Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I Do or I Don\'t	By : Sasunarufan13 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7307 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor profit from it. J.K. Rowling owns it

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Author's note: Time for a new story. This one will be relatively short. It will have four chapters in total and each chapter will have a bit more than 4 000 words in total.
Warnings: MPreg, lemon, slash, cheating, flashbacks, some foul language, some angst, some drama, set after Hogwarts, but doesn't follow the epilogue - well, not completely anyway.
Dedicated to: purpledragon6
I hope you'll like it!

Chapter 1
Merlin, he hated the scent that clung to hospitals. One would think that with an unlimited amount of magic available, at least one wizard or witch would have come up with a charm to make certain that hospitals didn't smell so badly. He wouldn't say they smelt of death, but it came pretty damn close to it.
The paper underneath his arse crinkled loudly when he shifted on the table and even though it was a minor thing, it grated on his nerves. He would have returned to his seat in front of the Healer's desk, but the Healer had insisted he needed to stay seated on the table.
'What does he think is going to happen? That I fall flat on my face and sue the Healer?' he thought annoyed and scowled faintly at the pristine white floor.
The low buzzing sound of traffic outside made its way through the heavy wards around Saint Mungos together with the occasional howl of the icy wind. So far January had been filled with nothing but snow and rain, causing the hospitals to be overrun by patients with broken bones or illnesses like the flu and pneumonia. Several of Harry's co-workers in the Auror department had to stay at home as well in order for them not to get anyone else sick. Luckily for the remaining Aurors, the criminals seemingly had their own problems with the rough weather; the Aurors barely got any serious cases and therefore didn't risk to get overworked despite the missing presence of a good chunk of the Auror department.
Harry had searched out a Healer for a consultation after a lot of nagging from both Ron and Hermione, but his symptoms weren't even close to the illnesses doing their rounds in the community now.
Instead of coughing up his lungs and a raging fever, he had to deal with sudden bouts of nausea popping up every day, forcing him to drop whatever he was doing at that moment so that he could seek out a sink or a toilet. Instead of a pounding headache, he had to deal with his magic behaving erratically several times without any warning at all.
If it wasn't becoming this disconcerting, he would never have stepped foot in this place, but alas, after being threatened by a particular blond bastard, he had begrudgingly sought out a Healer. He had received an appointment immediately and as soon as he had entered the room, the Healer had been all over him, fussing and generally grating on his nerves. After receiving a list of Harry's symptoms, the man – a thirty year old with mouse brown hair and dull, blue eyes – had taken some of his blood and brought it to a lab to examine it, insisting it wouldn't take long.
'Not long, my arse,' Harry thought with a heavier scowl and his hands clenched around the edge of the table. Nearly one hour had gone by since he had had to offer his arm to have his blood drawn and he was slowly reaching his boiling point.
If he didn't know his blond nemesis would hound him about his results, he would have marched out of the building by now already.
'Maybe I should just remain in the bathroom,' Harry thought miserably and lifted his head up with a choked gasp. The inside of his mouth tasted sour and his throat burned thanks to the bile having forced its way through it just a couple of minutes before.
He managed to pull the lever down so that the toilet would flush – after dropping the lid with a loud 'Bang!' which reverberated through the room, aggravating his pounding headache – and slumped back weakly against the wall, glaring disdainfully at his trembling hands.
He should get up, leave the bathroom after rinsing his mouth and try to find something to eat, but the cold tiles felt good against his sweaty skin and he didn't have the energy to get up. Yeah, staying here for an indefinite period of time sounded lovely actually. Too bad the actual owner of the bathroom didn't agree with his sentiment.
The door soundlessly opened and Harry raised his head slowly, looking straight into thoughtful, grey eyes. He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall with a soft 'thud'. "Go away," he muttered in a raspy voice, wincing when his throat protested.
Draco snorted and entered the spacious bathroom completely. He made his way to the large sink – seriously, why on earth did the sink have to be so big? It wasn't a bath, for Merlin's sake! – and grabbed a glass from the cabinet hanging next to it, filling it with cold water from the tap.
"What? No house elf to bring water, which was specially imported from the Alps?" the dark haired wizard muttered sarcastically.
"The house elves are currently busy with helping Astoria decide just how much flowers can decorate the garden before it becomes too much," Draco retorted in a bored voice. His eyes glinted oddly when he bent down in front of Harry, extending the hand with the glass in it. "If you insist, though, I can ask them to bring you a glass of water from the Alps. It's far more superior than the water I'm giving you now."
Harry didn't know whether the blond was serious or not and he didn't want to wait to find out either. Knowing the infuriating blond, he would actually order a house elf to do something as ridiculous as go to the mountains to get some water. With a grunt, Harry accepted the glass of water and sipped from it carefully, allowing the cold liquid to soothe his burning throat.
"Thanks," he muttered, casting his eyes at his lap.
Draco hummed thoughtfully and his robes rustled softly when he adjusted himself until he ended up leaning against the bathtub.
Harry blinked at seeing the Pureblood so casually sitting on the floor; despite the house elves obsessively cleaning every nook and cranny in the manor until everything shone, Draco thought it was unbecoming to sit down on the floor.
"Looks like your food poisoning is lasting incredibly long," Draco remarked casually, glancing sideways at him.
Harry's hand around the tall glass clenched tighter and he breathed out slowly. While he hadn't been able to keep his bouts of nausea a secret from Ron and Hermione – they had discovered him throwing up a week after it had started – it had taken Draco a month to encounter him throwing up in the sink in his own house. At that time, he had been able to convince the blond wizard that he was merely suffering from food poisoning and that he would be fine soon. Of course with his shitty luck, he had to throw up several times with Draco in the near vicinity. He just couldn't catch a break.
"Potter, stop being such a stubborn arse and just visit a Healer for Merlin's sake," Draco snapped annoyed, scowling at him.
Harry returned the scowl tenfold. "I'm not going to visit a Healer," he said stubbornly. "I'll be fine."
"Yes, that's what you said last week. And the week before that. And the week before," Draco retorted sarcastically and turned his head to face him completely. "Look, I understand that you're not fond of hospitals, but really, throwing up this often isn't normal, Potter. Do you seriously want to get dehydrated? What are you going to do when you're facing a criminal and you have to throw up then?" A contemplative look slid over his face. "Then again, I suppose you could always try to use your vomit as some sort of disgusting attack. Who knows? Maybe the criminal has a phobia of seeing people vomit and that will make him faint."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry growled, putting down the glass with more force than was necessary. "It's not your damn business, so stuff it!"
He instantly grew wary when he noticed the odd glimmer in stone grey eyes.
"Potter, if you don't visit a Healer this week and get yourself examined, I will lock you up in one room with my mother and tell her that you ruined your robes for the wedding," Draco stated calmly and leaned forwards, looking like a predator who was about to pounce on his victim. Essentially that was what they were at this moment. "Not only that, but I will inform her that you haven't been taking care of yourself. Remember what happened during the time you came down with a cold? Now imagine that, but at least a hundred times worse." His sharp grin rivalled that of a bloodthirsty shark.
Harry stared transfixed at him, wondering whether he had heard him correctly. "Are you threatening me?" he asked incredulously.
Draco shrugged and casually drew back, twirling his wand between his fingers. "No, I'm just warning you of what will happen if you don't use common sense for once."
"You complete bastard," Harry said faintly, but his mind was flashing back to the almost overwhelming care he had received from Narcissa Malfoy a few months prior when he had been down with a common cold. Before that fateful week, he had thought that only Molly could be overbearing – boy, had he been wrong!
Draco hummed and stood up, brushing non-existing filth off of his robes. He looked down at Harry with a bright grin, belying the sadistic glint lurking in his eyes, "Your choice, Potter."
Because Narcissa was a force to be reckoned with and he didn't feel up to the challenge of dealing with her when she was in full protective mother mode – call him a coward, but he preferred dealing with a deranged, bloodthirsty criminal than having Narcissa fuss over him – he had relented and had finally made an appointment with a Healer. He would get Draco back for this, though. He was already brooding on an idea for payback.
The door opened slowly with a drawn out creaking sound and the Healer entered the room, his eyes focused on the papers in his hand. A heavy frown marred his face. The door closed behind him and the man kept standing there, flipping back and forth between pages; a look of confusion displayed on his face. When the man hadn't looked up or said anything for at least five minutes, Harry cleared his throat meaningfully and had the sadistic pleasure to see the Healer jump up in fright.
"Oh yes! Sorry, Mister Potter," Healer Inbern apologized hastily and hurried back to his desk, placing the small stack of papers on top of several other ones.
"Can I get off of this table?" Harry inquired, a slight hint of annoyance ringing through his voice.
"Eh, yes, yes, you may," Inbern muttered and rubbed the back of his neck; his attention still focused on the papers.
Without wasting a second longer, Harry practically jumped off of the table and crossed the room to sit on the uncomfortable, plastic chair. One shouldn't expect comfortable chairs from such a large hospital, which received large donations every year, after all.
"I apologize for taking so long. The lab was busy with various other cases," Inbern explained and after casting a doubtful look at the parchment, he looked up at Harry.
"So, did you find something?" Harry asked, drumming his fingers softly against the arms of the chair. He just wanted to go home; he had enough of waiting in boring hospital rooms.
"Well, …" the Healer trailed off and shook his head. He scrutinized Harry carefully, which made the latter wiggle around uncomfortably. "The results are in, but just to be certain, I need to ask you a couple of questions."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows and stopped drumming with his fingers. "All right."
"Are you currently in a relationship?"
"What? No, I'm not." Harry blinked confused, wondering what that particular question had to do with his results.
"Hm." The Healer looked uncomfortably. "Eh, my apologies for prying; I know this is a private matter, but it is important. In the last two months have you had sexual intercourse with a man?"
A heavy silence fell over the room like a blanket and Inbern grew visibly nervous.
"I'm really sorry, Mister Potter. I know it's a private matter, but it is necessary for …"
"Yes, two months ago," Harry abruptly cut him off and his fingers dug into the arms of the chair. He licked his lips; his mouth was inexplicably dry. "Why?"
"Ah, well, the test results show that you are currently expecting."
"Expecting what?" Harry asked weakly. His heart was starting to beat wildly.
Light blue eyes looked at him nervously and Inbern replied, "You're currently two months pregnant, Mister Potter."
A ringing sound filled his ears and something feeling suspiciously like bile threatened to climb up; his stomach churning and twisting itself in tight knots.
Today was his lucky day: instead of being nauseous once, he found himself clutching a small trash can to throw up his food for the second time that day while the Healer hovered awkwardly near him after assuring him several times that the test results were correct and that no, he wasn't joking.
Fuck, he was in deep shit now, wasn't he?

Throwing back the last bit of the bitter liquid in his tall glass, he put it down next to him on the windowsill and leaned back against the wall with a sigh, ignoring the house elf popping up next to him to retrieve the empty glass. He had been at the party for three hours already and he was bored out of his mind; how many people would take notice of him leaving?
Looking around the large ballroom, he didn't think a lot of them would notice anything except maybe for the alcohol running out. Most guys were tipsy, if not completely wasted by now and the loud laughter and shouting of people enjoying themselves to the heavy beat of the music filled the large room. No voice in particular could be discerned; every noise just blended together until it created a buzz sound, as if a swarm of wasps were flying agitatedly through the room.
The sound of breaking glass was heard, together with the roar of laughter from three drunken men. They obviously had had enough already.
Harry snorted and looked up at the high ceiling, squinting to make out the various constellations painted on it. All right, so maybe he wasn't completely sober either, but at least he wasn't as far gone as Ron was, who needed help from an anonymous brown haired guy to stay upright. Hermione would have a fit when he returned to her.
Really, what was he doing here? He had no desire to be here, but he had had no reason to reject his invitation. Maybe Ginny was right and he liked torturing himself. Bitterly he stared down at his clenched hands, stuffing them down roughly in his pockets.
He should have refused; he could have taken up an extra shift today instead of wasting his time here, celebrating something that he didn't want to celebrate. Something that wouldn't be happening if he had had the balls to do something about it long ago.
Ah, but then again, there was no reassurance that he would have gotten what he wanted even if he had opened his mouth sooner. He should just be happy with what he had now. He already had more than he ever thought he would when he was still attending Hogwarts.
But he couldn't convince himself to stay either. Surely three hours were enough? He had shown his face, had given the present and had even tolerated the lap dance he had received from a busty caramel brown haired woman, while his mates had hollered and whooped.
Peeling himself off of the wall – grimacing at the feeling of sweat coating his back and making his shirt stick to his skin – he slipped past a rowdy bunch, ignoring their slurred requests to stay and have a drink with them and unsteadily made his way out of the room with the dim lights and the too warm air.
Outside, he braced his hand against the wall, slowly shaking his head. Fuck, he should have stopped after the third glass. His head felt light, a pleasant buzz filled his body, but at this moment he didn't appreciate the warmth brought on by the alcohol. He just wanted to return home and go to sleep; forgetting what exactly was being celebrated this evening. Hell, maybe he would even knock back some of that old whiskey that was stashed away in the old cupboards. Merlin knew he needed to forget everything at least for this evening.
"And where do you think you're going?"
Harry stiffened at the familiar voice piping up behind him, tinted with a slight slur. He slowly turned around – still with one hand braced against the rough wall – and nodded at the blond, who stood right in front of the door he had just closed behind him.
"Home," Harry piped up and smiled awkwardly. "Have an early shift tomorrow, so I need to get up on time."
"Don't friends get priority?" Draco practically purred and glided closer; one of his own hands trailing along the wall – for support or just because?
"I've stayed for three hours and even gave you a present. Don't get greedy now, Malfoy," Harry retorted in a forced light tone. He jerked his head at the door. "Shouldn't you go back before they are asking where the star of the bachelor party is?"
Draco cocked his head to the right thoughtfully and halted a few feet away from Harry. "They are too wasted by now to know who is going and who is staying," he said calmly, pushing back a strand of his hair behind his ear.
"And yet you knew I was gone." Harry attempted a weak laugh, but it got stuck in his throat and his hand fell away from the wall.
An odd glint lightened up silver grey eyes. "I always know where you are, Potter," Draco murmured and took a step closer. "Your presence is hard to miss after all."
"Now you almost sound like a stalker," Harry pointed out pleasantly, but he started to feel uncomfortably warm underneath the scrutinizing gaze of the older man.
"You would know that, right?" Draco snorted harshly and scowled.
Harry was thrown off balance by the sudden bitter tone in Draco's voice. "Eh, I suppose so," he muttered awkwardly and shuffled with his feet. Why was he still standing here? He should just turn around and leave.
"I don't appreciate you sneaking out of my party, Harry," Draco breathed out and suddenly he was right in front of Harry, one hand braced against the wall next to Harry's head and the other fisted in Harry's shirt.
Harry brought his hand around the fist clenched in his shirt, but didn't make any real attempt to remove it. "And why's that, Draco?" he whispered and unwillingly his gaze fell on glistening, pale rose lips which were slightly opened, showing the hint of bright white teeth. He forced himself to look in Draco's eyes, reminding himself not to get carried away. If he let himself be carried away now, it would only end in disaster.
"Why?" Draco frowned as if he didn't know the answer himself, but then his face brightened and a mischievous look appeared; the corners of his mouth twisted up in an amused smirk. "Because you're mine, that's why." He nodded determined, clearly satisfied with his own answer.
Harry's heart thudded wildly in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. Draco was just drunk – proof being there in the faint smell of Firewhiskey in his breath – and so couldn't be hold accountable for what he was saying now. A twinge of pain shot through his chest. It didn't matter what the blond was saying now – those were just drunken words, words that weren't meaningful.
Still, he couldn't resist playing along; wanting to draw out the time he had Draco to himself. In just four months it would be all over and the man in front of him would forever be out of his reach. Surely playing along for just this one time wouldn't hurt? It wasn't as if anything would come from it anyway. "Oh? I don't remember you staking a claim on me," Harry said and to his mortification he sounded coyly and he felt himself flush in embarrassment.
Draco didn't seem to mind, though. He leaned in closer and brought their heads closer to each other, allowing them to share the same air. "I staked a claim on you since the first time I saw you, Potter," he murmured; his grey eyes darkening with something akin to lust, making Harry involuntarily shudder. "I've always had your attention, didn't I? I have your attention now and I will always have your attention – hence why I don't appreciate you sneaking out without at least warning me. That's not proper conduct, Potter," he scolded him and released his shirt in favour of bringing his other arm next to Harry's head, effectively caging him in.
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes; only a Malfoy would be able to speak so coherently despite downing at least three glasses of Firewhiskey.
"What are you going to do about it?" Harry quipped before he could stop himself and his breath caught in his throat when a strong leg inserted itself between his own, forcing him to widen his stance to allow the foreign appendage between his legs.
"Considering you don't remember my staking a claim on you – why don't I do it now?" Draco purred and then their mouths crashed together, knocking Harry's head back in the wall from the sheer force behind the kiss.
No hesitating touches or tender caresses of lips against each other. No, the harsh, rough kiss resembled an inferno, tearing down every barrier and every possible protest.
Draco may have changed throughout the years, but one thing had stayed the same and that was that he wouldn't let himself be denied of the things he really wanted.
For once, Harry didn't put up a fight and instead let himself be swept away by the frenzy that was Draco Malfoy.
The time for regrets would come later.

The door slowly swung shut, shutting out the sound of rain beating down on the streets. A strong gust of wind made the windows rattle a bit, but overall silence reigned in the old house.
Harry walked past the portrait of Walburga Black, who had been silenced a long time ago and remained hidden behind the tattered curtains. Up he went on the creaking staircase, past the empty shelf on the wall which once had held a collection of house elves' heads.
Candles on the wall flickered to life when he entered the first floor, illuminating the dark hallway weakly. He ignored the first three rooms and entered the last one, which had an old banner of Gryffindor hanging above the threshold. He closed the door behind him and rested his head against the cold wood, staring blankly at the opposite wall which was covered by various pictures of his friends and his parents and godfather.
A lonely candle offered light and casted faint shadows on the walls.
On auto-pilot, Harry made his way towards the large bed and sunk down on the mattress; his hands burying themselves in the smooth, soft blanket.
With a grunt he fell backwards; his head cushioned by two large, square pillows.
He turned his head and stared blankly at the crumpled papers dumped next to him on the bed. Healer Inbern had given them to him after he had finished expelling his stomach content and had explained his options, together with a list of things he had to take and do in order to take proper care of himself.
To take proper care of the baby growing inside of him.
Unwillingly a hand dipped down to lie flat against his stomach; nothing felt different. Of course it wouldn't, he snorted and huffed. At two months nothing would be noticeable.
He stilled again and focused on his breathing; his mind flashing back to the conversation he had had with the Healer – or more accurately the one in which Inbern had talked on and on while he just sat there, trying his best to not faint or throw up again.
Normally wizards became pregnant after ingesting the proper potions, but Harry's blood results immediately ruled out him ingesting those (he could have told the Healer that without the latter having to resort to tests to make certain of it). The only reason Inbern had been able to come up with was that somehow the combination of his magic and that of his bed partner combined with an unusual amount of magic in the air had been enough to cause the unexpected pregnancy. The unusual amount of magic in the air had resulted from the fact that they had been nearing an important holiday when Harry slept with the other man. It had been a couple of days before Halloween, so that made sense.
Well, as much sense as an unexpected pregnancy could make.
What on earth was he supposed to do now? Until today he hadn't even known wizards could get pregnant! Why had nobody ever thought about informing him about things like this? Even if he hadn't been inclined to like guys, it would have been nice to know of this little fact before it had been sprung on him so brutally.
Inbern had urged him to contact the other father soon, so that they both could discuss this particular issue, but Harry really didn't want to do that. Maybe he wouldn't have any objections against it, if the other father had been single as well.
But no, of course he had to sleep with a guy who was at the verge of marrying a Pureblood witch! Fuck, why couldn't he have refused the other man? He hadn't been as drunk as him after all. This whole mess was his fault and he wished he could go back in time and …
He would have done it all over again in that case. Shame burned inside him, but he couldn't lie to himself. Even if he had the ability to go back in time, he wouldn't stop himself. He would still sleep with the other man, even while being aware of the dire consequences of doing so.
Because that night had been wonderful despite the circumstances and it had almost felt like his dream had come true. How many times hadn't he wished that he could touch the other man? How many times hadn't he imagined how it would feel to have those well shaped lips pressing against his own, while their bodies fitted together perfectly? How many times hadn't he tortured himself with 'what if' questions and wishful thinking?
That night, that one night, he had been able to pretend as if everything was all right, as if his dream had finally come true. He only wished that reality hadn't sneaked up on him in the morning and had smacked him fully in his face.

AN2: So yes, please tell me what you thought of it :) (If there are any mistakes left behind, please point them out to me, so that I can fix them.)
Next part will be posted in two weeks (as my exams are rapidly approaching) and that one will mainly be a flashback of Harry's night with Draco :)
Please leave your thoughts behind!
Until next chapter!
Cuddles
Melissa
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I Do or I Don\'t