Memory Loss (Harry Potter Drarry slash)

43: [Missing 1] A Thousand Apologies

"Report."

The man was visibly afraid of him. Good. They were supposed to tremble in his presence—all of them. Not a single witch or wizard would be able to lead a normal, happy life once he was done with them, and the day would come when they would thank him for it.

His loyal subjects ... bowed down in fear and respect—awe.

It was clear that the man in front of him was not bearing good news, for he was swallowing loudly multiple times before his open mouth would form any coherent sounds. Beads of sweat were running down his forehead and his robes bore dark, wet marks in telling places.

"My Lord, the potion is causing us problems that we cannot figure out at this moment in time," the tiny man shudderingly said, his head bowed so he would not have to look at his master. He knew that this piece of information would anger him, because promises about a swift brewing process had been made and it had already been a week.

Taking a deep breath and intentionally letting it out in a loud, disappointed sigh, he replied, "Then I suggest you hurry it up if you wish to stay alive. And that goes for all of you. I can always find new Potion Masters. Now get to it!"

The sorry excuse for a man scurried away with a whimper.

__________________________________

Shaking and convulsing, his entire body weak and cold, he clutched at the toilet seat as his stomach once more emptied itself. It must be the fifteenth time already and it was only 10 am. Sleeping and puking, sleeping and puking—that seemed to be his life right now. Such an elegant and sophisticated living for a Malfoy, eh?

Spitting out the last bile, he exhaustedly sank down next to the toilet bowl and tried to catch his breath. This pregnancy was proving more difficult and straining than any of the previous four, amplifying the usual morning sickness to an inhuman degree. He wished that his father had thought of adding an en suite bathroom to the master bedroom so he would not have to fucking run all the way down the hall every time his insides twisted themselves inside out.

Bloody Lucius. Never did anything right, that arsehole.

It did not help that Harry was still mad at him, with no sign of forgiveness entering his heart any time soon. The rift that had opened up between them seemed to widen for every day that passed, every minute that ticked by. Intimacy was something of the past and all he got from his husband was long, dark, accusing stares, burning sarcasm, and cold shoulders. It was causing a chronic stress that aggravated an already straining part of the pregnancy, effectively worsening his condition and forcing him to practically live in the bathroom.

Sighing dejectedly, Draco got up from the floor on shaky legs and slowly made his way back to the bedroom. As he crossed the threshold, he came to a temporary stop. Looked over at the bed with a sort of resigned sorrow. Harry's side was as empty and untouched as it had been for the past week, and he hated having to go back to a marital bed that no longer held any promise of union.

But he had to. Due to the stress that rescuing James from Pywercaseley's lair had put on him, Draco's doctor had ordered him to stay on bedrest for at least a month—probably longer—to make sure that no complications would arise. And he could not risk their daughter, not when everything else was falling apart around him.

Stubbornly fighting back tears that were suddenly burning in his eyes, he forced himself to walk over to the bed and lay back down. Pulling the duvet up over his ear, he caressed the tiny bump that had only now started to grow on the lowest part of his abdomen.