Despoiling Harry

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The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and others, and are used without permission; challenge to copyright is not intended and should not be construed. No profit is being made from the use of these characters and situations; these written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as authorized materials of these owners.

Fait Accompli
by Amanuensis

Sequel to Droit Du Seigneur. Harry and Draco have dealt with some of the consequences of their wedding night. Now they deal with more.
Pairings: Harry/Draco
Categories: Drama/Angst, Romance
Notes: Warning for mpreg, but not in a graphic way. Fait accompli is French for "a thing irrevocably done." Many thanks to Sobriquet for the beta.



Lucius Malfoy stared at his son, the mug of cafe au lait in his hand halted, inches from its return to its saucer.

"Yes," his son hissed. "He's seen a mediwitch."

Deliberately looking at the saucer as he set the cup down, carefully, Lucius said, "And you are telling me this news precisely because...?"

He heard Draco suck in his breath. Looked up, keeping his own expression quite flat as he regarded Draco's.

"Fuck," Draco spat. "This is ballsy even for you." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "My god, do you SUCK."

Lucius folded his napkin with precise movements. "Draco, if you and Harry choose to begin a family, I'm sure it's none of my--"

"Son of a BITCH!"

The cup and saucer shattered against the wall behind him. Lucius noted Draco hadn't quite had the nerve to dash it in his father's face.

"You and your fucking Droit Du Seigneur! Don't you dare try to pretend you didn't know this would happen! My GOD!" Draco gripped the edge of the table in both hands, leaning in. "Did you hate the thought of us happy together that much, Father? Oh, excuse me, that's not right either; I'm your goddamn half-BROTHER, aren't I?"

Lucius had not moved at all. "What interesting fantasies you have, Draco."

"Answer me!"

"Draco." His voice was as hard as he could make it, but to his credit, his son didn't flinch. "You were born two years after your mother and I were married. You are not the product of the wedding night that my father spent with your mother. Do you honestly believe, for one moment, that I would have allowed such a thing? If I am to believe your mother's fidelity-- and believe me, Draco, I do-- you are certainly my son."

"You expect me to take your fucking word for that?"

Lucius smiled. "I have no need to lie. The truths I surround myself with are far too useful." He saw Draco's hands clench even tighter on the edge of the table, decided to press his advantage. "If Harry decided to take a fertility potion on your wedding day, I can hardly be held responsible for--"

"He did NOT take a FERTILITY POTION." Lucius heard Draco's nails skritch on the matte oak of the table. "We hadn't even thought about children, you piece of shite!"

"Well, then, someone slipped him one. In your wedding toast, perhaps. Or cast a charm at him, thinking it a crime that the Hero of the Wizarding World wouldn't be producing a litter of green-eyed miniature saviors." He folded his hands together, elbows on the table. "But this is not my doing."

"Oh, yes it is, because it sure the hell wasn't mine. You made fucking sure that Harry and I weren't in any shape to consummate ANYTHING that night. Or the next. Or for the next three fucking weeks."

Lucius gave his son his coolest stare.

One he knew Draco would interpret as You brought it on yourself.

Whether he accepted that or not.

Draco sucked in air between his teeth. "You are actually trying to make me believe that your night of ritual Droit Du Seigneur had NOTHING to do with the fact that Harry is pregnant. Pregnant, according to the mediwitch, from the night of the wedding. Do you really believe I'm that stupid?" He pushed away from the table. "Fuck. Why not. I AM that stupid. I thought Harry and I really could live under this roof with you. Why shouldn't you treat me like an idiot?"

His son really could perform quite the dramatic stalk-from-the-room when he chose.

It was a sign of just how distracted Lucius Malfoy actually was that he used his wand to clean the mess and repair the cup from the smashed cafe au lait. He typically left such things to the house-elves.

Something was happening that he had not expected. Or intended.

Lucius Malfoy did not like being taken by surprise.



Draco stopped at the sound of his mother's voice, but didn't turn.

"Please. I want to speak with you."

"Don't you think," he said with considerable venom, "that the time you should have spoken with me is past, Mother?"

There was no reply, and the silence grew like a tumor in Draco's throat. "I'm sorry," he said at last, still not turning.

He heard the door creak, as if opened a bit wider. "Come in here, please," his mother said softly.

He turned. Saw Harry standing silently just behind his mother.

Draco stepped toward the parlor.


More than once, Harry had thought that Narcissa Malfoy, nee Orfanos, had been betrothed to Lucius Malfoy on the basis of looks alone. Pureblood wizarding aristocracy aside, the temptation to put the two exquisitely beautiful, blond-haired, grey-eyed wizards together must have been irresistible for their parents.

He had hardly ever wondered if affection had played any role in the match.

"I think he is telling the truth. This, he did not plan."

Harry looked at Narcissa Malfoy and found, in the space where he should have been holding his hate for the woman, there were only dust and cobwebs. And maybe, just maybe, the slightest portion of pity.

He had not realized, perhaps, until today, that her poise was not completely the result of her breeding. She had honed it over the years, because to show less to that archfiend she'd been married to would have doomed her completely.

Even in the direct daylight shining through the window she looked no more than ten years older than Draco. Impossible to believe that she was his mother, as if Draco had just sprung from a riven oak one midsummer night.

Yeah. That'd be nice, if that were all there were to having children. Harry fought back another wave of nausea and wondered why they called it morning sickness, since it seemed to come at all hours of the day.

"The evening of our wedding day," Narcissa said, turning, "your father, Draco, suddenly came to my side, pulled me away privately, and demanded to know when I'd last bled. He was so agitated...completely unlike himself that I could barely register what a rude question it was, and it was very rude, even for a husband. I told him, and I remember what he said, because it was the first time he'd ever been anything but charming to me. He said, 'Shut up and let me think.' And he thought, and then I saw all the tension drain from him and his face lift with a look of such relief that... well, I didn't know what to think. But he wasn't looking at me." Narcissa studied her hands. "He'd realized that I wasn't likely to be fertile that night. And therefore, in his mind, it was all right."

"He didn't think the ritual itself would guarantee pregnancy," Harry heard himself say. "That's what you're telling us."

"And it did not." Narcissa crossed the room and sat down in the chair facing Harry, leaning forward slightly, fingertips pressed together in her lap. "If Droit Du Seigneur had acted in the same way as a fertility potion, I should have conceived-- I didn't-- and Lucius would not have been relieved just because the time of the month had fallen in our favor. If you know anything about fertility spells and potions, you know that."

"Then explain this." Draco's voice was as unreadable as his face.

"I don't know if I can. No one... talks about the actual application of Droit Du Seigneur. It's tradition, it's law, but it stays that way because no one talks about it. Custom perpetuates it. Shame keeps it secret. So I don't know if Lucius, or his father, or most wizards in the aristocracy, truly knew-- knows-- how it works in all cases."

"Harry's pregnant," Draco went on, in the same tones. "We know he is. Conceived at the same time that Father claimed Droit Du Seigneur on the day of our wedding. It's not fucking coincidence, Mother."

"Language," said Narcissa, but without animation, as if this was a common rebuke for her son. "No, I don't suppose it is. There's... too much of ritual, about it, to suppose it's coincidence. But I don't believe it was your father's plan to see this happen."

Draco turned to his mother, his look murderous again. "Don't you make me listen to you, of all people, defending him!"

Harry stood quickly. "She's not, Draco. She's not. She's defending herself."

The woman he'd once assumed Narcissa Malfoy to be might have given Harry a pointed look, as if to say I don't need you to translate for my own son. That woman also would not have come to speak to Harry as soon as she learned what had the two of them-- Draco in particular-- up in arms.

Which is why the place that should have held hatred for her had emptied. She was in so many ways a victim -- of her husband, of her upbringing... of Augustine Malfoy, twenty-some years ago-- that Harry was unable to hold her to standards that, until so short a time ago, seemed so very simple.

"I chose to keep silent. I do not expect to be forgiven," she said, neither humble nor haughty, yet not unapologetic either. "Though I expect the both of you should understand. Had I any idea this might have been the result, however..." She gave the illusion of sitting up straighter and crumpling all at once. "Well. This is... not about me, is it?"

Harry liked her better, he found, that she was not wringing her hands and pleading for their pardon.

Because he expected he would have found himself giving it, and hating himself later.

"So what the hell are we supposed to think?" Draco set his arm against the mantelpiece, seemed to be leaning on it with his whole weight. Harry was not sure he'd ever seen he'd ever seen his husband look like that, as though someone had reached inside him with one hand and pulped his soul like rotten fruit. "You don't know, you say my fu... Father doesn't know, and no one will talk about it; where the hell does that leave us?"

Harry found himself wanting to say, Don't be disrespectful. Not because of anything his mother-in-law had said that deserved it, but simply because Harry could not help but think of how he hoped he would have treated his own mother, were the circumstances reversed. However absurd an image that was.

"I don't have the answers. But I think you should speak to your Aunt Gabrielle."

Draco turned. Looked at his mother. "Aunt Gabrielle? Not Uncle Cyprian?

"I think you are more likely to get the answers from her than you are from my brother."

Harry looked between the two of them.

Narcissa's brother. "Did... did your uncle marry another Malfoy?"

Narcissa met his eyes. "Gabrielle is a Lestrange."

Harry didn't know why, but he felt himself shiver.


"You are lucky," said Gabrielle Orfanos, "that you realized so soon that the symptoms were pregnancy. We were not so fortunate." She didn't look at Draco. "It was rather late when we understood what was happening. And I did not want to risk my husband's life in the process of aborting the child, arranged marriage or no. I would have had to return to my parents house, as a widow, and that was something I had been trying to escape for years."

Harry sat down rather suddenly next to Draco, in the chair that he'd declined at first. Draco kept his feet, knowing he had to, and resisted the urge to set his hand on Harry's shoulder. "But you... Uncle Cyprian was all right, yes? And... your children are all... younger than..."

He stopped.

Realized he was asking questions to which he might not want answers after all.

Aunt Gabrielle nodded. "The potions did what they were supposed to. And were still timely enough not to jeopardize him."

Thank you, Aunt, thought Draco. Whether it's the truth or not. Thank you for allowing me to hope there wasn't infanticide on top of all the rest of the atrocities.

"Did you know?" he heard himself say.

Aunt Gabrielle looked at him.

"Did you know that the Droit Du Seigneur was going to happen? My... my father didn't, until that day, so my mother says."

Her lips quirked with something that was not humor. "I didn't know until the day after. None would tell me why my father was closeted with my husband, and why I was not permitted to be with Cyprian on that night. I suppose it had something to do with my being female, and thought to be less likely to be concerned with family duty." Her look was suddenly distant. "I think, at the time, that might have been what infuriated me most. That I had always been told I was a Lestrange first and foremost-- one of the oldest known wizarding families, certainly one of the most ranking--and now was being told I was a daughter, and incapable of understanding duty." Her mouth set into a thin line, though whether at this insult, or at the idea that this was what had seemed most important at the time, it was not possible to say.

"How do they keep this thing secret if it's being done to everyone? How do they not know what's going to happen as a result?" Draco was barely able to keep profanity out of the questions. His aunt would probably have chided him as well.

"Pureblooded wizard aristocrats are hardly everyone, Draco. Wizard heads of their ranking line-- who are male-- and desire to exercise their legal rights on their sons-in-law... well, we are descrbing an even more exclusive company amongst those who choose to practice Droit Du Seigneur, are we not?"

And to think that when I told him I was in love with a man, I thought I was lucky that my father didn't seem to be a homophobe, thought Draco. I am such a fucking MORON.

Aunt Gabrielle continued: "I, for one, am not surprised that there is a less than perfect understanding of the consequences, particularly as it is quite carefully not discussed amongst the younger generation, until they are on the receiving end of it and either dutifully keeping the secret, or too ashamed to speak of it further."

"And neither of you suspected he was pregnant." Harry had raised his eyes to look at her. "Do you think that they... didn't want you to know until it was too late?"

She gave a little snort. "Believe me, Mr. Malfoy--"

"Potter," said Draco. "I'm taking his last name."

Aunt Gabrielle lifted an eyebrow, dropped it, and went on. "Harry, then, if you'll allow it. Had it been my father's intention that my husband was to carry a Lestrange child-- his Lestrange child-- he would have made sure we knew what was happening. And have forbidden us to have aborted it." She touched her fingertips together in a way that reminded Draco of his mother. "And we would have obeyed, I would have seen to that. To prove that I was a Lestrange first."

Draco looked in his aunt's eyes.

No, there was no trace of tactful omission there now, was there?





"So. Now we know."

Draco had a sickle and was tossing it between his hands as though it were a lucky piece. Harry suspected he was doing this in order to keep his hands off his wand, with which he'd probably be hexing every knick-knack in the room.

"It's a fertility ritual among wizards only when the... victim... is male as well."


There didn't seem to be anything else to say to that.

At last Harry exhaled, and brought an end to the suspense. "Good thing it's early then. Like your Aunt said... not so much risk."

Draco looked at him. Put the sickle down.

Crossed the room, put his arms around Harry's shoulders, and held on.

Harry shut his eyes, and held him back. After a moment, when he was sure his voice would be steady, he said, "It's the weekend. I'll send an owl to the mediwitch on Monday."

Draco didn't speak. Harry went on. "And tomorrow, we'll get a muggle newspaper. Lots of real estate adverts on Sundays."

"Yeah," Draco said. "We'll do that, all right."


"This is incomprehensible," Draco said. "What the hell does a/c mean? And what's an upper?"

There was no response. Draco lowered the newspaper section with its tiny boxes of cryptic black text and looked at where Harry had been sitting.

Where'd he gone and how'd he leave the room so quietly?


Not realizing it, but folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm in a move that was clearly instinctive whether you were muggle or wizard, Draco got up from the chair in the sitting room and went to the open door of their bedroom.

Harry was standing by the window, looking out.

Draco felt something tighten in his chest. It had been a moment like that, more than... what was it, five years ago, when he'd begun to understand how obsession could take more than one form. Harry in the Owlery, sending that white bird off from a window, watching it go like it was taking all his secrets away to be answered. Draco just at the entrance to the room, seeing him in that unguarded moment, longing so undisguised on his face... it had hit Draco right in the center of his chest, and then in his throat, which had gone so dry, and only after that had he noticed the heat in his groin.

And even when Harry-- Potter at that time-- had turned, seen him there, and replaced that look with one of sullen suspicion, and said, "What do you want, Malfoy?" in a dull tone that couldn't even be bothered to be hostile... it was too late.

Draco already knew his obsession with Potter had changed.

Unaccountably afraid he would see that suspicious look on Harry's face again, like some odd deja vu, Draco said, "Harry? You all right?"

Harry didn't turn.


Draco saw his husband lift his chin slightly, though he still didn't turn to look at Draco.

"If I get rid of it...

"If I get rid of it then he wins."

Draco stared.

Harry turned at last. There was neither longing nor suspicion on his face. Just misery. "It's like I.. I have a duty to protect what's mine. From him. Even when it's..." He trailed off. "I... I can't help it, Draco."

Draco opened his mouth to speak.

Closed it.

Turned away as his vision was already blurring. "FUCK!"

Headed for the nearest exit to the gardens.

If he stayed inside the house he would seek out his father and try to kill him.

And he owed it to Harry not to do that.

Not like that. And not just yet.


When he got back to their rooms Harry wasn't there.


Distinctive scents of Harry. Lemon and musk. Damp cotton. Remnants of that expensive aftershave that hadn't actually smelled as good on him after all, but which Harry insisted on wearing because it had been a Christmas gift from Draco.

Not just on the bedclothes, but there with him. Draco came awake in a hurry.

Harry was still fully dressed, but pushing up against his side, and Draco opened his arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, breathing in citrus and musk and poorly chosen French aftershave like it was a drug. Harry slid his arms about Draco's waist and pressed his face into Draco's hair.

Neither of them spoke, at first. Breathing and holding and just being there seemed to be a common enough language.

At last, Draco said, "You want to keep it then."

He felt Harry shake his head. "What I want... is you. I want you above all things, Draco. And I will do whatever is necessary to keep you...that is, if you want to be kept."

Draco snorted, hoping it tickled Harry's ear and drove him crazy. "You damned Gryffindor. I never would have amended it that way."

"I know, and I wouldn't change you." Draco could hear the thickness in Harry's voice. He kissed the corner of Harry's mouth, making it unnecessary for him to talk.

But after a moment, Harry did so anyway. "I... hate... that I have to make this choice. But I do. And I choose you."

Draco knew his own voice was thick. "If I start going pika pika pika will you hit me?"

"Believe it."

"Good. You should." He pulled away enough to look at Harry's face in the dimness. "So that's how you see it, then. If you say you want to keep it I'll be too pissed at you to stay with you. I'm that much of a bastard, like all the rest of my family."

He saw how Harry's face changed. "I--"

"'S gonna be my turn to hit you, now. Don't think I won't."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Liar. You'd have done it by now. You're taking pity on a pregnant spouse."

"Well, then, I'll just have to deny you sex."

"You're an evil prick, Draco Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "You keep forgetting. If I can't get my own husband to say it, how are we ever going to convince those arsehole relatives of mine I'm serious?"

He set his chin on Harry's shoulder. "Just listen to this idea for a minute."



"No way. Not just for revenge. No. One can't bring a child into the world just for that."

"Harry." Draco sat up. "I'm past thinking of it as revenge. I'm thinking about the whole fucking outrage that is Droit Du Seigneur. How Mother said that shame kept it quiet. If we don't want this to go on any longer... I'm not going to ask you to go public with it, but I know you, you're going to want to do something... and if you want to keep this baby... if it's not just to spite my father, but ...because you want it ... then, Harry, we've got to protect it from all the questions, all the hateful things, somehow."

"Draco-- this-- no, I--"

"You're about to say it isn't fair, aren't you?... You bloody stupid Gryffindor prat."



"...three bedrooms, two baths, push-button gas fireplace, and a/c stands for air conditioning, which this place does have, and which you would appreciate a lot if we weren't wizards." Harry stood in the middle of the largest room, arms folded, and said, "Did I do okay?"

"This... wow. This isn't bad at all." Draco was looking into the kitchen. "It comes with those?"

"The appliances? Yeah. That's standard in the better neighborhoods."

Draco gave him a suspicious look. "There's something you're not telling me. If this is one of the better neighborhoods... then how are we affording this on our salaries?"

Harry shrugged. "The Ministry isn't as hard up as you seem to think, Draco. We'd come close to this anyway, plus we make it up in little ways, like by not having to run the a/c but using cooling charms. And I get a bonus at Christmas."

"I think there's still something you're not telling me."

"Honestly, Draco, you'd think I'd never told you about my inheritance. I said that my parents didn't leave me a pauper, didn't I?"

"Yes, but that's all you said. You didn't say I could marry you for your money."

"It isn't quite like that, but yes, we should be fine. And I'm using just the smallest amount of it to supplement the rent on this place. We'd get along on just our salaries if we had to, really."

"You're the one who lived in the muggle world for years, and I'm the one who lived in the lap of luxury; why am I worrying about this? Isn't that your job?"

"Stop being so agitated. Of course our roles aren't reversed. You're the one in unfamiliar territory now, after all. And you're also the one who is assuming you really are going to be cut off without a knut when we move out; he still hasn't said anything, has he?"

"No, but eventually he's going to find out what FBF stands for, and I don't think he's going to give me a pat on the head and say, 'Fucking Bastard Father? Oh, Draco, you're just like me when I was your age.'"

"You might be surprised."

"Yes, well. I think it might be wise not to count on that."

"We're not."

Draco looked at Harry's suddenly hard face. "Yes, well," he repeated. "So... this isn't outside of our means, after all."

"Nuh-uh. The down payment was a bit of a chunk, but that's because it's two months all at once."

"You... didn't ask me for any of it? That's..."

"I didn't think it was fair. I'd seen it, you hadn't. If you hadn't liked it..."

"Oh, please. I'm going to have to trust you in some things, aren't I?" Draco looked about the room. "So we can move in right away?"

"Yup. All ours."

Draco turned. "Tonight. Let's get out of there right away. Who gives a fuck if we have furniture or not."

Harry grinned. "Could be uncomfortable."

"Well, then, let's check it out." Draco turned and walked into the bedroom wing of the flat. "Is this the largest one?"

"If it's the one with the en suite bath, yes." He followed, found Draco standing in the bare master bedroom.

Draco smiled at him. It was one of those smiles. Harry shivered.

Four weeks. It had been four whole weeks.

"We don't really need furniture, do we?" said Draco.

"No," Harry said. He'd never been aware just how interesting it was to wrap one's lips, one's teeth and tongue and breath, around the word no and make it come out

He walked toward Draco, slowly, savoring that look on Draco's face so much it seemed a crime to alter it by kissing him. He stopped just in front of him.

Draco's smile did not change, even as he pulled the small blue vial out of his pocket.

Harry remembered what it was like to be kissed breathless by Lucius Malfoy.

It couldn't come remotely close to this.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, when he could finally speak past the pulse in his throat.

"Shag you right here on the bedroom floor of our flat?" said Draco, giving just the slightest emphasis to the word our. "I suppose we could try to magic up some cushions..."

"You know what I mean."

Though his smile faded, Draco's expression remained affectionate. He lifted his free hand and rubbed his thumb over Harry's lower lip. "You're sure, aren't you?... Well, then."

Draco let his hand fall. Uncapped the vial and drank down the contents.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hey," he said. "That's... that stuff isn't bad at all. You should try it sometime."

A sputter of a laugh broke free from Harry. "I don't... I don't think so."

Stuffing the vial back into his pocket, Draco said, "Oh, but I'd hate to have you miss out." And leaned forward and enveloped Harry's mouth with his own.

And yes, it tasted nice. Nothing to compare with the fierce surge of need that was starting at Harry's mouth and working its way through his entire body, though.

That surge was causing him-- requiring him-- to thread his fingers through Draco's hair and hang on, hard, almost not noticing if he was causing him pain; he couldn't waste caution on something that trivial, not now. His tongue fought back against Draco's as if trying to push him away, in contrast to his grip on those handfuls of blond hair.

Draco's hands were coming up to the sides of his face as well, and as usual, Harry's supposition that the kiss couldn't get any more heated was proved wrong as Draco's mouth seemed to clamp down on his own, as if preparing to take a bite out of him. Rather than going limp, Harry's form of submission to this was to push his body against the length of Draco's own, craving that contact like it would save his life. Draco moaned; Harry pushed harder.

It was Draco who finally broke the kiss, pushing Harry back for real, gasping, "We don't need a bed, but dammit, you hot piece of arse, you need a wall," and he had shoved Harry all the way back to the nearest one in question.

He stood there, or rather, let the wall hold him up as Draco got his jacket open and went to work on the buttons of his shirt. When he lifted his own hands to try to reciprocate, Draco batted them away. "No. You stand there, and you don't move." Harry felt the blood surging into his cock at those words. He pressed his palms flat against the wall, already breathing hard, and was rewarded by hearing Draco purr, "That's my obedient Harry. Oh, fuck," Draco's voice broke as he finished getting Harry's shirt open and pulled the two halves of it back with the delicacy one might use with flayed skin, "I have missed this so fucking badly..."

He bent, and his hands went to Harry's waist as he pushed his face into the center of Harry's chest, not to kiss at first, but just to inhale and moan against him. Harry's fingers curled into his palms, the little scratch against the wall as they did so making him hope he wasn't leaving marks in the paint. "Fuck..." he echoed, his voice shaky.

Now Draco was kissing, licking down his belly, driving his tongue into Harry's navel, which always drove him mad, back up to lick at his nipples, which usually didn't, except that Draco liked doing it, and it was something guaranteed to drive Draco mad when it was done to him, and so by extension, it had come to give Harry a jolt anyway.

Draco, on his knees now, was unbuckling Harry's belt with excruciating slowness as he returned to tongue-fuck Harry's navel again. That did it. Harry's hands came off the wall and seized a double handful of Draco's hair, not trying to pull him off-- hardly-- but just clutching. He heard Draco chuckle against his belly. "You... impatient...little....slut..." Draco murmured between licks.

In answer Harry shifted his leg so that it pressed into Draco's groin. Feigned composure broken, Draco clung to the two ends of Harry's open belt and hissed, turning his face to the side against Harry's belly so that he could pant, powerless to keep from pushing back against that creatively sliding leg.

"I'd be careful... who you call slut, you needy little whore." Harry's voice dripped with something that would be dangerous if it hadn't also been affectionate. "Let's...not forget which one of us is on his knees here."

Draco sucked in air through his teeth. "Well, we'll just...see which one of us ends up on his back, shall we?"

Now it was Harry's turn to chuckle, low. "Oh, I think we already know the outcome to that one today, don't we?" he said, sliding down the wall just far enough so that he could get his knee to tease at Draco's hard cock.

"Oh, I-- ah-- yeah, I almost forgot about that." Draco sounded as though he might faint. Harry had mercy on him and slid the rest of the way to the floor, reaching out to pull at his shoulders and drag him back into another kiss, this one no less ferocious.

"Want you," moaned Harry.

"Want you naked," moaned Draco back, following up his actions on Harry's belt by opening both button and zip on the trousers.

Harry could find nothing wrong with this plan, and let Draco get on with divesting him of the trousers at the same time that he toed off his oxfords. Draco seemed not to be able to wait to finish, though, pushing his hand down the waist of Harry's boxers and fondling his erection with such a thorough stroke that Harry feared he would come in that very minute. "Fuck," he moaned again, "now who's impatient?"

"Shut up and lift your arms..." said Draco, attempting to pull Harry's shirt the rest of the way off with his free hand. Harry complied, but Draco didn't remove the shirt completely; instead he let it bunch at Harry's wrists and used it to lay him out flat. "Oh, yeah, that's a good position for you," Draco grinned, almost sneering. He tugged at the waist of the boxers. "Lift your arse or I'll tear these off. I bought them for you and I will do it."

"You are," Harry said, lifting his hips so that Draco could pull them off, "so fucking sexy when you think you're in control."

"Oh, I'll get you for that, Potter."

"I don't doubt it for a minute, Potter."

Draco, who had been aiming for Harry's mouth with his own, collapsed laughing against his shoulder instead. The laughter was infectious, but Harry got himself together and pushed at Draco, landing the blond on his side as Harry discarded his shirt completely and got to his feet. "Now," he said, quite aware that his nudity did not make him any less imposing as he stood there, fists on his hips, "let's see who's in control. Take off... your... shoes."

Draco lifted an eyebrow, but then leaned forward and untied both of his shoes before slipping them off.

"Socks next." Harry could see Draco trying to bite back his grin as he did as he was told.

"Very good." Harry dropped to his knees and wrapped a hand around one of Draco's ankles. "Now it's your turn not to move."

Harry had the satisfaction of seeing Draco's eyes get wide as he sucked Draco's toes into his mouth, caressing just beneath them with his tongue. "Oh, fuck, you know how I..." Draco whimpered, almost whining as he tried to jerk his foot away.

Harry paused just long enough to say, "Oh, yeah, I know," and licked at Draco's toes again, his other hand stroking along the arch, knowing perfectly well what kind of reaction he would get.

He got it. Draco yelled, "AH! You fiend!" and pounded one fist against the floor at the same time that he threw his head back. That was, it seemed, the best that he could do, for in the next moment he had jerked his foot from Harry's grasp. "Feet... are cheating, Harry, I've told you that, they are not fair game!"

"Oh, stop whinging. Take it like a man for once," Harry said, moving onto his hands and knees and crawling forward over Draco.

"I always do! That man just happens to have very sensitive feet."

"Amongst other things." His face was over Draco's now, and he reached out and traced a finger over his lower lip. "My turn to get you undressed for me, handsome? Will you let me do that?"

He could see Draco's breathing quicken. "You talked me into it."

"Corrupter of innocence, that's me." He took his time with Draco's shirt, not missing the opportunity, as soon as it was open, to tongue Draco's nipples, slowly and carefully, eliciting sighs almost immediately, which became full-throated moans shortly after that.

And very soon pleas. "Harry... oh, hell, you evil bastard, show some mercy!"

"Nope. This is all--" another lick-- "part of my nefarious plan to addict you to me and make you my slave." Lick.

"Oh. Well. Plan away."

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that, you tart."





Draco grinned. "I win."

"Ha. I've got your nipples at my mercy and you think you're winning?"

"Fuck, yes."

"Mm. I suppose you could be right." Harry decided that was as good a moment as any to get Draco's shirt off the rest of the way. And divesting someone of their trousers was delightfully easy, he noted, when you'd had the foresight to get their shoes off first.

Once completely undressed, Draco didn't miss the opportunity to pose for him. "Corrupter of innocence is right," he drawled, spreading his arms out languidly on the floor. "Could I be anything but pure... pure delight, at least?"

"If I did have a pillow, I'd hit you with it." Harry pressed his mouth to Draco's belly, his hand reaching down to stroke Draco's hard cock. "On the other hand, even Lucifer was an angel once," he murmured, swiping his thumb over the tip, gathering the small amount of seeping wetness on his thumb. Draco groaned, playfulness momentarily abandoned as he pushed his hips towards Harry's hand.

Harry couldn't wait a moment longer. Once again thinking, Four weeks..., he cupped his hand underneath the heated, rigid cock and drew it to his mouth, his hand dropping down to cup the balls instead as he took as much of the erection into his mouth as he could. Draco hissed and arched again, hands rotating from their seemingly languid pose to clutch at the floor beneath, even though there couldn't have been much purchase on the bare wood.

Harry was licking in those firm up-and-down, nearly circular strokes that never failed to have Draco howling within a minute. He himself was moaning so fervently at being able to pleasure Draco like this after what seemed an eternity that he could barely register if Draco was making any noise or not.

But when Draco's fingers tangled in his hair and tugged, pulling him back and off Draco's erection, he was forced to register that. In fact, he wanted to protest at the unfairness of it.

"No," Draco rasped, "not yet. Don't want to come yet. Want to come when you're in me."

"No rule that says you can't do both, you know..."

"I know."

They were kissing again, both of them with mouths wide open, moans resonating back against the very throats of each other. Their hands had abandoned delicacy, though not finesse, and both were stroking and squeezing the genitals of the other, milking each other's cock as if it could be made harder, gripping and releasing the sac of the scrotum over and over in rhythm.

"Tell me," said Harry, when he could be bothered to pause for a breath, "that you didn't forget the lube."

"Didn't forget," said Draco. "And if I had, you'd have some."

"Not-- ow!-- the point," Harry yipped as Draco bit at his earlobe. "I told you to bring it."

"One would think you'd never even heard of Summoning Charms."

"Accio's only permitted inside the building in a muggle neighborhood, you git!"

"Oh, put a sock in it, Gryffindor." Draco didn't even stop what he was doing; he just continued it one-handed while with the other he pulled his discarded trousers to him and got the tube out of the pocket. "There. Grape this time. What kind d'jou bring?"

"Peach Melba."

It was an old joke of theirs. They'd never bought flavored lube in their lives.

Draco pushed Harry back onto the floor and pressed against him, hard, rocking his groin into his. Harry clutched back at him, feeling the heat of his groin so intensely that the sensation of their cocks sliding together was almost lost. But only almost.

Harry slid his hands to the crests of Draco's hips and around to the back, letting his palms travel over the globes of his arse lightly-- Draco liked it when he did that-- before separating them with his hands and running his fingers down the cleft. Draco groaned, pushed his mouth against Harry's neck. Harry turned his head and nuzzled into Draco's hair, near his ear. "I'm going to be inside you soon. You know that. I'm going to fill you up with my cock and you're going to think it's the best thing that's ever happened to you." He heard Draco sigh. "And the next time I fuck you, you're going to think, no, that's the best thing that's ever happened to me. And the next time, and the next." He kissed the side of Draco's face. "And when you fuck me later, I'm going to think the exact same thing."

His hands moving between Draco's shoulders and his hips, he slid out from underneath and placed a hand in the small of Draco's back, keeping him there face down as he reached for the tube of lubricant with his other hand. Draco pressed his own palms to the floor, on either side of his face, as Harry spread him open and applied the lubricant to the cleft of his arse, inserting a finger until his knuckles were seated firmly against the opening, then adding another finger, then another. Draco hissed, clawed at the floor, and when Harry's fingers left him altogether, said, "More..."

Harry looked at him and knew exactly how he wanted to do this. "Sit up," he said, laying himself down at Draco's side.

Draco, breathless, looked at him, pushed himself up. Harry rolled onto his back. "Straddle me."

The look Draco gave him almost made Harry lose all control. It was at once wild-eyed and reluctant, innocent as a choirboy and hungry as an incubus. "I--" he said, and stopped.

"I just wanted to remind you," Harry said, aware that even flat on his back, he still had the upper hand here, "that we're never ones to take the obvious route. You were so sure you were going to be the one under me today," he grinned.

Again, that look. Again, the fear he'd explode right there. He made himself get a handle on it.

Draco threw a leg over him and settled his arse over Harry's groin, mouth opening into a pained O as Harry shifted to make sure his cock was pressing most of its length directly into the crease. "Fuck me, Draco," Harry said, knowing that Draco liked to hear him say those three words, in that sequence, more than any other. "Fuck me back while I fuck you."

Moving his hands around to the globes of Draco's arse, he separated the arsecheeks and moved his own hips so that the tip of his cock touched the center of that clenching muscle. Slippery with lube, Draco's entrance gave way to the thrust of his cock, and Harry pushed with his hips and pulled at Draco's own until he had Draco utterly impaled, both of them keening with every movement. Harry's balls were almost clasped by Draco's arsecheeks by the courtesy of gravity, and Draco's own scrotum was nested in Harry's pubic hair, his cock crimson and nearly vertical above Harry's belly.

It was easier to rock in this position than it was to thrust, and that suited Harry just fine; he wanted to see Draco moving on top of him in the same rhythm. Draco's face was starting to become as flushed as his cock, which was starting to leak more copiously, a glistening sheen that made Harry's balls tighten even further to see it. Draco's pale blond beauty had always reminded him of an edible confection, sugary like meringue or fairy cake, and even his cock looked like it would taste like some iced sweetmeat if licked.

True to Harry's plea-- or command, depending on how one looked at it-- Draco shifted and lifted his weight off of Harry's cock, causing Harry to withdraw an inch or so from his arse, then sinking back down onto his full length, making both of them gasp.

No, it wasn't going to be long.

And it wasn't, for either of them. Harry gripped Draco's hips so hard he knew there would be fingerprint-shaped bruises, later, against those bones, and rocked into him, feeling like his spinal column was a wet washcloth that someone was slowly twisting and wringing out, pulling him into the smallest amount of space it was possible for him to occupy, robbing him of air, of sight, of everything except feeling, until at last his coiled nerve endings broke the confines of that space, and with that his cock erupted, pumping sperm into Draco so copiously it was as if they were conjoined twins sharing the same circulation, trying to reach some kind of fluid equilibrium. He felt the splash of Draco's come against his belly and released his death grip on his hips, clawing his way up to Draco's shoulders and pushing, pushing both with his hands and his own hips to unbalance Draco, get him over on to his side, then his back after all, where Harry could descend on his mouth with his own, over and over, kissing, sucking, biting, doing whatever he could to leave his mark on his blond beloved's lips, as if the idea that the two of them might walk out of here and leave even one observer unaware that he'd just shagged the living daylights out of this man was too much to be borne.

Draco was hyperventilating when Harry finally stopped and collapsed atop him. They were sticky and exhausted and the floor was damned hard after all and they didn't even have a blanket.

Harry couldn't have been happier.


"It is Master Draco and his..." The house-elf stopped, at a loss.

"Husband, Nekaya, would be the proper term. You can show them in."

"Yes, Master Lucius," said the house-elf, trembling. Lucius was quite certain she'd be throwing herself down the stairs a few times to make up for her breach of etiquette. Bloody silly creatures.

As soon as he saw them, he knew.

Knew what they had come to tell him. It was utterly plain from those faint little smiles the two of them bore.

Smug little smiles.

It was a strategy of Lucius Malfoy's to always have something to drink close at hand. It made it simple to feign indifference. Just now it was tea.

"So," he said, sipping from his teacup. "You plan to keep it, then."

"Oh, yes." Draco's smile grew a little.

Lucius stayed expressionless, but he was irritated; they might have given him the satisfaction of reacting to the precision of his guess.

"Keeping both of them, actually," said Harry.

Of course, the strategy of drink could backfire, if one was not careful. Lucius Malfoy was always very careful. So he did not choke on the tea, or spit it out. Or drop the cup.

He looked at his son-in-law. At that figure that should have cringed, should have at least bitten his lips nervously when confronted with the man who had so thoroughly used and humiliated him on his wedding night.

Instead, Potter's smile was positively cheeky.

"Twins," said Lucius Malfoy.

"Oh, no. No, just siblings. The one I'm carrying, and the one Draco's carrying."

No, he would not choke on the tea. But neither would he keep drinking it.

He set down the cup. "You are obviously eager to have your pleasure in telling me the full history of this news. So, I will indulge you. What precisely have you done that gives you such satisfaction at what you perceive is my expense?" He gave them a tight little smile.

The two were not disconcerted by his attitude in the least. "See, Father," said Draco, still smiling, "we've been thinking about this whole Droit Du Seigneur thing, and we think it's totally fucked."

"Really fucking wrong. Law or no, tradition or no."

"And if we try to get it abolished, there's sure to be a lot of speculation about us, and about the parentage of our kid. And worse, the kid might get the absurd idea we didn't want him or her."

"Can't have that."

"No. So, we figured the best solution was to give the kid a sibling. Like, right away. So that there's no question Harry and I really did want a family."

"And since the issue of which one of us would have them was sort of taken out of our hands, dear father-in-law..."

How dare he. How dare he not be broken by this.

"...we thought we'd each have one."

"Not exactly fair, but certainly even. That's a good sign, in a marriage, that kind of compromise, wouldn't you say, Father?"

"And we like the idea that the children will be almost the same age. People might even forget which one is which, after a while, don't you think?"

"We'll be so busy being a family, we're just not going to have time to be your fucking victims anymore."

Lucius looked at his son, and at his son-in-law.

Picked up his tea again.

"I thought you might truly have had something interesting to share with me. Pity. If that is all, Draco?" he said, deliberately ignoring the half-mudblood at his son's side.

Who was good for fucking, and that was all.

That they chose to complicate their very young lives in this way, just because they thought it might spite him... well, that was their own stupidity, then.


After they had gone, he abandoned the tea for the carafe of brandy. And drank rather more of it than he had intended.


"I still say we'd feel better if you'd just let me commit patricide and get it over with."

"No." Harry didn't unfold his arms. "We all saw the perfect example of why bloody-minded obsession with revenge is a bad idea. You want to end up like Voldemort?"

Draco pursed his lips, but it was more a pout than an angry expression. "Hmpf. You fight dirty. You really should have been in Slytherin. You know, don't you, that even if we can get Droit Du Seigneur abolished, there won't be any retroactive prosecution?"

"I know."

A sigh. "Okay, I take it back. You did belong in Gryffindor."

There was a short silence.

"You think we pulled it off?" said Harry.

"I think so. We had to give him just enough so he'd think that was all of it. If we'd tried to keep it completely secret..."

"Right. He'd be sure to find out something. Know there was more to it than that."

"There's so much that might not work out exactly the way we want it. We should be able to find a mediwitch who'll induce our deliveries at the same time, since they'll only be a month apart and male wizards don't go into labor spontaneously..."

"And we can't let anyone know what gender the babies are going to be. Won't be able to know ourselves. My god...Draco... can you do this?" Harry said for the hundredth time.

"Do what?" said Draco, the ingenuousness in his tone making it quite plain that he knew what Harry was talking about.

"Really do this? Really... have a child and not even look at it when it's born? Or be told what it is. Until we've both had them, and neither of us know which is which?"

Draco shrugged oh so casually. "I can if you can. It was my idea, wasn't it?"

"It was also your idea to Obliviate the mediwitch who attends the deliveries. I'm not having that."

"So, like you said, we'll just go off to have them somewhere secret. Hope the FBF won't be able to trace us or the records." He took a hold of Harry's arms and pulled him closer, setting his chin on Harry's shoulder. "Yes, I can do this. It's as if it's already done-- not just me pregnant, but all of it. People can speculate all they want about which one is which; at least the kids will know we wanted them, and wanted to protect them."

He nuzzled the side of his husband's face. "They're both going to be your children. That's all that matters. And both Potters, which is handy for pissing off the FBF further."

Harry turned into the nuzzling, made it a kiss. "I'm just trying to imagine," he said afterward, "what Ron and Hermione are going to think. I mean, they know you've changed, but this... they're going to ask who the hell has been polyjuicing as you all this time."

"Just tell them to ignore the fact that one of the kids looks like Justin Finch-Fletchley."


"Just don't give them any more details than we gave my father. Not until after."

Harry snorted in an oh, please do give me some credit way.

"You think we'll be able to stay in the U.K.?"

"Actually, I was thinking Scotland."

Draco looked at him. "You're thinking what I think you're thinking, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged. "When it was all said and done, Dumbledore felt he owed me more than I owed him. Whether that's true or not, I think he'd help us anyway, if we just asked him."

"We never do get away from that school, do we?"

"Speak for yourself. I spent the best years of my life there."

"Oh, so did I. I met you, didn't I?"

Harry, snorting, gave him a nudge in the shoulder using his own.

"Don't hit your pregnant spouse."

"Oh, don't start that."

"I won't if you won't. Oh, what the hell are we saying, of course we will."

"You're probably right."

Draco spread his hands placatingly. "Let's change the subject. We can do something mundane. Let's go buy a bed."

"Oh, good."

"And then we can go buy a crib. Two cribs."

"Oh, god."

The side of Draco's mouth curled up. "I'm thinking a green-and-silver color scheme for the nursery, what do you say?"

Harry glared. "I'll have my revenge yet. You've never heard of Pooh Bear, have you?"

"Don't be a git. Of course I have. My playroom wall mural showed the bit with Pooh and Piglet at the mercy of the Serpent King and his minions."

"I... think I missed that chapter."

"One of my favorites. I'll read it to you sometime." Draco tossed Harry his jacket. "What sort of bed shall we get for ourselves?"

Harry pulled on the jacket, staring blankly, obviously wondering what Slytherin had corrupted Milne's chief work so thoroughly. "I don't know. Whatever."

"Oh, good. Four-poster, then."

Harry blinked. "You're such a pervert."

"You love it, you deviant."




"You caved! I win."

The door of their flat clicked shut behind them as they walked out into the late London afternoon.


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