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Tomorrow Will Come	By : Sasunarufan13 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1487 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor make profit of it. J.K. Rowling owns it.

Chapter List
- 1-Tomorrow Will Come
- 1
Author's note: This is something that has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time. I finally got around to finishing it today, though it wasn't easy. If you come looking for a happy story, this isn't it. This is my new take on an old trope. I've been a bit unsure about whether or not to post this, but no point in having it lingering on my USB stick either.
HEED THE WARNINGS!
Warnings: Harry's pov; canon up until around the middle of fifth year; Sirius lives; war; established slash; referenced violence and injuries; time skips; MPreg; talk about abortion; angst, like a shitton of it; abortion, though it's more so implied and not explicitly shown
In no way do I mean to offend anyone with this!
Given the theme, it feels unsuitable to say that I hope you'll like it, so yeah ...
Tomorrow Will Come
He managed to sneak out of the house an hour before dinner would start. It hadn't been easy considering the way things were now, but after claiming he had a headache and retreating to his room, they had left him alone. He had waited half an hour, in case anyone was coming up to check on him, but when the thirty minutes were up, he had wrapped himself in his Invisibility Cloak and sneaked downstairs, taking care not to bump into anyone on his way to the front door. There he had had to wait until nobody was near the hallway before he could slip outside, but here he was now.
Harry ducked into a narrow alley and ripped his Cloak off, stuffing it into his bag. He took a moment to simply breathe, inhaling the frigid January air mixed with exhaust fumes.
"Tempus," he murmured and the glowing numbers announced that it was five past five. He didn't have that much time left to go to the Apothecary and buy what he needed, so he had to hurry.
He used a couple of Transfiguration spells to lighten his hair to a light brown and darken his eyes to a deep blue; another spell deepened his voice. There was no spell which could affect the scar on his forehead, but he had put some foundation on it, which he had borrowed from a member of the Order, a Halfblood woman named Marissa Turning. The make-up should be good enough to hide his scar, but just to be certain he lengthened some strands of hair and brushed them in front of the scar.
That done, he stepped out of the alley and held out his right hand. A loud BANG disturbed the silence and the Knight Bus screeched to a halt in front of him. The door opened with a hiss sound and Stan Shunpike leant out of it, squinting at him.
"Where you going?"
"The Leaky Cauldron," Harry replied, lowering his hand now that his transport had arrived.
"Well, all righty then, come on board," Stan said jovially, but the look he threw the street was loaded with suspicion and he ushered Harry into the bus quickly.
Familiar with the way the bus sped through the streets, Harry hastily sat down on the nearest available bed and held on tightly as the bus lurched forwards. There was an old wizard sleeping in the bed next to him and in the back a middle aged witch was reading the newspaper while a cup of tea hovered next to her.
His stomach churned with the way the Knight Bus shook and raced past buildings and other cars, sometimes slimming itself down to barely an inch wide in order to pass through two vehicles. Despite being prepared, he still nearly smacked face down on the floor when the bus came to a sudden stop.
"The Leady Cauldron!" Stan announced brightly and Harry gave him a weak nod in greeting before he staggered off the bus. His feet were barely on the sidewalk when the bus disappeared with another BANG.
Between the Floo network and the Knight Bus, he couldn't decide which manner of transport he hated the most.
Taking a deep breath, he waited for a moment to calm his upset stomach and as soon as he was certain he wouldn't start throwing up, he entered the pub. The people here didn't look up, either chatting quietly with each other or staring morosely into their glass. Tom the barman looked up from the glass he was wiping, but Harry walked past the bar and the older man huffed before returning to his task.
Quickly he tapped the stones in the right order and the wall groaned lowly before the stones clacked and slid away from each other, revealing the entrance to Diagon Alley. Aware of the time running out, Harry marched through the cobbled street, passing witches and wizards whose own pace was hurried as well.
Nobody wanted to stay outside longer than necessary these days.
The wooden board depicting 'The Diagon Dispensary' was like a beacon; it called out to him and he hurried towards it as dark clouds started gathering above the street. A bell rang once when he pushed the door open and the owner of the apothecary – an elderly witch with curly, white hair – looked up briefly; her thin, silver glasses doing nothing to hide the sharp, blue eyes. She studied him briefly, before bowing her head again and turning her attention on whatever she had been doing before he entered her shop.
He made a beeline to the third row in the back, already having located where to find it when he had been here a week ago. He should have bought it back then, but Ron and Hermione had been plastered to his side the entire time and purchasing this with them near him had been out of the question.
He checked the label of the vial three times just to be certain and then brought it with him to the counter, where the elderly woman regarded him with keen eyes. She turned the vial around in her hands a couple of times, before humming softly and placing it gently on the counter.
"That's fifteen Sickles, dear. I hope you get the result you want," she murmured.
He offered her a tight smile. "Yes, I hope so too." He handed over the Sickles and stuffed the vial in his pocket.
"Three drops of your blood should suffice," she informed him, putting the money in her drawer. "Shake it well two times and wait a minute."
"Thank you." He nodded at her before he turned around and left the apothecary, checking his watch again.
Nearly five thirty. He should be able to return on time before anyone would notice he'd been gone.
Nodding to himself, he returned to the front of the Leaky Cauldron where he called the Knight Bus once again.
He had just stashed the vial deep into his trunk, deciding to use it when everyone was asleep, when the door to his bedroom abruptly opened and he whirled around surprised.
"You weren't in your room," Draco remarked with narrowed eyes. He leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The long scar running like a line down his arm where once the Dark Mark had been, gleamed silvery in the light.
"I was in the bathroom, didn't know I had to get your permission for that," Harry retorted flippantly, plopping down on his bed.
"In the bathroom for more than half an hour?" The blond smiled cynically. "The twins made you try out their new candy?"
"I wasn't aware I've got my personal guards even in this house," Harry smiled thinly.
"Where were you?"
"Gone outside for some fresh air."
Draco made a show of looking pointedly out of the window. Not that there was much to be seen still now that evening had fallen and the street had become deserted save for the occasional car driving by.
"Yes, because there's much fresh air to be had in the middle of a city," he replied mockingly.
"You're not my keeper, Draco," Harry said mildly, but the edge in his voice warned the other one not to keep pushing.
"A pity that," Draco sniffed and shut the door behind him with his foot. "Perhaps you would have found yourself less in trouble if I had been." He sauntered over to the bed, coming to a halt right in front of Harry.
He cocked his head to the left and then pushed Harry down onto his back, before crawling on top of him, bracketing Harry's thighs between his legs as he straddled him.
"Anyone can come in," Harry warned him, but didn't resist when Draco leant down and captured his mouth in a deep kiss.
"Relax, I put a ward up before I went in," Draco murmured before kissing him again; his right hand roaming restlessly underneath Harry's shirt.
Fuck it, Harry thought resigned and kissed back, wrapping his arms around the blond's shoulders to pull him closer, uttering an encouraging noise when a tongue swept across the seam of his mouth, making him part his lips.
It had been two years since Harry had come to live permanently at Grimmauld Place Twelve when the war took a turn for the worse and Dumbledore decided that even the wards at Privet Drive wouldn't be strong enough to keep Harry safe.
One year and a half since a pale looking Draco had shown up at the Order's hideout, together with his mother. His father had been killed by Voldemort himself after failing first to procure the prophecy and then being unsuccessful in tracking down Harry in spite of his contacts at the Ministry.
Witnessing his father being brutally murdered by the same wizard he'd sworn to follow had shattered something in Draco and they had fled the manor, going straight to Snape for help. Snape had gone to Dumbledore who had then brought them to Grimmauld Place to shelter then – and possibly keep an eye on them.
Since then Draco had been aiding the Order in their efforts to defeat Voldemort, offering information about Death Eaters he knew and places that Voldemort used to hold meetings. Thanks to his and his mother's information, they had managed to save several targets who would have been attacked by Death Eaters otherwise.
Somehow along the line Harry and Draco had grown closer to each other. They had had multiple fights and arguments at first, neither of them trusting the other one, and it had all come to a head in a duel against some Death Eaters in which they had refused to have each other's back at first. Until Draco had got severely wounded after being hit by a very Dark curse and Harry had jumped in to save him.
Things had changed after that. They started spending more time together, practicing hexes and curses, arguing about which would be the best method to detain Death Eaters without risking them escaping. And then one night at the end of August after a heated discussion about whether or not it was fair play to immediately kill a Death Eater instead of trying to extract information out of them, Draco had kissed him to shut him up.
It had been quite effective to be honest and frankly a lot more fun than being hexed.
No one else knew about their secret, not even Sirius, though Harry sometimes had the feeling that the older man knew quite well that his godson was fooling around with a former Death Eater. He never remarked on it, however, never even hinted at it, but there was something in his eyes at times when he watched Harry and Draco together that made the younger man think that Sirius knew what was happening.
He was glad his godfather didn't say anything, though. If pressed to ask what the hell he thought he was doing, Harry wouldn't know what to answer. Was he in love with Draco? He couldn't really say. He liked the blond's company, enjoyed their kisses and the sex, and he would definitely jump in the fray to defend him.
Was that enough to say he was in love? He didn't know. And honestly, he couldn't be bothered to find out what exactly he felt for the other wizard either. He had enough on his mind with the ongoing war, with the taunting nightmares Voldemort liked to send him every month.
He was too busy with staying alive, keeping everyone else safe, to bother finding out whether he actually had fallen in love with Draco or whether he just liked the sex, the secrecy of it in a place where very few secrets survived.
In a world where he could die any moment he set foot outside, what did it matter that he fooled around with his former school rival?
He finally found the time to use the vial three days later, late at night when half of the occupants were asleep and the other half had left on a mission.
Slipping into the bathroom, he closed the door as quietly as he could and whispered, "Lumos." He didn't want to risk using the light of the bathroom itself, worried that someone might wake up and see the gleam of it underneath the door.
The vial felt cold and smooth against his fingertips when he took it from his pocket and he placed his wand on the edge of the sink in order to have his hands free to uncork the glass. There was a small, sharp pin stuck right in the middle of the cork and he realised it was meant to prick himself with it. He did so, not even reacting to the small sting after having been forced to deal with numerous worse injuries before, and carefully pinched three drops of his blood in the vial.
He closed the vial again and shook it firmly twice before placing it on the sink. Absently he stuck his thumb in his mouth to lap at the tiny puncture wound and used a Timer Spell; the number floating eerily green in the air as they slowly counted down from one minute.
When two zeros floated in the air, he swallowed and cancelled the spell, watching the numbers fade away slowly. He picked up the vial again and clucked his tongue in annoyance when the glass turned out to be too dark to see the content of it with a regular Lumos.
After strengthening the Lumos, he held the vial in front of the much brighter light. His heart sank when he saw the dark purple colour glaring mercilessly back at him.
Shit.
He stared at the liquid for a long time, willing it to change to a lighter colour, but of course it didn't happen. Because his life had been fucked up for several years in a row now, why did he think he would get a break now?
"Fuck," he hissed and then quickly upended the vial in the sink, watching the liquid swirl around the drain before it disappeared from view.
He ran the water a couple of times to make sure that none of the potion remained and then dumped the vial in the bin. He would have been worried that the vial would stand out, but the bin was already filled with all kinds of other vials, from Headache Reducing Potions to Skele-Gro bottles. One more vial to the mix wouldn't be noticeable.
"Nox," he whispered and opened the door, nearly yelping in fright when he came face to face with Draco. "What the hell? You scared the hell out of me!" he hissed, rubbing his chest and lowering his wand.
The git should be glad he hadn't immediately thrown a hex at him!
"You were gone for a long time," Draco murmured; suspicion colouring his voice. "What were you doing in there?"
"Again, Draco, you're not my keeper," Harry replied annoyed. "I needed the goddamn toilet after Tonks' miserable attempt at cooking, all right? Not that I need to justify myself to you."
He left before this could involve into an actual argument, all too aware of the piercing gaze at the back of his head as he went down the corridor, back to his bedroom.
"I could sneak into the building as Padfoot, check the surroundings," Sirius suggested. His cheeks were sunken in slightly and he was starting to look more and more like the recently escaped convict he'd once been.
Being locked up in the house he had hated for years wasn't doing him any favours even if Harry was there to keep him distracted.
Remus furrowed his eyebrows, rubbing absentmindedly over a scar on his left arm. "They're going to be on the lookout for your dog form, Sirius," he said warily. "I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Only if they see me which I'm not planning on letting them do," Sirius said dismissively. "We can't risk magic; they've most likely put up wards against that."
"Harry, can I talk to you?" Draco appeared in the doorway of the study, his face dark with shadows that hadn't been there since the time they had found Blaise Zabini murdered in an alleyway.
Harry frowned, looking up from the map spread out across the desk. "What, now? What about?"
"Something private and yes, now, please," Draco replied clipped; his fingers like claws around the doorknob.
"Go on, we'll probably be here for a while," Remus told him and after getting a nod from Sirius, Harry stepped away from the desk and went over to Draco.
The blond had his lips pursed and beckoned him to follow him. They passed Hermione, Ron and Ginny who were playing Exploding Snap in Hermione's bedroom and Fred and George who were whispering to each other, both bending over a box.
Draco led him all the way to his bedroom, looking grim the entire way. He whirled around to face Harry the second the door was closed.
"When the fuck were you going to tell me you took that test, huh?" Draco snapped at him; his grey eyes flashing with anger.
"Test, what are you - " Harry's breathing hitched when Draco suddenly brandished that damn vial in the air; its greenish glint catching the dreary daylight spilling through the window.
"Did you go through the trash? What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry asked outraged, moving to snatch the vial away.
Draco took several steps back, hiding the bottle behind his back. "What was I supposed to do when you're behaving all secretive and shit?" he hissed.
"How about minding your own damn business!"
"It is my business when you're expecting my child, Potter!"
Harry flinched, glancing nervously at the door. "Keep your voice down!" he demanded in a low voice. "Do you want the entire house to know about this?!"
Draco just glared at him; his cheeks slightly flushed. "When were you going to tell me? How far along are you?"
"Nine weeks," Harry answered curtly after a pause. "And fuck if I knew when, Draco. I don't know if I would have ever told you."
For a brief moment Draco looked like he'd just been slapped in his face, before he shook his head and chuckled bitterly. "Fat chance of not telling me, Potter. It's not like you would be able to hide it for long. You'll be showing in just two months most likely."
The dark haired man pressed his lips tightly together and looked away; his stomach churning uneasily.
The silence which fell between them had never felt so loaded before as Draco slowly realised why Harry wasn't saying anything.
"You don't want it," Draco said flatly. The vial fell soundlessly onto the bed.
Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, Harry sighed and rubbed his hands across his face. "It's not a matter of wanting it or not – it's a matter of not being able to keep it. There's a difference."
A very stark difference which cramped his stomach every time he thought about it.
"What are you on about?" Draco asked irritated. "You're more than able to keep it, clearly, or else your body wouldn't have changed in that manner."
"Don't act dumb, Draco, it's not a good look on you," Harry said quietly and the blond stiffened. "You know very well that I can't keep it. Not with Voldemort still around."
"We could leave," Draco said abruptly.
The non-sequitur retort had the dark haired man blinking in confusion. "Leave, what are you talking about?"
"We can leave Britain," Draco said, stepping closer. "Move into another country, perhaps even another continent! We can live there and the Dark Lord wouldn't be after you anymore then." His grey eyes flashed; his voice growing stronger.
"What and let Britain fall underneath Voldemort's rule?" Harry asked incredulously. "Are you serious? I can't do that!"
"Why not?" Draco demanded, clenching his jaw. "Nobody's keeping you here."
"The prophecy - "
"To hell with that prophecy! You think all prophecies need to be fulfilled?" Draco snapped, throwing his arms out. "Let someone else do the fighting! The old coot has more than enough power to handle the Dark Lord!"
"Look, even without the prophecy, you can't expect me to leave my friends and family behind," Harry argued impatiently. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I left everyone behind and saved my own arse. Would you be able to leave your mother behind?"
It was a low blow, he knew that, but it was also the only way to get Draco to listen to him. Moving to another country, living on the downlow, all sounded perfect in theory, but reality was a whole different ballgame. He would never be able to live with himself, knowing he had condemned everyone to live underneath Voldemort's rule.
Perhaps Voldemort would stop trying to kill him once he left Britain; he wasn't sure, but it was possible. But that would mean Voldemort would be able to expand his rule over the entire country instead once nobody else was left to try to stop him.
Harry couldn't do that. He couldn't sacrifice thousands of lives all to save his own.
Not even if that meant being able to –
"I know why you want to move, Draco, but don't ask me to sacrifice so many others," Harry said quietly when Draco just stood there with his jaw clenched, glaring at the floor. "I can't do that; I can't sacrifice my friends or my family or even the rest of the Wizarding population just to save my own life."
"But you can sacrifice our baby," Draco said bitterly.
Harry reared back, the words stinging like a slap in the face. "Don't," he said lowly, warningly and grey eyes widened a notch. "Don't think this baby means nothing to me. I'm being realistic here, okay? I can't keep this baby when I'm Voldemort's target. Any moment Voldemort could find me and what do you think happens then, huh? You think he'll spare my life just because I'm pregnant? You think he'll spare the baby? And let's just imagine for a moment that I keep the baby and give birth to it – what if Voldemort finds me then? I grew up as an orphan, Draco, and there's nothing fun about that! What's the point in keeping the baby if he or she is going to grow up as an orphan afterwards?!"
He was breathing harshly by the time he stopped and he paused uneasily, fearing he'd been too loud. Nobody came up to the room, however, and he growled, running his fingers harshly through his hair, stalking towards the window. If he listened closely, he thought he could pick up the faint sounds of London traffic.
"Listen," Draco said after a long bout of tense silence. "Just – give me a week to figure something out, okay?"
"Draco," Harry sighed, bracing himself against the wall.
"One week." The other man stared at him determinedly. "That's all I ask. Give me one week to come up with a solution. Please." He approached Harry then, tentatively reaching out to rest his hands on Harry's hips.
"Why?"
Why go through all this trouble when it's hopeless?
"Because we both have lost too much already," Draco answered simply, gazing thoughtfully down at Harry's belly. "I don't want to lose someone again." He kissed Harry before he could say something and he let him, closing his eyes.
Not even Draco's implicit confession that this thing between them was more than just fucking could lighten the block of stone which had seemed to take up residence in Harry's stomach.
"How did you know what to test for?" Draco asked later at night when everyone had gone to sleep.
He'd sneaked into Harry's room the second the last person had gone upstairs and it was only because Harry was used to the nightly visits now that he hadn't accidentally cursed the idiot when he suddenly had slipped into the room.
Harry shrugged with one shoulder, feeling warm fingers trail down his back. "I've been feeling off for a while and tried a Diagnostic Charm. I thought I had miscast it when it told me I'm pregnant," he smiled humourlessly. "I tried the charm several times after that, even used a couple of others, but they all told me the same thing. So I decided to use a test kit to be certain and went to an apothecary in Diagon Alley to buy one."
It had been quite enlightening to learn how exactly he had ended up pregnant – enlightening and frustrating at the same time. There were three options: taking a potion, performing a complicated spell on the night of the full moon or – possessing enough magical strength that the body formed the necessary parts on his own.
Not much information had been given for the third option as it appeared that that possibility didn't occur often and when it did, the people in question weren't eager to divulge much information. All that was known was that the possession of a large magical reserve could lead to a pregnancy happening in wizards. Nothing else was known.
Seeing as he hadn't taken a potion nor had partaken in any complicated spell during a full moon, the only remaining possibility was that he apparently had enough magical strength to somehow grow a womb.
Because his life wasn't fucked up enough already.
"Guess you're even more special than we thought, hm?" Draco murmured, kissing his forehead almost absentmindedly.
"Yeah, guess so." It didn't escape Harry's notice how one hand dipped down, resting against his stomach.
"One week," Draco reminded him as if he could have possibly forgotten about that deadline in the six hours which had passed since their conversation.
"You're just delaying the inevitable," Harry muttered, not wanting to start a fight, but he didn't want Draco to get the wrong idea either.
"Now who's the pessimistic one?" Draco tsk'd. "That's my job, remember?"
Not pessimistic, just realistic, Harry wanted to say, but chose to keep quiet.
"Two days," Draco had told him right before he, Diggle and Remus had left for their stakeout in Wiltshire.
It was a short stakeout, no longer than a night, meant to observe the surroundings more than anything else. It was also the only opportunity Harry had to sneak out of the house without risking rousing Draco's suspicion.
"Ever considered there might be other solutions?" Mrs. Black asked mildly, watching how he carefully ladled the potion into an empty, clean vial.
It was still quite unnerving to hear her portrait speak so calmly when just a year before she'd done nothing but screaming and cursing them out. Being able to move portraits so she could visit her husband in the attic did quite some wonders for her disposition apparently, though she still heavily disliked Hermione and the Weasleys.
The attic was the only place where Harry could work on his potion without being disturbed; the presence of Mrs. Black's portrait and the risk of being subjected to another screaming tirade enough to keep the rest of the Order out of this room, even ones as stubborn as Sirius or Hermione.
Somehow Harry had gained a form of her approval, however; perhaps because he'd been the one to discover her husband's portrait in the attic and had suggested they put her with him. It had mostly been a way to finally get her to shut her mouth, but it had worked out not too shabby for him in the end.
"I did consider them," Harry answered, keeping most of his focus on the potion. He knew he had brewed it perfectly, but one drop too much in the vial and he risked poisoning himself.
"But they were not to your satisfaction," she stated; her black eyes studying the potion intently. She snorted then, folding her hands on her lap. "Shame, given that the Malfoys are of good blood. My niece chose well in that regard."
Ignoring her blood comment, he said, "Not so much not being to my satisfaction, more so that they're not realistic. Having a baby whilst having a target painted at my back by one of the darkest wizards the world has ever seen would be the height of stupidity, don't you agree?" He looked up after putting a cork in the vial.
She was watching him with her lips thoughtfully pursed and her eyes narrowed. When she wasn't screaming her head off, he could see whose features Sirius had partly inherited.
"It wouldn't be a sign of great intelligence, no," she conceded. "You could decide to leave the war behind, however. People like the Dark Lord are after one thing mainly: power. If you leave the country, I believe he might be content to turn his sights onto other matters."
"Like taking over Britain," he said dryly.
She shrugged almost carelessly. "But you would have your child still and the Malfoy heir. One takes care of family foremost, Mister Potter."
"Yes, and that's exactly why I can't leave the country," he stated.
She blinked and smiled then, looking almost pleased. "For one with Gryffindor blood, you do know how to play with words," she said admiringly. She crossed her legs elegantly. "I do wonder, however … Won't you have regrets?"
"Of course I will have regrets," he said irritated, slipping the vial in his pocket. "I've went over my options time and time again, but there's no other solution. I can't risk having a child during the war, not with Voldemort determined to catch me. What's the point in having a child if they end up getting killed because of who their parents are?"
"Sometimes as a parent you need to make difficult choices," she murmured, sinking down in her chair. "A war seems as good a reason as any not to have a child. I do not believe the Malfoy heir shares your thoughts, however."
"Yeah well, guess it's time he learns that he can't control everything," he said grimly and removed the remainder of the potion with a flick of his wand.
He left with a cordial nod; for all the screaming and vile cursing she was capable of, Mrs. Black was also ironically insistent on the virtue of politeness. If a polite nod kept her from running her mouth off about his secret, so be it then. He'd done harder things than that.
The plan was for him to go to his bedroom and grab the Portkey he'd created yesterday. That would take him to the one place he was sure of nobody would think of looking for him there. He'd take the potion, wait for it to do its job and then would return to Grimmauld Place. Depending on the hour, he would need to fabricate a lie about where he had been, but that was a concern for later.
That was the plan at least, until Tonks shouted for him to come downstairs and help stem the bleeding of Bill's group, who'd gone out to negotiate with the sirens. Obviously the negotiation talk hadn't gone well, because he, Hermione, Tonks, Ron and Molly spent the next hours bandaging wounds, bringing Blood Replenishers, healing broken bones and generally making sure nobody died.
By the time the last Order member fell asleep and they had cleaned up the entire room, dawn was close to breaking and Harry had less than twenty minutes left before Draco would show up again.
"Goddamn it," he cursed underneath his breath, sprinting up the stairs as soon as he was out of everyone's view.
Of course the one day he needed enough time to sneak out was the day the sirens decided to state their neutrality in the war in their own violent manner!
"Not like the stereotypes, my arse," he scoffed, recalling Dumbledore's platitudes that the sirens would at most reject the Order's offer in a verbally aggressive way, but that the stories surrounding their viciousness were greatly exaggerated.
Apparently not that exaggerated given that Thomas' face had looked like it had been ripped to shreds.
He patted his pocket to make sure he hadn't lost the vial somehow and then opened the drawer of his closet where he'd stashed the Portkey underneath a layer of underwear.
He'd just pushed the underwear to the side when his door swung open and he whirled around, eyes widening when Draco stood there in the doorway; the exhaustion plain on his face.
Draco opened his mouth, maybe to greet him or to complain about his companionship during the stakeout, but then his eyes fell on the busted locket they had found during one of their cleaning sprees.
"Harry, what are you plan-"
"I'm sorry, Draco, but I can't risk it," Harry said regretfully and right when Draco lunged at him, understanding at once what Harry was going to do, he grabbed the locket, activating the Portkey just in time.
His stomach revolted when the Portkey whisked him away and he barely managed to keep upright when the locket dumped him abruptly in a small entrance hall.
"Merlin, I hate Portkeys," he groaned miserably, straightening up from his bent position.
He looked around, taking in the familiar walls and staircase, and clenched his teeth. No going back now.
Draco probably wouldn't believe him, but Harry had considered leaving the country. He'd given it a lot of serious thought after the blond had demanded him to give him a week to come up with a plan.
It would be so easy indeed, to just leave everything behind and start anew somewhere else. Perhaps move to France or Germany or even Greece. They could go even further, visit Africa, Asia, the Americas … They could settle down everywhere and chances were that Voldemort would stop looking for him once he realised Harry was out of the country.
Harry could keep his child and form a family with Draco even. Perhaps they would even be happy.
All of that could never happen, however.
He knew himself: he would hate himself for the rest of his life if he left Britain to the non-existing mercy of Voldemort. Knowing that because of him many people would be killed, that his friends and family would be left to fend for themselves …
He couldn't live with that.
Could he live with removing his baby?
That, he wasn't sure about. He didn't think so. Just as he would have regretted leaving Britain, he would regret taking this potion.
There was no good choice to be made here: either he lost his friends and family or he lost his baby. No winners.
He'd even considered lying low until the baby was born. He was certain the Order would help him; at the very least his best friends and Sirius would make sure he wouldn't be found. What then, after the baby was born?
What would happen if Voldemort found him, found Draco, found their friends and family? He would kill them all and the baby would be left an orphan – if Voldemort didn't kill him or her as well.
Perhaps they would all survive; maybe Harry would succeed in killing the bastard once and for all and they could all get the happy end they were fighting so desperately for.
So many 'maybes' and not enough certainties.
Harry could work with half baked plans to get rid of Death Eaters – he couldn't work with a 'maybe' when the possibility existed that his child might end up killed after all. Couldn't live with the thought that he might be the reason why his baby would grow up alone or worse: murdered.
Whatever he did, he lost one way or the other.
"This is so fucked up," he muttered, staring blankly at the vial.
He was sitting in the tub in the Dursleys' bathroom; the warm water reaching up to his waist. The Dursleys had left the place long ago, disappearing into anonymity. The house had been left behind as it was, but squatters had obviously passed by the place. Several pieces of furniture had been upended or smashed to pieces; wallpaper torn down and the television stolen. The toilet had been completely destroyed as if someone had taken a hammer to it, leaving Harry with no choice but to use the tub.
One vial stood between him and lifetime regret.
He'd never hated this war, Voldemort, more than he did at this moment.
No going back now.
The vial was raised in the air, its green colour shimmering in the weak morning light, and then upended.
"You know this isn't the end, right?" Harry said, watching a pale hand draw circles across his stomach. "If you're serious about this – nothing says we can't have children later. After the war." He swallowed; a lump forming in his throat.
"Finally admitting that we're doing more than just fucking around, hm, Potter?" Draco smiled wryly and stole a quick kiss. "I know we can have children later – I also know we can have a child now. I'll make it work, you'll see."
Since when did you become the optimist? Harry wanted to ask, but was silenced with another kiss, a deeper one this time as Draco rolled on top of him.
When he came to, he was lying on a stripped down mattress, a thin sheet covering his naked body, and his stomach aching like hell, as if it had been ripped and sliced apart by rusty knives.
He hated that he even knew how that felt like.
"How did you find me?" he asked, staring at the blond man seated near the window.
Draco turned his head, offering him a humourless smile. "Did some thinking, asked myself if I was you where I would go to if I didn't want to be disturbed at all." He looked around the small room, the bars at the window. "The old house of a family who detested you seemed like a pretty good guess to me and voila." He gestured listlessly.
"Guess you know me well after all," Harry muttered and gingerly turned to lie on his side. He thought he felt blood still caked between his legs and promptly pushed that thought away.
"If I knew you, I should have known you'd sneak out when I was gone," Draco said quietly. "Two days, Harry. That's all I asked. You couldn't give me that even?"
"Did you have some form of plan?"
Draco's silence was all the answer he needed and Harry closed his eyes, chuckling darkly. "Yeah, thought so. What's going to happen now?"
To us?
"I don't know," Draco eventually answered after a long, too long, silence. He rose up and walked over to the bed, kneeling next to it. Grey eyes trailed from Harry's stomach – empty, too empty, fuck, he hated himself – over his chest to his face. "Guess tomorrow's another day."
Yeah, he guessed so too.
The End
AN2: I want to say again that I don't want to offend anyone with this; this was simply my "What if Harry didn't decide to keep a baby during the war?" idea. I left it rather open ended on purpose. Again, no offense was meant with this fic.
Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistake, please point them out to me.
I hope to see you all back in my future stories. Please take care of yourselves and stay safe!
Cuddles
Melissa
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