pieces that not even the king’s men could put together again?

“You can go ahead and get dressed now.”

As Harry gathered his clothes and redressed, he addressed his healer as she finished updating his file. “Do you think we’ll be able to see the sex next time?”

Healer Iriye laughed. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” she asked.

Honestly? Harry really didn’t care. As long as his child was healthy, it didn’t matter if his child turned out to be a squib. As cliché as that statement was, for every witch and wizard in the known wizarding world for centuries has been using it, it was still true.

Healer Iriye nodded as Harry relayed his thoughts on the matter. “Well, given that your baby has a tendency to moon us every time we see him, my bet would be for a boy.”

Harry laughed at that.

Finished with adding her notes from this session, Healer Iriye turned back towards her patient who had finished dressing by this point. “Now, you said you’ve been feeling nauseous?”

Harry nodded, “Yes. Sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes it’s not.” He shrugged. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason -- no specific foods that set it off. There were days where he couldn’t keep anything down and then there were days where he’d run to the bathroom maybe once the entire day.

Forehead creased in thought, Healer Iriye hummed in response. “The nausea should be abating.”

Harry regarded her with a cocked eyebrow. Could have fooled him.

“Of course, there are some who experience the nausea throughout the entirety of the pregnancy.”

Harry groaned at this. Dear Merlin. He flopped backwards, bouncing lightly against the mattress. “Isn’t there something I can take?” He winced at the whine he heard in his voice. But really, who liked vomiting? He turned his head to look at the older woman.

“There is an anti-nausea potion we could try,” she suggested. “It’s not a normal anti-nausea potion either,” she continued, turning around and pulling her prescription pad towards her. She grabbed her self-inking quill. “It’s a special one intended for pregnant witches and wizards, so it’ll be safe for you to ingest and won‘t harm the baby.” The sound of scratching filled the room as Healer Iriye wrote out the prescription for the potions.

Harry breathed another sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“What about your vitamins and nutrient potions you’re supposed to be taking? Need any refills?”

“Nope,” Harry answered easily. “I have enough to last me for a while yet.”

Healer Iriye nodded. “Good.” She ripped the top sheet from the pad and turned around to hand it to Harry. “Just take this to any apothecary or chemist to get it filled. It comes in a set of seven one fluid ounce vials. Take one vial a day. It should take care of the nausea. If it doesn’t help or if the nausea gets worse, call me.”

Harry nodded. You could bet he’d floo her at the first sign that the potion wasn’t working.

“So.”

Harry lifted his head and blinked when he saw that his Healer was watching him with a penetrating stare in her eyes. The look made him slightly uncomfortable. She was perched on the edge of the desk with her arms crossed under her breasts. “Did you tell him yet?”

“‘Him’?” Harry echoed in genuine confusion.

“The father. Told him yet?”

Gulping, Harry squirmed nervously. He dropped his head and studied the small square sheet of parchment in his hands. It crinkled noisily as his fingers danced and jerked about. His long black fringe swung over his eyes, shielding his emerald green eyes from being viewed and from viewing. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. At the heavy sigh, Harry’s head shot up and around. “You know why I can’t,” he nearly yelled at her with just a hint of a whine. He was annoyed at her continued insinuations that it was an easy task. It didn’t help that he was equally annoyed at himself from being unable to fulfill the task. “He’s-”

“Married?” Healer Iriye offered.

“Yes!”

Dropping her arms, Healer Iriye sat down on the bed besides him. “He’s the father, Harry.”

“I know that.”

“Then you know that you have to tell him.”

“I know! But it’s not-”

“It is,” Healer Iriye disagreed. “It doesn’t matter how you feel about the man or what transpired between the two of you. You could hate his guts and not want anything more to do with him for as long as you both shall live. The fact of the matter is, he is the father of your child and he deserves to know about the baby. Period. Whether you like it or not, that child links you to him for life. So I suggest you grow up and act like the adult you pretend to be.”

Harry gulped at the harsh words. As his Healer and confidant, he’d told her about his affair with the father of his unborn child. He’d also told her that the man had technically been married, but had been in the middle of a trial separation. He’d also told her that the man had since gone back to his wife. Last he heard from Draco, his parents were happy. What he hadn’t told her was the identity of the married man or any details of their relationship.

“We didn’t have any sort of -- relationship,” he told her. “We slept together that once and that was it. We didn’t part on bad terms either,” he added. He and Lucius had parted amicably. Harry did not hate Lucius. Just the opposite. Harry couldn’t say that he had fallen in love with the man, but Lucius Malfoy was a remarkable man. Handsome. Intelligent -- to a point. Narcissa was a lucky woman. “What we had was -- it was a one time thing. That’s it.” No strings. No promises. No commitment. Just a single night of passion to ease the loneliness. It wasn’t until Harry discovered he was pregnant did things start to become complicated. Learning Lucius and Narcissa had decided to give their marriage a second go complicated matters that much more.

Harry could just picture Lucius coming clean to Narcissa. “Hey love? Remember that short period of time we were separated? Well, I took a lover during that time and it turns out he’s pregnant.” Yeah, that’ll go over real well. If it were him, he’d kill Lucius, bring him back to life and then kill him again.

“Be that as it may, Harry,” Healer Iriye was saying, “he, as the father, has the right to know about the baby. It is not your decision to make to keep him out of your child’s life.”

“I get that.” He really did. Harry wasn’t trying to keep the knowledge of the baby from Lucius out of spite. He just didn’t know how to go about telling the man without it ruining his marriage.

“Just tell him,” Healer Iriye said.

Harry blinked at her as the woman stood up and started to gather her things together. Just tell him? That was her advice? If it was as simple as that, he would have done it already, but it wasn’t as easy as saying, “Oh and by the way, I’m pregnant and you’re the father. Congrats!” Groaning, Harry buried his face in his hands. Sometimes, life was just not fair.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

That Afternoon

This was the most difficult letter he ever had to write. That included the one he wrote last summer to Professor McGonagall to let her know that no he would not be returning to Hogwarts as a so-called “eighth year”.

Ron hadn’t been too fazed by his decision as he himself had opted to enter Auror Academy, though he’d been a little disappointed when Harry said that he wouldn’t be joining him either. Hermione, on the other hand, had been upset over his decision. She’d been somewhat mollified when he told her that he planned on hiring private tutors. Savior of the Wizarding World or not, he still needed his NEWTs in order to get any sort of job that didn’t include, “Need a bag?” or “Want fries with that?”.

Well, that was not exactly accurate; not for him at least. Given who he was, he pretty much had carte blanch to do what he pleased, which was how Ron had been able to get into Auror training at the Academy without taking his NEWTs.

At this point, taking his NEWTs was nothing more than a formality. Whichever career path he chose to seek out, whether it was with the Aurors or not, his employers weren’t going to care about his NEWT scores, skills or qualifications. As soon as they saw the name “Harry Potter” on the application and realized it was actually him when they came face to face with the infamous scar, which was more famous than he was, he‘d be hired on the spot. That disgusted him. Hermione was proud of his decision to not take advantage of his fame. It just confused Ron.

Disgusted, angry and tired of the seemingly endless excuses, Harry forced his mind to concentrate on the letter he had to write to Lucius.

Was a letter cowardly? It was like breaking up with your boyfriend via interdepartmental memo. Some things should be taken care of in person, especially when the news you had to impart was life altering such as telling someone he was going to be a father -- again. But since going vis-à-vis with Lucius hadn‘t exactly worked out the first time around, Harry was wary of trying it again. Hence the letter. But maybe instead of a letter, he should try to speak to Lucius again -- maybe in a neutral location somewhere away from prying eyes and without freaking out at some unexpected news. Here at the Wayward Traveler’s Inn would be an ideal location. That sounded promising. But then the question of Narcissa reared its ugly head. Or was that just another excuse? That Harry couldn’t say for certain either way said a lot.

He blamed his brilliant procrastination skills and his continued inability to gather enough courage to “come right out and say it”, as Healer Iriye had put it, on his Slytherin side.

“Fuck,” he cursed soundly tossing his quill pen down in frustration. It rolled across the desk and onto the parchment lying open upon the desk, leaving an inky trail in its wake.

Leaning back in the hard wood chair, he fingered his hair in a half-crazed manner before combing it back into submission. Slouching down in the chair, his legs stretched out before him and his arms hanging limply at his sides, Harry tipped his head back until it was resting upon the top of the back of the chair and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

It was times like these he missed Hermione and her brain. She would know exactly what to do. Actually, he had a vague idea what she would say if he were to ask her for advice. “Just come right out and say it.”

He sat up only to slump forward over the desk that looked out over the moderately sized room he’d rented in a village in the middle of nowhere in the South of Spain.

The inn itself was a quaint establishment that had been in the Marrera family for centuries. Here guests were treated as part of that family. At the moment, he was one of the only guests. That suited him just fine. The less witches and wizards he dealt with the better. This was not a slight towards his generous hosts. Everybody, not only here at the inn but within the town and the surrounding communities, has been nothing but kind and welcoming. They were the friendliest bunch of people and seemed to understand his need for anonymity. This was the most he has felt at home anywhere and that included his six years at Hogwarts. The ability to blend in with the locals had been relatively simple.

It was too bad that writing this letter was not as easy.

Sitting up, he planted his elbows on the desk and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Maybe he should just ask Hermione for some advice. See what she had to say on the issue. If it were similar to what Healer Iriye told him, then he’d: first, hex the first person he saw into oblivion; second, he’d send Lucius a letter asking for a meeting.

His mind made up, Harry grabbed his quill and a fresh sheet of parchment. Dipping the tip of the quill into the vial of ink, he tapped the black grip against the lip of the jar to remove excess ink and put the stainless steel tip to the homemade parchment he’d purchased here in town.

Dear Hermione, he wrote.

He paused to mull over exactly how he was going to go about this. It wasn’t as if he could very well just come right out and tell her his problem. Well, he supposed he could, but the lecture he would be forced to incur was not worth it. He really was not in the mood to be reprimanded as if he were five. And he sure as hell was not about to let her brainwash him into feeling guilty for or regretting having slept with Lucius either. That was something Hermione Granger was pretty good at: twisting people’s emotions to suit her need. That wasn’t a slight on Hermione either. It was a tremendous gift. But at the moment, he could do without the gift. All he wanted was advice and there was only one way he could go about getting it without incurring the wrath that was Hermione Granger. He just hoped it wasn’t such a predictable route that she’d see through it.

How’ve you been? Things here are going well. I’m in a quaint little town in Spain and when I say little, I mean it. You take a step out your front door and find yourself passed town limits! The population of the entire town, including those who live in the outskirts, could fill the Hog’s Head easily and there’d still be room to spare. I swear I’m not exaggerating…Much. I arrived a week ago and the people have been nothing but kind. They treat me like one of their own. You have no idea how liberating that is.

I actually inherited a “small” hunting lodge not far from here and when I say small, I mean small as in Malfoy Manor small. No kidding. The lodge is freaking huge! But it’s falling apart. It makes the house in Godric’s Hollow look like a five-star resort. I called in an Inspector to check it out and according to him, it’s a complete loss. Said it’d be better to knock it down and rebuild from scratch. I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I’m thinking about leasing the land to the community so they can build a primary wizarding school. I certainly don’t need it.

Anyway, congrats on your engagement. Did you pick a date yet? I don’t know if I ever told you, but my parents were Bonded in September of ‘79 and had a small church service a month after I was born when I was baptized. Did you know I was baptized? As in a muggle Christian church? Apparently, this was to appease my mother’s family. Anyway, whatever date you choose, be assured I will be there. How can I possibly miss my best mates’ wedding?

On another note, I should apologize. It’s been a while since I wrote last, but between NEWTs and traveling (and I had a terrible cold I’m just getting over) I just hadn’t had much time. By the way, you’ll be happy to know I passed all my NEWTs with flying colors (even Potions).

Another thing. I was hoping you could help me with a bit of a problem. I met this girl in the restaurant of the inn where I’m staying the other day. I think she’s the owners’ niece or something. Anyway, we got to talking one day and she starts crying! I start freaking out and ask what’s wrong and she tells me that she’s pregnant and that the father just got married. Half of what she said I couldn’t understand because she was crying. I have no idea what to tell her, but I feel so bad for her. Any advice I can pass along?

Harry sat back and reread what he wrote. “Mental,” was the decision. “Absolutely mental. Totally.” He was sure that Hermione would see through the whole “I have a friend who has a problem” shtick, but it was a risk he was going to have to take.

He rounded the letter off with asking about Ginny -- who’d asked his permission in her last letter to go to Hogsmeade with Seamus; why she felt the need to ask him if it was okay was beyond him seeing she were free to do as she pleased-- and Ron, who’d yet to write back to him.

Harry finished the letter by adding his signature at the end.

Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake by asking Hermione for advice, Harry folded the single sheet of parchment lengthwise, then thrice widthwise. Sliding it into its matching envelope, he sealed the flap with wax and then scrawled Hermione’s name on the front. He set it aside to mail later.

Grabbing another sheet of parchment, Harry started a letter for Ron. Hopefully he wasn’t too busy to write back this time.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

The Next Day - 5^th April - Auror Academy Boys Dormitory - Location Unknown

“Weasley! Got a letter,” called out a voice as soon as Ron stepped into what was serving as the boys’ dormitory.

“Thanks,” he called back.

The boys’ dormitory at the Auror Academy was nothing like the boys’ dormitory back at Hogwarts. It was unlike any dormitory anywhere that he had ever seen. It actually had more in common with a hostel than a dorm room -- not that he’d ever been to a hostel before, but his brother Charlie had and this was exactly what he described: crowded, noisy, lack of privacy. There seemed to be no order or rhyme or reason of any kind for the arrangement of the furniture. Three heaters were placed equidistant amidst a bunch of bunk beds that had been thrown willy-nilly into a room. He wondered if the girls’ was the same.

He supposed it didn’t matter though since they were hardly ever in the dorm anyway. Classes kept them fairly busy. As it was, his wand arm felt like lead, his voice was all but shot, his feet hurt like a son of a bitch and his side still ached from that stinging hex that MacIver managed to hit him with earlier. All he wanted was to go take a long hot shower and than crawl into bed and die.

Squeezing his way through the sardine packed rookie boys’ dormitory, Ron finally made it to his bunk. Grimacing, he picked up the damp -- and putrid smelling -- towel that had been thrown haphazardly onto his pillow and tossed it to the floor with shudder. Disgusting.

A crème colored envelope with his name printed on the front in familiar scrawl was lying on his pillow. Despite being one leg short of death, Ron smiled.

He’d been meaning to write back his best mate, but training was brutal. They didn’t have time to take a shit let along contact anybody back home.

Collapsing onto his bed with a grateful sigh, he reached out for the envelope and tore it open.

Dear Ron~

About time! Thought it’d never happen. Considering how long it took the two of you to stop dancing around and confess how you felt about each other, it amazes me it didn’t take you twice as long to get engaged. You know George, Seamus, Dean and some of the others were betting on whether or nor the two of you would even get engaged and who‘d ask who. George bet you’d chicken out and in the end ‘Mione would be the one to ask you. Guess he was right. Ha. Ha.

Ron scoffed and rolled his eyes. Of course there’d been a bet. Those three had a serious gambling problem, especially his brother. And no, he hadn’t “chickened out” thank you very much. He’d just been waiting for the perfect time. That was all. He’d actually been planning to propose come this June when Hermione graduated. It wasn’t his fault Hermione had beat him to the punch and decided Christmas was a better time to propose.

Did you pick a date yet? I’m assuming you’d want to wait until after Hermione graduates. But would you want to get married right away, do you think, or wait until after you graduate from the Academy?

In all honesty, that was something Ron hadn’t thought about. They definitely wouldn’t get married until sometime after June when Hermione graduated. Other than that, he hadn’t the foggiest clue. If they were going to get married right away, it would have to be over the summer, so they’d have time for a proper honeymoon. Because come September, it was right back to the Academy and training. Maybe it’d be better to wait until after training was over.

How is training by the way? I gotta admit, part of me wishes I were there with you.

Ron snorted. And part of him was regretting being here.

By the way, before I forget, I passed through this town the other week that had this museum honoring some guy named Brion Bardon-

With a gasp, Ron flew upright. “No way. No freaking way! There’s a museum, a whole museum, dedicated to the Brion Bardon? So cool.”

Honestly, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of him-

With a gasp and gaping in scandalized horror, Ron stuttered out, “Never -- never heard of Brion-? Who in their right mind never heard of Brion Bardon?”

-but the guide at the museum said this Brion Bardon guy started a local quidditch team named the Annwn (1) Hounds for the minor leagues and when he passed away, his great great great (or whatever) grandson sold the team to some unknown nobody for a pittance. The guy moved the team to Britain, changed their name to the Chuddley Canons and the rest, he said, was history.

And before you ask, yes, I bought you a souvenir, but no, I am not going to tell you what it is. I sent it gift wrapped to The Burrow and told your parents that nobody could touch it in any way, shape or form until you got home to open it yourself.

Ron fell over backwards with a cry. “Wanker!” That was so not fair.

Sitting up, he continued reading.

Okay, so, I’m going to get serious for a moment. I want your honest opinion about something. At the inn where I’m currently staying, I met the owner’s niece who works in the inn’s restaurant. We got to talking one day and she starts crying!

Ron winced.

I start freaking out-

Who in their right mind wouldn’t? What were you supposed to do when someone you’re shooting the breeze with suddenly starts leaking all over the place? Talk about awkward.

-and ask what’s wrong and she tells me that she’s pregnant and that the father just got married. Half of what she said I couldn’t understand because she was crying, but I was able to get the gist. I guess she slept with this guy who’s fiancée had just broken things off with him. By the time she realized she was pregnant, the guy’d gotten back together with his ex and now they’re married. So, my question is this: if you were the guy, would you want to know about the baby even if it meant destroying your marriage? I personally, have no idea what I’d do.

Now there was the million galleon question.

It all came down one question in the end. Who was more important: your child or your spouse?

Even though his wand arm, which was the same hand he used to write, felt just about ready to fall off, Ron stood up from his bed and went to his trunk that was situated at the end of the bed. He riffled through the seemingly endless piles of junk within in search of a spare piece of parchment, quill and some ink. Once he’d found them, he shut his trunk and plopping himself on the floor besides his trunk, penned out a letter to Harry. He rounded it off by emphasizing just how fun Auror training was.

“‘Wish you were here’,” he ended the letter. “Hope that helps mate.”

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Same Time - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - Great Hall

It was during dinner when an owl swooped into the hall and landed on the edge of Hermione’s plate. She looked up from her Transfiguration book with a frown, slightly confused. The owl was unfamiliar and she wasn’t expecting anything, especially so late in the day. Then she saw the pouch strapped around the bird like a harness. The familiar brand seared into the leather hide of the pouch let her know the owl was a post owl. The only one who would send her mail via post owl was Harry for he had not gotten another owl to replace Hedwig.

Marking her place, Hermione closed her text book and set it aside. Cutting a small hunk of ham, she fed it to the owl and retrieved the letter from the pouch. From the chicken scratch on the front of the envelope, she knew she’d been right. The letter was definitely from Harry.

“Who’s it from?” Ginny leaned around Seamus to ask as the owl took flight with the piece of ham clutched in his talons.

“Harry,” Hermione said as she slit open the envelope and pulled out the folded parchment within.

“Oh,” was all Ginny could say as she returned to her dinner, feeling awkward.

Squeezing her knee gently under the table, Seamus smiled at her reassuringly. He wasn’t a fool. He’d always known he was second to Harry, even when they dated for a short time several years ago. There was no competing with the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defeat-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You would have to be delusional to even contemplate the possibility. Nothing has changed even now that Harry and Ginny had broken up. But as long as he had even a sliver of a chance of worming his way into Ginny’s heart, he was going to do whatever it took to make it happen.

Clasping her hand over his, Ginny returned the smile before turning towards a fellow seventh year girl named Cyndi who called out to her just then.

“Did you finish that essay on bunyips for Care?” he heard the girl ask.

Rolling his eyes, Seamus tuned them out. He’d dropped Care of Magical Creatures long ago, but he remembered it well, so he had no desire to find out what a bunyip was. Knowing Hagrid, they were most likely not at all related to small furry animals with long ears, soft fur and a short tail. Instead he turned towards Hermione. “So, what’s our esteemed Savior up to these-?” Seamus asked. He blinked down at the empty spot besides him. “Huh? Hermione?” He glanced around and spotted her just as she was leaving the Hall. “Hermione,” he called after her. “Where’s she going?” he asked nobody in particular.

Sitting across the table from him, Dean shrugged. “Maybe she’s late for a study session.”

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

A Week Later - 12^th April - Aotearoa (2) Manor - New Zealand

In the end, Harry had decided to demolish the hunting lodge in Spain and lease the land to the Spanish Wizarding government. It was a temporary arrangement that would last as long as a primary wizarding school was present and in use on the location. If at any time the school failed to live up its charter or the school closed for whatever reason, the land automatically reverted back to Harry or whomever his heir was at the time.

The school, as set forth by Harry, could either be a boarding school such as Hogwarts or a day school. That decision was left to the Spanish government to decide. Either way, Harry wanted the school to cater to all wizarding children under the age of eleven whether they were Purebloods, Half-bloods or Muggleborns, aristocrats or lower-class. He wanted all wizarding children, despite their upbringing or heritage, to be introduced and instructed at an earlier age on the ways of the other. He felt that this could quite possibly prevent another Wizarding war or even another Lord Voldemort. Communication and understanding went a long way.

Or maybe that was the naivety of the Gryffindor inside him.

It was an experiment; whether in futility or not was still to be seen.

He’d contacted his lawyer with the details and left it up to him to deal with and then hightailed it the hell out of Spain before the Spanish Wizarding President could parade him in front of the world’s media and ruin what was supposed to be a vacation away from the media’s eye.

Next month, he planned to visit the villa in Italy and then the beach house in Greece in June. In July, he planned to travel through France and check out the château. Though, if he was being honest with himself, it was the state of the vineyards and the winery itself that he was more interested in. Being fourteen weeks pregnant, he couldn’t partake in the sampling of the wine. But depending on how deteriorated the fields and the winery were and whether or not it would be worth it to bring them up to operational status, he might just restart production. As he knew nothing about owning or running a business, let alone a winery, he thought he’d ask Lucius to consult on the project as the Malfoys had their own winery.

Now, though, Harry was in New Zealand checking out the mansion that sat on ten beautiful acres. Unlike the hunting lodge, the manor was in perfect shape, if a little dusty.

He’d arrived a couple of days ago and with the help of Kreature, who he’d called for from London, the two of them had been making steady progress in cleaning the place up and making it habitable. It was slow going, what with only the two of them, but well worth it. They’d uncovered so many wonderful treasures, including an old Potter family tree tapestry that had last been updated when his grandfather was born.

He might just keep this one. Of course, if he did, then he’d have to look into buying more house-elves in order to maintain the property. There was no way Kreature would be able to be both here and at Grimmauld Place.

Having spent the entire morning once again in what his ancestors had taken to use as a dumping room of a sort digging through centuries of stuff, Harry made his way through the manor to the room he’d confiscated as his bedroom in order to get cleaned up for lunch.

Attached to the new master bedroom suite was a smaller room that might have been a walk-in closet at one point, but which Harry had decided to use as the nursery. The room itself already had a pretty substantial sized closet, much bigger than the attached walk-in, so what was the point of a second one?

He tossed open the double white doors and stood in the threshold to behold the grandeur that was his.

The room had an attached balcony that could be accessed from one of three sets of French doors and looked out over the backyard. At one time, it must have been a breathtaking view, but time had taken away the beauty of the manor grounds. Of course, he planned to have that remedied.

The cherry wood floor was in desperate need of care, but the white marble fireplace had only needed a little spit and polish to make it shine once again.

A single door on the right hand side wall to the left of the fireplace, if one was standing before the fireplace looking directly at it, led to the bathroom that featured a Jacuzzi sized sunken tub, beautiful travertine tile and chrome that had been polished to an inch of its life.

The double doors across the room on the left hand side wall led to the future nursery. It had yet to be furnished.

A black area rug laid out before the large hearth of the fireplace marked a sitting area that was made up of an antique Victorian couch and matching table set. Given the age of the furniture, it was in perfect condition.

Angled in the far corner before a set of open French doors that led out to the balcony was a desk.

A sideboard littered with empty liquor bottles -- it was just as well -- stood against the far wall between two sets of French doors. A second rug much like the one by the fireplace lay upon the floor before the sideboard.

Across the room from the sideboard was the bed. It was made of cherry wood like the floors and had four posters much like the beds at Hogwarts, though there were no bed curtains. There was a mountain of pillows though.

As Harry stepped into his room and turned to step into the bathroom, he caught sight of parchment rippling in the soft breeze on top of the desk.

He sneered at the sight of the letters he’d gotten from his friends several days ago.

It turned out he’d been right. He could still remember what Hermione wrote in response to his “I got a friend who has a problem” query. It’d been the same advice he’d been getting from Healer Iriye almost word for word. Telling Lucius he was going to be a father, again, was not the problem. It was Narcissa and Draco. They were the unknown factors. He wondered if Hermione and Ron would have the same opinion if he were to tell them the truth.

Sighing, Harry walked into the bathroom and shedding his clothes, crossed towards the standing shower and after adjusting the water to his liking, stepped under the spray. The tension seemed to melt right off him.

Again, he wondered how Draco would react to his being pregnant with his little brother. Maybe it was time to find out. Maybe Draco would let it slip to Lucius so that Harry wouldn’t have to break the news to the man himself. Yes, it was cowardly, but at the moment, that was how he felt.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Evening - Three Months Later - 15^th July - Malfoy Manor - Wiltshire, England

Some months ago, Draco received a letter from Harry along with an antique sterling silver snake brooch with encrusted emerald chips for eyes and diamonds along its body. It turned out the brooch was a onetime two-way portkey that would be just an ordinary brooch afterwards that Draco could keep. Apparently, Harry had something very important he wanted to discuss with him. Unfortunately, he’d been unable to get away until now, so he’d written a letter informing his friend to expect him that weekend.

Draco would even admit, never aloud though, to being a little nervous at the prospect of seeing Harry again. It’s been seven months and his feelings towards the man have only grown and solidified instead of waning as he‘d expected and hoped. He didn’t want to scare Harry off and he was afraid he would if he couldn’t keep a lid on his emotions around Harry. He also didn’t want things between them to become awkward should Harry be made aware of his more than friend-like feelings. After being at each other’s throat for so long, he’d finally become friends with Harry and did not want to blow things with him now.

“‘BIRCH (Polygonum bistorta). Also called Snakeweed, Dragonwort, Sweet Dock. Carry a piece of the dried root to conceive,’” Draco read from the updated version of Magical Spellwork & Knowledge for Everyday Life (3).

Unable to concentrate, Draco marked the page and set the book aside. Folding his hands together over his stomach, he gazed out the window at the flock of albino peacocks as they wandered passed.

He hoped he didn’t blow things with Harry.

+ HARRY POTTER + STRICKEN: THE PRINCIPLES OF LUST +

Mid-morning - That Weekend - 23^rd July - Eastern France

A family diner, Le Caveau (4), was situated within the small wizarding village of Lis (5) that was a short ten minute walk from the crumbling edifice that was Château du Lis (6) but right across the street from the small inn where Harry was staying.

The château (7) turned out to be in worse shape than the lodge in Spain. Not only was it crumbling, it was in ruins. Apparently, the château had been left to sit abandoned for several centuries and in that time the wards and other enchantments that had been placed on it fell. But it hadn’t been until the second Muggle World War that the castle met its present state. There was nothing but a few crumbling walls and a tower that could rival that of the Leaning Tower in Pisa; only magic was holding them in place. A few valuables had been salvaged from the wreck by the villagers, which now rest in the Lis Historical Society Museum, which was quite large given the size of the village. The village mayor had asked him if he wanted the items back, but Harry told him no. He decided to allow the museum to keep the items as part of a long-term loan -- as long as they were on display; otherwise they had to be returned.

As for the château, he’d spoken to the town board and they had come to an agreement to open the château and its extensive grounds up to the public as a park. Of course, Harry and his descendants retained ownership and had the right to privatize the grounds and castle whenever they chose. The town board was all for the idea mostly because it would provide jobs and increase tourism for the area, which in turn would help boast the economy.

As for the vineyard and winery, it turned out to be in much better shape. All that was needed was a little TLC and a little pruning and they could be up and running in no time.

As for Harry himself, at twenty-eight weeks pregnant, Harry had been forced to use a glamour when out in public to hide his rather large baby belly; he felt like a freaking whale. The glamour was proving to be difficult to keep in place, though, what with the people of Lis being so touchy-feely. Glamour worked on sight; not touch. Anybody could “see through” even the most powerful glamour when touch was involved. Glamour was meant to fool the eyes not the hands, but so far, though, his glamour was doing just that -- how that happened he had no idea and who knows how long it would last. He was sure a powerful enough witch or wizard would be able to break the glamour. Either that or repeated beatings from the good people of Lis.

As for the people of Lis, he was unsure if they were so amicable because of who he was -- see “Savior” -- or if it was because his family had a long history in this town. Either way, he appreciated them making him feel at home instead of some oddity on display.

He just wished he didn’t have to worry so much about his glamour shattering. He didn’t even want to picture the headlines that would inevitably follow. Of course, once his baby was born that was something he’d have to endure anyway. That was not something he was looking forward to. Maybe he could buy majority stock in all wizarding publications in Europe -- he certainly had the money -- so that he’d have control over what they published about his child. Him, he could care less about, but his kid was a whole other ball of wax.

The sweet tinkling of bells sounded through the restaurant just then.

“Bienvenu (8),” called out the same lady’s voice that had greeted him earlier.

Harry glanced casually over his shoulder. Standing by the glass front door was a familiar blond haired male. A wide toothy grin spilled across his face. Sliding out of the booth, with a little difficulty, Harry stood up and called out to his friend. “Draco!”

At the sound of his name, Draco glanced around. Their eyes locked. A grin similar to the one Harry couldn’t seem to wipe off his face was mirrored on Draco’s face.

By Merlin was it good to see him! Harry hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed his friend until this moment. He felt giddy and light as air, which was ironic giving the massive amount of weight he’d put on in the past twenty-eight weeks.

Draco looked good, Harry decided as he watched the other male waltz across the floor towards him with an ease Harry didn’t possess any longer. Draco had grown a few inches; or maybe that was the black dragon leather hide boots with their two inch heels. Actually, if Harry was not mistaken, those were the same boots Harry bought Draco for Christmas. Harry also noted that Draco had taken to slicking his hair back once again. Draco had even allowed it to grow out. It was far too short to be as long as his father’s but it brushed against his wide set shoulders as he moved. And those beautiful blue-gray eyes were more blue this afternoon and twinkled as they watched him in turn.

“What’s with you and black?” Harry teased as he allowed Draco to envelope him in his arms. He practically moaned as he inhaled Draco’s scent -- musk and vanilla with a hint of cinnamon -- that hit him with a sense of déjà vu.

As was always the case with the Malfoys, Draco was dressed very stylishly in the latest style of robes. He was wearing a sleeveless knee-length black robe that was fitted in the torso and flared out just above the hips. Harry knew for a fact that the new line of robes cost upwards in the hundreds of galleons. It and the fitted boot-cut black Muggle jeans framed a lean, toned and tight physique that practically had Harry drooling.

At Draco’s chuckle, a fiercely blushing Harry pulled himself forcibly out of his musings. He could not believe he was standing there checking out his friend. Yes, Draco was a good looking bloke, but still one did not check out one’s friends as if they were the main course at a banquet being hosted to a bunch of starving people; no matter that he couldn’t seem to help doing just that. Nor could he stop the shudder at the breathy laughter that whispered passed his ear. Certain parts of his anatomy tingled and hardened inappropriately.

“And what’s with the glamour?” Draco teased right back. “Hiding the weight you seemed to have gained in the past five months from your legion of fans?”

As if he’d been hit with a stupefy, Harry froze. The warmth radiating from the reddish hue that had crawled up his neck to tint the entirety of his face vanished in an instant. It left his naturally tanned complexion ghostly pale. Draco’s words more effective than a cold shower, all thought of having wickedly improper thoughts about his newest best friend were forgotten; vanished like a well aimed obliviate. A nervous cold sweat ran down his spine. His mind went blank. Later, he would swear that his heart stopped just for a moment or two as did his breathing.

Like in one of his many nightmares, his mind started racing, but wasn’t going anywhere. His pulse was palpitating with panic. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Did Draco know? Had he somehow guessed?

Feeling Harry go stiff against him, Draco pulled away and eyed his friend. He grew concerned as his took in the paleness of Harry’s face. “You okay? Need to sit down? What happened?”

Hearing the echoing panic in Draco’s voice snapped Harry out of his own panic-induced thoughts. Forcing a smile on his lips that he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt, he told his worried friend that he was fine. “Just felt a little dizzy for a sec,” he said. It really wasn’t that much of lie.

If this was how he felt now, how was he going to feel when he actually did tell Draco the truth?

But that was something to deal with later. For now, though, all he wanted to do was catch up with his friend; show him the sights of Lis, the château and the winery. Because once he confessed his secret, things were never going to be the same. That was something he was dead certain about.

“Maybe you should sit down then,” Draco suggested.

That sounded like a very good idea. When Harry stepped out of Draco’s warm embrace, he immediately regretted the move as he grew cold. He shook the reaction aside and slid back into the booth. Waving his hand at the booth, he invited Draco to sit. “They have great food here,” he told him.

Continuing to eye Harry in concern, Draco slid into the booth opposite. “Are you sure you’re alright? Should I call a Healer?”

With a soft, gentle smile playing upon his lips, Harry shook his head. “It’s fine, but thanks.”

Not fully convinced but willing to let it slide for the time being, Draco said, “Alright.”

Knowing how it sounded -- Harry almost hated to think it -- but having Draco so concerned about him made him feel all warm and tingly. Just the thought made him break out into a blush.

Seeing the pink hue coloring Harry‘s cheeks, Draco thought, He’s cute when he blushes. At least he wasn’t as white as a ghost anymore. His fingers playing with the edges of the menu, Draco said softly, “I didn’t mean anything by what I said before, ya know, with the gaining weight comment.” Lifting his head, he gazed across the table at Harry. “Actually, I think you look pretty good.”

At the comment, Harry’s blush darkened. “Thanks,” he mumbled in embarrassment.

“No offense, but you always looked anorexic, even with the toning due to quidditch.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about that observation.

“I think this backpacking tour of yours was a good idea.”

The blush was back.

A middle aged looking woman sauntered up to their table just then. She was wearing a short-sleeved baby pink polo shirt -- that did nothing for her complexion -- tucked into a pair of too tight black slacks. Secured around his waist was a black apron. She was holding in her hands a Muggle pencil and a pad of paper. “Bonjour,” she greeted them with a tired smile. “Je m’appelle Clarice et je serai votre serveur cet après-midi.(9) Can I start you gentlemen off with something to drink?”

Harry was left blinking in surprise when the woman went from speaking French to English.

“You’re welcome,” Draco said as he put his wand away.

Harry had one of those “ah” moments. Draco must have used a nonverbal translation charm. Harry’d used them himself many times during his months long holiday, including when he was in Spain, Italy and Greece. But it really hadn’t been necessary here in France. He was far from being fluent, but ever since he learned he’d inherited property here, he started studying the language in preparation. And being surrounded by nothing but French speaking people twenty-four hours a day for the past several weeks did wonders for someone learning the language.

Smirking, Draco turned towards the waitress and ordered some tea in flawless French.

Sometimes, he forgot that Draco spent more time here in the French countryside than in England as a child. Draco once told him that French was, for all intents and purposes, his primary language. He didn’t start speaking English until he was five. But at the moment, all he was doing was showing off. Wanker, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

The woman, Clarice, nodded and jotted down his choice. “And for you Mr. Potter?” It sounded to Harry’s ears as if she were speaking English, but knew that was not the case.

If Draco was going to be a prat by showing off, he might as well too. Turning towards the waitress, Harry ordered in perfect French, “I’ll have a large chocolate milk please.” At the raised eyebrow aimed his way from across the table, Harry smirked.

“Alright. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied once again in perfect French.

Sitting back in the booth, Draco regarded Harry with a thoughtful look. “You know French.” He sounded surprised.

“Very astute of you,” Harry said as he scanned the menu.

Draco snorted. “Git.”

Harry chuckled.

“Seriously. How -- When did you learn it?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve been here nearly a month. Besides, once I learned I owned a winery here, I started learning.”

“Learning. As in the Muggle way?”

Rolling his eyes at the disgust Draco displayed at such tediousness, Harry nodded. “As in.”

“Potter,” Draco said, “you do remember you’re a wizard right?”

Harry frowned across the table at him. “Uh, yeah.” Most of the time, he added. “Why?”

“Because you could have saved yourself all that wasted time and used a spell to learn French.”

“I am well aware of that.” Now, he added silently.

Their waitress returned with their drinks just then. A plain white China teacup on a matching saucer was placed before Draco while a tall clear cup was set before Harry. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes?” Clarice asked them in once again translated French.

“I’m ready. Draco?”

“I’ll have the steak and eggs.” Draco closed his menu and handed it over to the woman.

Taking the menu, the woman tucked it under her arm. “It comes with toast and home fries.”

Draco nodded. “That’s fine.”

The waitress asked, “How do you want the steak?”

“I would like the steak to be well-done please and my eggs over-easy. I’ll have rye toast if you have it.”

“We do,” Clarice confirmed with a nod as she jotted notes down for the order on her pad. “Okay, and for you?” she asked turning towards Harry.

“Two eggs over-medium, home fries, wheat toast, 2 pancakes and…” Harry couldn’t decide between the ham, bacon or sausage. They all sounded so good. “Ham,” he finally decided.

“Regular pancakes or pumpkin?”

Harry perked at that. “You have pumpkin?”

“Yes, sir, we do. Brand new.” The woman seemed proud of the new acquisition.

“Awesome! I’d like to try those please.”

“Alright. Is that all?”

Before Harry could add to his feast, Draco answered that it was and yanked the menu from Harry’s almost vise-like grip and handed it over to the woman, ignoring Harry’s pout.

“Thank you. If you need anything let me know,” she told them before turning away and heading towards the kitchen.

“A little hungry Potter?”

“Just a little.”

Draco chuckled.

“Pickles,” Harry said suddenly.

“…Excuse me?”

“Pickles.” Biting his lip, Harry gazed out over the diner in search of Clarice. “You think they have peanut butter?”

Draco’s head hurt. “What does one have to do with another?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Everything,” he said in a “duh” tone. “Can’t have one without the other.”

“Oh…Kay. Are you sure you’re alright? That dizzy spell didn’t rattle anything loose did it?”

Wadding up a napkin, Harry tossed it at Draco’s head. “Ha. Ha,” he said dryly.

Draco snickered. “Anyway, Potter,” he said, leaning back in the cushioned booth, “what have you been doing with yourself?”

As they waited for their food, Harry told Draco all about the places he’s been, all the sights he’s seen and the decisions he’s made concerning the properties he inherited, including the villa outside Wizarding Tuscany and the beach house in Greece, both of which Harry was considering renting out.

“Really?”

Harry shrugged. “Not sure, but it’s something to think about. I mean, both are located in ideal locations and as far as I can tell, nobody ever lived in either location. They’ve just sat there for who knows how long empty and gathering dust. And who knows how often I’ll get the chance to travel in the future? I’d rather rent them out then let them sit there crumbling into dust like the lodge in Spain and the castle here.”

Draco nodded as he considered the argument. “Good point.”

Taking a sip of his milk, Harry continued, “I wanted to talk to you about the winery I inherited and the vineyard.”

“What about it?”

“The Malfoys have their own vineyard right?”

“Several yes. Plus a winery. Why?”

“Well,” Harry drawled, twisting his cup around the slick surface of the tabletop. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind lending me your expertise?”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. Intrigued, he folded his arms on the tabletop and leaned forward. “Do tell, Potter.”

And Harry did until their waitress reappeared floating a large round tray carefully before her.

“Steak and eggs,” she said, setting a large plate down on the table before Draco. A second smaller plate for the toast followed. “And for you.” Three plates were set down before Harry: one had the toast, a second one had the pancakes and the third had the two eggs, home fries and a slab of ham.

Harry’s stomach growled at the sight and smell of so much delicious food.

Draco felt nauseous.

Their waitress set down a small bowl of individual jellies and butter, a rack of four different syrups, ketchup, and steak sauce.

“Anything else?” she asked.

It was Harry who answered between shoveling food in his mouth as Draco was having difficulty comprehending thought let alone speech at the moment. “No thank you.”

“Okay. Bon appétit.” She gathered the large tray and greeted an older couple who stepped into the diner just then.

“Oo! Oo! Oh! Clarice,” Harry called suddenly over the low din of the diner.

Mortified, and wishing he were elsewhere, Draco slumped low in the booth.

“Do you have pickles and peanut butter?”

Draco retched a little in mouth.

“Yes, sir, we do.”

“Cool.” Suddenly bashful, he asked, “Do you think-?”

Clarice laughed softly. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he beamed before settling down to his breakfast.

After his pickles and peanut butter arrived, Harry and Draco continued to eat in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the clinking of silverware against the plates and the occasional muffled belch from Harry.

Draco was nursing his third cup of tea as Harry was finishing the last of his breakfast -- see “all you can eat buffet”.

With a satisfied sigh, Harry piled his utensils and the two smaller plates on the larger one and pushed it aside. Sitting back, he sipped his milk slowly.

“I cannot believe you finished that,” Draco said. And he couldn’t believe he actually finished his after witnessing Harry pile-drive into the copious amount of food he‘d ordered. He felt nauseous just remembering.

“I was hungry.”

Draco snorted, “Obviously.”

Harry chuckled. Sobering, he stared blankly down at the table. “Hey, Dray?” Now that the pleasantries were out of the way, it as time to ease into the subject that had him bring Draco here.

“Yeah?”

“Did you…Did you ever want, you know, siblings? Brothers or sisters?”

“Sure,” Draco admitted. “I’ve always wanted a brother. Why?”

Instead of answering, Harry asked another question. “Did your parents ever consider having more kids?”

“Sure, but my mother…She was what they considered ‘high-risk’.” Draco’s voice went neutral. “She had three miscarriages before she had me and afterwards…she had several more. Just as they were about to give up, Mother discovered she was pregnant…Unfortunately…Lyra (10)…was still born.”

His eyes shimmering with the sting of unshed tears, Harry lifted a trembling hand to his mouth. “Oh, God.”

“Back then…” Draco let the thought trail off.

“Oh, Dray. I’m so sorry.”

With a small tight smile, Draco shook his head. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, Harry could tell, but let it go. “What do you think of the name Scorpius?” he asked instead.

“Like the constellation?”

“Yeah.”

“Actually, my parents were considering the name had they had another boy.”

Biting his lip, Harry nodded.

“Why?”

“I’m, uh,” Harry stuttered, his face red and his pulse racing, “considering it for my son.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “Plan on having children?”

Deliberately not looking at Draco when he spoke, Harry admitted with a nod, “In 12 weeks actually.”

Draco merely blinked at him. “Huh?” Harry’s voice hadn’t been much louder than a whisper, so Draco was thinking he hadn’t heard his friend right.

Sliding out of the booth, again with some difficulty, Harry tossed enough galleons on the table to pay the bill along with a sizable tip before turning towards Draco with an expression Draco couldn’t decipher. “Come for a walk with me. There’s…there’s something I have to tell you.” Why did he feel as if this was a mistake?

“What?”

Harry shook his head.

Sliding out of the booth, Draco followed Harry in silence, wondering where he was being led. Ten minutes later, he found out. It was Château du Lis, or what was left of it. It really was in ruins. What a tragedy. “Ever think about looking into having it rebuilt?” Draco asked if for nothing else than to put off what would inevitably be an uncomfortable talk. According to his father, the Manor had been rebuilt once or twice in its long history, so having the château rebuilt was doable even in its current state.

Harry shrugged as he stared up at the crumbling tower, his back to Draco. “Not really.”

“But if you plan on keeping the vineyard and winery going wouldn‘t you need a place here?”

“Hm. Good point. I’ll probably look into buying a new house or have one built or something.” He shrugged. It wasn’t something he was concerned about at the moment.

Draco nodded. “Well, let me know. I’ll get in touch with our people here in France. Their commission is outrageous, even for my standards, but well worth it.”

Unable to say anything in response for nerves were twisting his stomach into knots, Harry merely nodded. He suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten so much.

“So, Harry.”

Here goes everything, Harry thought. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and dropped his glamour. His heart was beating so loudly it was a wonder Draco hadn’t said anything about it. Breathing out, he opened his eyes and turned around.

The reaction was immediate.

The gobsmacked expression on Draco’s face would normally have Harry laughing his ass off, because it was not an expression one saw on Draco Malfoy’s face. Ever. It looked so wrong.

“Do…” Harry silently cursed. Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath and then let it out slowly as he tried to organize his thoughts. He’d had this conversation in his head a million and one times, but now that the day was actually here, he couldn’t seem to get his brain and mouth to sync. “Do you…Dammit.” he fisted his hands over his eyes.

“You’re pregnant.” There was no emotion on Draco’s voice. The sentence was stated matter of fact.

Dropping his hands, Harry gazed at the blank blue-gray eyes that entranced him so much in both father and son. He nodded. “Twenty-eight weeks. It’s a boy.”

Draco dropped his gaze to Harry’s extended belly.

“Remember when your father told you about how he and I met at Lord Corfield’s party and we talked about investments? Well,” he continued, “he…lied. We didn’t talk at all.”

At first, Draco didn’t seem to react at all. Then his beautiful, hypnotic eyes narrowed and darkened. They were the color of the sky right before a storm. “You slept…with my father.” His voice was bland. It was empty of all emotion just as his face was.

Harry merely nodded.

Draco’s narrowed gaze zeroed in on Harry’s belly. With a disgusted sneer on his face, he asked, “And that -- thing is…?”

The beginning of tears stung Harry’s eyes. Wrapping his arms around his belly, he nodded for the tightening of his throat prevented him from speaking.

Without another word, Draco turned sharply on his heel, the tails of his robe billowing out about him and stalked off back the way they came.

“D-Dray?” Harry called out around a sob. He’d expected yelling and screaming; a hex or two; being called a whore or home wrecker; something.

Halfway down the dirt drive, Draco halted and said, “Don’t. Just. Don’t.”

“But-but what about-?”

Still without looking back, Draco told him, “I’ll talk to Father about consulting on the winery like I promised. Other than that…”

“Please,” Harry sobbed. He’d known telling Draco about the baby was going to be a bad idea! Why had he tried to convince himself otherwise? “Dray. I-I’m sorry! Your Father and I-”

“You and that -- thing,” Draco continued as if he hadn’t heard Harry, “will stay away from my family or you will regret it.” With that, Draco disapparated with a particularly loud clap.

It felt as if his heart were breaking into a millions tiny pieces and each of those pieces were breaking into a million and so on and so forth until there was nothing but dust where his heart used to be.

Dropping his face in his hands, Harry slid to his knees there in the middle of the drive and sobbed.

+ TO BE CONTINUED +

(1) Hounds of Annwn [anoon] : (Annwn is the realm of the Underworld); Hounds of the Wild Hunt.

(2) Aotearoa: New Zealand Maori name for New Zealand, (often used in combination), Aotearoa-New Zealand . [ < Maori , "land of the long white cloud," < ao "cloud" + tea "white" + roa "long, tall"]

(3) Passage from Celtic Magic by DJ Conway

(4) Le Caveau: vault

(5) Lis: Lily

(6) Château du Lis: (literally) Castle of the Lily

(7) château: castle

(8) Bienvenu: welcome

(9) Bonjour. Je m’appelle Clarice et je serai votre serveur cet après-midi.: Good morning. My name is Clarice and I will be your waitress this afternoon.

(10) Lyra: a small prominent constellation of the northern hemisphere between Cygnus and Hercules. It contains a very bright star Vega and a planetary nebula Ring Nebula

A/N: Feel free to correct any of my poor French please. It’s been a very long time and I’m a wee bit rusty. Anyway, you shouldn’t feel too bad for Harry or angry at Draco. Everything will work out in the end. I hope.

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Stricken: The Principles of Lust