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After an exhausting week at the ministry, Harry and Ron groaned with relief as they slid into the bar stools of the Leaky Cauldron on Friday evening. Tom Jr. smiled sympathetically at them and slid two full glasses their way.
“Mate,” Ron started as he took a swig of his firewhisky. “You have to come to lunch at the Burrow this Sunday. Mum’s been badgering me about it morning, noon and night; I’m pretty sure she’ll AK me if I have to inform her that you’ve declined again.”
Harry grimaced. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“And bring Draco along. Everyone wants to coo over him.”
Harry sighed. “He refuses to go anywhere since he found out he was pregnant. Besides, the baby might come any day now; Draco’s even more loath to leave the house.”
“Well in that case I’ll have mum Floo you, shall I? I’m not taking another hex for you. Did you know last time she made me eat all the extra food? I was sick for days!”
“I know! I’m sorry!” Harry cried. “Fine, I’ll ask him again.”
Ron patted his shoulder sympathetically.
Saturday morning saw Harry in the kitchen, humming along to a Magical Misfits song and preparing the weirdest breakfast he’d ever heard of, let alone consumed. Fortunately, he wasn’t required to eat any of it; it was for Draco who entertained…unusual tastes lately.
He carefully slid an omelette onto a marmalade-slathered slice of bread, sprayed a diabetic amount of whipped cream on a large bowl of potato crisps, painstakingly selected cucumber flavored beans from a large can of Bertie Bott’s and poured enough butterbeer for six people into a jug.
Satisfied with his odd assortment he loaded them onto a tray and made his way to the bedroom.
“Draco?” He called, setting the tray on the bedside table and tugging at the blanket.
“Mmff.” Came the sound from beneath the covers.
“Come on now, up you get. I got you breakfast!” Harry encouraged.
“Bugger off! Let me sleep!” Draco whined as he threw the blanket over his head and turned away.
“Well aren’t you just a little ball of sunshine.” Harry muttered even as he resisted the urge to smile at Draco’s antics.
“I have cucumber flavored Bertie Botts…” Harry encouraged.
The duvet shifted a little. “And?”
“And crisps with whipped cream.”
Now the entirety of Draco’s head looked out of the blanket-cocoon. “And toast with marmalade and omelette?”
Harry grinned. “Yeah, that too. And it’s all,” Harry moved so that Draco could see the goodies. “Right here, if only you sit up.”
Draco rubbed his eyes and held out a hand. “Help me to.”
When Draco was up and seated, with the tray resting in his lap and Harry lounging beside him, just about to bite into his toast, he stopped.
“Wait.” Draco looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. “What’s your agenda?”
Harry blinked. “Agenda?”
“Mmhm. What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything!” Harry defended, looking everywhere except Draco. “Do I need a reason to pamper my husband a little bit?”
“I can smell the lie, Potter.”
“I—I’m not—there’s no lie!” Harry said shiftily.
“Is this about the hippogriff? Because we are not getting a pet hippogriff; they are evil, vicious creatures.” sniffed Draco.
“They are not! You were just being a prat to Buckbeak! Besides, that’s not what I want.”
“Aha!” Draco cried out triumphantly. “So you do want something!”
Harry grimaced. “Spit it out.”
“Uh, well,” Harry started, treading gingerly so as to not upset an emotionally volatile Draco. “Sundays are great! And Sunday lunches are even better, especially enjoyable when one is around friends and family, right? That sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” Harry finished with what he hoped was a winning smile on his face.
“Ookay…” Draco said with a completely unimpressed look on his face. “The only thing I got from that is that you like Sundays and lunches a lot.”
Harry sighed. It seemed he’d have to do this the hard way. “Molly wants us to come over for lunch tomorrow. We’ve not been to the Burrow in months, I was thinking we could go this time.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I’m not going, you can go if you’d like.” Draco huffed.
Harry sighed. “Fine, give me one good reason you don’t want to go.”
Draco mumbled something that Harry strained his ears to catch. “Can you be louder?”
“I said: I don’t want to go because everyone will laugh at me!” Draco huffed.
“What? That’s not even a valid reason! Draco, why would anyone laugh at you?” Harry asked, entirely perplexed.
Draco set the forgotten tray aside and threw the covers off so that his swollen abdomen was visible clearly. “Because of this!” He cried, pointing at his stomach. “I’m a literal elephant in the room.”
“That’s because you’re pregnant!”
“…So you agree that I’m fat!”
“No! I never said that!” Harry protested but Draco had already stopped listening, turned away from Harry and descended into sulking.
Harry exhaled deeply. “Draco, I never meant to imply that you’re fat.” He said, trying to get Draco to face him again. When Draco smacked his hands away for the fifth time, Harry settled for carding his fingers through fine blond hair.
“There’s our baby growing inside you right now. How can that be a bad thing? You’re not fat, you’re beautiful, and strong—” Harry knew he was on the right track when Draco’s hands slipped up to cover his. He continued with soothing words and finally Draco rolled over and buried his face in Harry’s chest.
“It’s just that we haven’t seen the Weasleys in such a long time, and everyone wants to meet you, and the baby too. And I want to show off my lovely family to everyone. Come on, love,” Harry urged, dropping tiny kisses on Draco’s forehead. “Say yes, it’ll be fun.”
“I don’t know how I let you talk me into these things, Potter.” Draco muttered. “Fine, I’ll come to your stupid lunch.” Harry wanted to chide that it wasn’t ‘stupid’, but decided to quit while he was ahead and only grinned contentedly.
“Not this, not this either, not this one…is there nothing wearable in this house?” Draco looked at the rejected mountain of clothing on the bed in dismay. Draco’s cries of rage drew a curious and wary Harry into the bedroom, only to be hit in the face with another discarded robe.
“Are you telling me that you can't find absolutely nothing to wear from the hundreds of clothes that you have?” Harry asked as he removed the offending garment off of his face.
“Well, none of them are good enough.” Draco said petulantly.
“Uhh, how about this?” Harry picked up a random robe from the pile.
Draco gave him such a withering look of disdain that Harry immediately dropped it. “Just because you dress like a peasant doesn’t mean I have to as well.”
“Hey!”
“Truth is bitter. Now go away and let me look for something acceptable in peace.” Draco dived inside the closet once again.
Harry shook his head fondly. “Just don’t be late, we are due in fifteen minutes!” He called and left the room.
Twenty minutes later, Draco strolled into a living room and Harry gasped. “Draco,” He choked out.
“Shut up.”
“Could it be peasant clothes that you’re wearing?” Harry grinned. Sure enough, Draco was dressed in a pair of Harry’s old denims and a worn t-shirt.
“Weren’t you just prattling about being late?” Draco snapped. Still chuckling, Harry Flooed them to the Burrow.
When they arrived, they were quickly swallowed into to chaos that was the assembling of the Weasley family. Molly was screaming bloody murder from the kitchen because George had added nausea-inducing powder to the soup; younger children ran about shouting, parents ran after them, trying to calm them down.
“Harry! You came!” Ron called, approaching them with Hermione at his side. “Good to see you too, Draco.” Hermione greeted. Draco searched for any hint of sarcasm in her tone. Finding none, he smiled back.
Harry led Draco towards the couch and handed him a glass of butterbeer. “Do you need anything else?” Draco shook his head. “I’m fine. Go mingle.” Harry dropped a kiss on Draco’s cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”
Draco sipped at his drink contentedly and observed the bedlam with a small smile on his face. Despite being garishly ginger, the little ones were adorable. He couldn’t wait for his own to arrive and join the brood—
“Why is your tummy so big?” A tiny voice asked curiously.
—then again, maybe not.
Draco looked beside him to find Rose Weasley staring at his abdomen, brows furrowed.
“My tummy isn’t big.”
“Is too!” Rose parried. “Are you keeping a Bludger under your shirt?” She poked at his stomach.
“No, and stop prodding at me, please.”
“What happened to you then?”
“I’ve a baby inside my belly.” Draco said.
He was wholly unprepared for the shriek of horror that followed. “You ate a baby?”
Draco was about to vehemently deny it, but then decided against it. “Yes, I did. I ate the baby who last called me fat.”
“Babies can’t talk.” Rose retorted, but it seemed like she was doubting herself. Draco flashed his teeth and Rose was up and running away from the couch as fast as her little legs could carry her.
“You are terrible.” Ginny grinned as she plopped down next to Draco.
“She was asking for it.” Draco said primly.
“She’s five.” Ginny deadpanned, but her eyes softened as she looked at his torso. “May I?” She asked, hand hovering in the air. Draco nodded, and Ginny rested her hand on his stomach. “Merlin, it’s a little kicker, isn’t it?” She beamed.
Draco wanted to tell her how that was not a good thing and how he was kept up all night by the strikes, but before he could, Molly declared lunch to be ready and everyone filed to the dining area.
Lunch was a loud, messy and thoroughly enjoyable affair. The table was practically groaning under the weight of the many dishes Molly had whipped up and banter flowed easily.
After, when everyone lay about lamenting the massive amount of food they had consumed, Molly sat beside Draco and held out a small package to him. “It’s just a little something for you and the babe.” She said, smiling.
Draco opened it curiously and pulled out the contents. He gasped softly when he saw a dark green jumper with a capital D woven into it. It was warm and soft in his hands, just like the many he’d stolen from Harry over the years. He smiled, fingers running over the wool.
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. It’s beautiful.”
Molly beamed. “I’m glad you like it. But there’s more in there.”
Draco looked back into the half-open package in his lap. Sure enough, there was another woolly lump inside. On further inspection, he found out that it was another jumper, but this one was impossibly tiny, nearly fitting into the palm of his hand. The pale blue wool sported three Quidditch hoops, underneath was embroidered: “I’m a Keeper.”
“I would have done the first letter of the name, but the little one does not have one yet. George came up with the phrase, clever isn’t it?” Molly asked, but there was no reply.
Draco was still staring at the tiny sweater, eyes glistening and a small sniffle escaping his throat. He covered his mouth with a free hand but more sobs made their way out until he dissolved into full-fledged bawling.
Harry and George, messing about nearby were startled by the commotion. Harry shot a concerned look at Draco and immediately went over, pulling the sobbing bundle into his arms.
George was quite alarmed. “Now, mate, if you don’t like it I’m sure we could come up with—”
“No!” Draco cried out, holding the garments tighter.
“What’s wrong, love?” Harry whispered as he ran a comforting hand up and down Draco’s back.
“It’s just—they’re so beautiful!” Draco blubbered. “It’s the best thing, with tiny arms and the phrase—I love it so much!” He cried harder. “I’m just so happy!”
Harry fought a smile. “Then why are you crying?”
“These hormones are making me do stupid things.” Draco mumbled into Harry’s shirt. Harry grinned and gave a thumbs up to his concerned clan gathered around them and held Draco until the sobs died down.
Later that night, Draco spread out the jumper over his belly. “Hey, look, your first clothing is here. Now come fast, so that you can wear it.” He spoke in hushed tones to the baby bump.
Harry smiled beside him and rubbed circles on the rounded stomach.
“Yeah, we can’t wait to meet you.” Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s belly, then moved upwards to kiss Draco.
They exchanged chaste kisses until they dozed off, the small sweater still cradled between them.
End