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Growing Up Quick	By : KittyMitty Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1878 -:- 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
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Growing
Up Quick

Summary:
A night of celebration and lowered inhibitions turns into something
entirely unexpected and entirely permanent, something that neither
boy involved was prepared for. Can they learn to grow up and become
the men they need to be, or will they allow their differences and
discretions destroy not only each other, but an innocent life as
well?

Disclaimer:
I do not own any of the characters/settings/situations of the Harry
Potter universe: all is owned by J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, etc. I'm
just playing, and I am receiving no money for this fan fic.

Prologue

Hello,

I realise you probably think it odd to be receiving a
letter from me, of all people. And yes, I know you recognised the
sender of this letter without looking at my signature at the bottom:
you scoff at my handwriting enough in class to be able to recognise
it anywhere. If this isn't the case, then surely you know my owl,
who has always stuck out like a broken broomstick during the morning
post. Speaking of which, if you wouldn't mind allowing her to stay
for a night before sending her back, that'd be a help, as it was a
long flight for her and she could use the rest.

Anyway,
on to the reason I'm sending this letter to you. And if you're still
reading, then thank you for not chucking the parchment into the fire
the second you'd known who sent this. I'm not trying to waste your
time or to fool you or anything; it's rather important you know this,
you see. It's ... well, I imagine it's going to be quite a shock for
you, so you'd best maybe be sitting down as you read. I know it was
shocking for me, even more so than what it's going to be like for
you, I reckon. After all, I'm the one who -- er, you'll understand
soon. I figure you'll be quite angry with me when you finish this
letter, and you have every right to be; even I can admit that. I
really should have sent this sooner, but with the way things were
left between us -- have always been between us, I suppose -- it
proved nearly impossible for me to pluck up the courage and write
this in the first place, and actually I'm quite proud of the fact
that I've managed this far. You see, I'm not so much for words --
actually, you do see,
as you seem to enjoy reminding me every chance you get that I'm
totally useless with anything -- and writing letters and such has
never been my forte. Usually I manage to get a friend to do it for
me, but she's the one that's making me write the letter in the first
place, and absolutely refuses to have any part in it whatsoever.
Generally she's quite helpful with things like this, and I'm only
just realising now how much I depend on her for this sort of thing.

And now I'm rambling. Sorry, but I ramble when I'm
nervous; apparently even in writing. I'd scrap this parchment and
start over, but I've discarded four attempts already, and no one will
lend me any more parchment. I haven't been to Diagon Alley yet to
get my supplies, you understand, and I'd used the rest of my
parchment up on that bleeding Potions essay that that greasy-haired
git --

And
I'm rambling again. Sorry. I guess now you're fairly irritated with
me; possibly you're tapping your foot and huffing in that annoyed way
you do whenever someone's said something particularly stupid in front
of you. And I'm not trying to sound stupid, honestly -- I'm just
crap at things like this, and well, I'm not so much looking forward
to your reaction (yes, I know I'm not there with you as you read
this, but you're quite handy with curses, and I know there are ways
to send them over the post). It all has to do with the last time we
saw each other. Yes, that time.
Back in September, during that ruddy celebration after the snake
bastard was killed. When you and I, er -- well, I'm sure you know
when I'm talking about; after all, you were also participating in ...
it.

Merlin,
I can't even say we've shagged without feeling flushed. Pathetic of
me, eh? I've no doubt you're having a real good laugh over all this:
after all, it was you who
made it perfectly clear that it was a one off, and that we should
just forget it ever happened and never mention it again. And I was
happy to do that -- well, not happy, but willing. Didn't really need
you spreading that all 'round school, now did I? Though I guess in
the end it didn't matter whether you did or not, what with the whole
Death Eater fiasco, and then me being forced into hiding for the
remainder of the year. Thinking back on it now, I suppose that that
had been the best idea, getting away from all that could remind me of
that night, making it easier for me to forget it even happened in the
first place.

Only, I
couldn't. I couldn't forget. I tried -- Merlin, I tried so hard,
but it was no use. I don't know what it was, but I couldn't get it
out of my mind, no matter how much I wanted to. And then ... and
then it became impossible to forget about the whole situation. How
could I, when every time I was sick, or craving cheese and marmite
sandwiches slathered in chocolate sauce, or having to expand the
waistband of all my trousers, or sleeping the entire day away, or
having cramps and bloating, I was forcefully reminded of that night?
Every time I felt that odd bubbly feeling in my stomach, every time
my back ached and my ankles swelled, every time I had heartburn and
indigestion was like a Bludger to the face, because it made me
remember what had happened that night, and the fact that I was still
in hiding, going through it all nearly alone, and you were still in
Hogwarts, oblivious to everything.

I have a feeling you've figured what "everything"
is by now. I'd be surprised if you hadn't already: you are, after
all, one of the smartest wizards in our year, even if you are an
utter prat about it. Loath though I am to admit it, you are rather
clever, aren't you? You're also fairly predictable, I reckon. In
fact, at the very second you're reading this, I think I know what
you're reaction is: you've either responded like the typical
Slytherin -- clever, sneaky and all that rot -- and have taken my
words at face value, not doubting the truth of my situation but
doubting whether or not you're involved with it. If that's the case,
then thank you for believing me, and yes, the baby is yours, you
stupid git. How many boys d'you think I've let shag me? If you
didn't react the typical Slytherin, then you most likely reacted the
way I did -- stunned disbelief, followed quickly by a large bout of
denial. If this is the case, then guess what: this is not a sick
joke. You put me up the duff! Congratulations, you're a dad. A
father at seventeen, and the baby's not even a pureblood.
Disappointed?

All right, I apologise for that. There's no need to rub
it in that you got me, a half-blood, preggers, is there? It's a
pretty complicated situation all in itself, purity issues aside,
isn't it? But it's happened, and there's no changing it, you know.

So anyway, if you're not so stunned as to be able to do
simple maths, you've summed up that it is impossible for me to still
be carrying the baby. Good on you if you had, as I'd not been able
to form coherent thoughts for at least a week after I'd learned. If
you hadn't, well its true. I had the baby May first, five weeks
before her due date. She came out small but healthy, which is good,
as I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd come out with extra
fingers and a tail, knowing your family's history with inbreeding ...

Again,
apologies. Old habits die hard and all that, you know? I suppose
I'm still feeling a little resentful at the fact that for the past
three months I've been taking care of a baby that's half yours, and
you've not even met her ... and I have no right to be angry with you,
do I? It's my fault that you've not known about her. I am sorry
about that, yeah? I mean, you deserved to know, and that's really
the only reason that I was able to write this letter in the first
place. Whether or not I wanted to, you should at least know that
you've got an heir out there; a baby daughter with your hair, nose
and tendency to be overly-dramatic. I'm sorry it took me so long to
write you: blame my pride, if you want. Stubborn Gryffindor to the
end, that's me. And ... maybe blame my fear. Fear of what, I'm not
exactly sure: all I know is that, though she's a bit of a handful and
it is more than a little terrifying thinking that I'm in charge of
keeping someone alive and healthy for the rest of my life, I really
am quite taken with her, and I'm not too keen on anything happening
to her. You understand that, right? Well, maybe you don't: as far
as I know, you don't have any other illegitimate children running
'round Hogwarts.

Before
I sign off and send this, I want to stress that this letter isn't
being sent with expectations. I know you didn't ask for any of this
(though a protection charm would have been helpful at the time,
particularly since I didn't even know wizards
could get pregnant in the first place), and I don't expect you to
drop everything to be a part of the baby's life. We are pretty damn
young, and parenthood is the hardest and scariest thing I've
attempted to date, including the whole Voldie debacle. If you want
to be a part of her life, then I'm willing to work something out.
She does deserve two parents, after all -- even if we can't stand the
sight of each other for more than five minutes unless hearty amounts
of Butterbeer and punch shot with Firewhiskey are involved. If you
don't want to have anything to do with her, then all right. At least
I told you, and my conscience is now cleared. And if you're at all
curious about anything financial related -- I won't demand a Knut
from you, don't worry. I've heard of your ... difficulties during
and after the war, and if the rumours are true, then you need to keep
what's left of your Galleons for yourself. And if it sounds like I'm
rubbing it in, well -- you have acted
rather shoddy to the Weasleys in past years, haven't you?

Again, I'm sorry I've kept this from you for so long,
and feel free to write back, though no Howlers, yeah? The baby
doesn't sleep enough as it is, and I doubt very much you yelling
obscenities at me through the post will help any to rectify that.

Suppose I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express, September
first.

Sincerely Yours,

Harry Potter
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