Expectant || Drarry

3

This is the magical early chapter gods. you're welcome.

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"How the bloody hell do you know it's yours?" Ron scoffs, hands on his hips as he frowns intently at the back of Harry's shaggy head.

"Because he told me it's mine," Harry replies, voice muffled from where he's hunched over Hermione's desk, head in his arms.

"He's lying," Ron says immediately and as though it's startlingly obvious.

"He's not lying," Harry says, straightening up with a sigh and shoving his glasses back on.

"I'm sorry, are we to just...take Malfoy's word for it?" Ron asks, slowly and incredulously.

"He's not lying," Harry repeats more firmly. "Besides, that's what we're here to confirm, right?"

"I thought you told him the appointment was to ensure that the fetus and he are doing okay," Hermione mutters, not looking up from the file she's perusing.

"Well, yes," Harry turns to her impatiently, "but you said the paternity test is just a matter of an additional spell, right? And can you please, for the love of fuck, stop calling it 'foetus'? It's a baby, 'Mione. My baby," he adds, jumping to his feet and pushing both hands in his hair, panic rising at an alarming rate. "How is this even-- I've been fucking blokes for seven-he's a bloke, Malfoy's a bloke! He's male."

Hermione shuts her file, looking more than a little sorry for him. "I... I told you, Harry, male pregnancies aren't unheard of among wizards. Plus, it's possible that the wolf in you played a role here."

"What, I have extra potent sperm now?" Harry deadpans, Ron snorting behind him.

"Yes," Hermione confirms simply.

"I think I had a great-grand uncle who had a baby with his lover," Ron suddenly says thoughtfully from where he's lounging on the little sofa, booted feet hanging over the armrest. "His wife nearly killed him but then the bloke died so they raised the kid."

"The bloke...died?" Harry gapes at him in shock, "How?"

"Childbirth, most likely," Hermione answers quietly and Harry whips around to stare at her in mute horror. "Wizard-pregnancy related Healing wasn't very advanced back then, Harry, we're talking, two...three centuries, ago?" she adds, tilting her head at Ron.

Ron shrugs. "I suppose, yeah. My great-grand uncle lived to be about a hundred and eighteen, I think. I dunno what happened to his family though."

"We're definitely more equipped to handle wizard-pregnancies now," Hermione says soothingly. "Malfoy's going to be alright. I told you, we'll figure this out. What time did you ask him to be here anyway?"

Harry checks his watch with a sigh, pacing restlessly, stomach in painful knots. "Eleven thirty. But of course he's late. Git."

"Malfoy, though?" Ron deadpans. "Really, mate?"

"I was... I was just way beyond plastered that night, alright?" Harry snaps, face flooding with colour. "You didn't-I still don't know what Seamus added to my drink, that stupid fucking wanker. I swear I'm never going drinking with him ever again."

"Sure," Ron sniggers, "It's Seamus' fault that you shagged Malfoy ten minutes after running into him for the first time since the War."

"It was not ten minutes!" Harry says loudly, swelling angrily. "More like...twenty, I dunno," he mumbles, deflating abruptly. "I dunno, okay, he was just-fuck, I can't tell you if it was the booze or what but he was-there was something about him that night, okay? I couldn't...help myself. I had to go over when I saw him, he was bloody gorgeous."