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Harry was sipping his tea, idly perusing last week’s copy of Quidditch Today, when an almighty crash from the kitchen pulled him out of his reverie Instantly, Harry’s protective instincts had him on his feet, and he dashed through, fast as his legs could carry him.
The scene, when he arrived, was one of chaos. The cake mixture was splattered across the tops of the cabinets and over Draco’s clothes. Shards of the bowl - and more cake mixture – were strewn across the carpet.
“Bloody, bloody hell,” Draco swore, looking at the kitchen like he couldn’t quite believe what he saw. He reached for his wand, but before Harry had a chance to warn him, Draco trod on a particularly sharp slice of bowl. “Aargh! Sodding bastard,” Draco cursed, hopping on the spot and inadvertently putting his hand in a splodge of mixture. “Salazar’s arsehole,” he finished, the colour high in his cheeks and his face a scowl.
Entering the kitchen, Harry cautiously avoided the worst of the spillage. “Need some help?” he asked once he’d gotten to Draco’s side and surveyed the mess.
Draco’s grey eyes swivelled in Harry’s direction. “Come to save the day?” he snapped tetchily, “or just come to laugh at your incompetent boyfriend, who can’t make a sodding birthday cake without everything descending into disaster?”
Instead of responding to the jibe, Harry cast an Evanesco over the carpet, vanishing the broken bowl and the sticky mixture. Then he guided Draco to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and gently pushed Draco down onto it.
Harry knelt down in front of his boyfriend, peeled off Draco’s sock, and examined his injury. Thank Merlin, the cut was only small. Harry Accio’ed Dittany from their healing cupboard and massaged a drop of it into the sole of Draco’s foot.
“Does that feel better?” Harry questioned, leaning forward to press a quick kiss on Draco’s knee.
Draco exhaled slowly. “It does,” he answered. “Though my pride still hurts.”
Harry stood and stuck out his hand to help Draco back to his feet. “Mistakes happen,” he said, putting his arms around his fiancé. “And happily, we’re gifted with magic so we can clean this mess up with a few flicks of our wands. Then we’ll nip to Tesco’s, buy a cake, and Pansy won’t be any the wiser.”
Unfortunately, it was only once the words had left Harry’s mouth that he realised he had said entirely the wrong thing. Tears welled in Draco’s eyes – a baffling reaction from the usually level-headed wizard – and his face crumpled.
“Pansy will know,” Draco answered, voice wavering. “She said I wouldn’t be able to bake a cake without casting a spell, and she was right! I had everything weighed and measured, and it was going well and then… And then I knocked the bowl with my elbow.” A tear rolled down Draco’s cheek. “Everything is ruined. Pans will think I don’t care, and she'll be cross. I’ve ruined her bloody birthday, Harry!”
This really was an extreme reaction to a dropped bowl of cake mixture, and the tears were actually a tad alarming. Characteristically, Draco wasn’t one to show his emotions except on those occasions when it really mattered.
Harry gathered Draco in his arms, holding him tightly, and wondered what he ought to say next. He didn’t want to make Draco feel worse.
Then again, Harry reflected, Draco’s moods had been unpredictable for a while, hadn’t they? Yesterday, Draco had lost his temper because he couldn’t find a tie his mum had gifted him. Then, when Draco had finally found it, he’d cried with relief.
Last week, Draco had teared up reading the Quibbler. Then there was the occasion he’d fallen asleep during their visit to Ron and Hermione’s and then gotten emotional over ‘Mione’s bread-and-butter pudding, claiming it reminded him of the one that Dobby used to make. It was all very disconcerting and out of character.
“Pansy’s birthday isn’t ruined,” Harry consoled. “I’m a dab hand in the kitchen. Dry your eyes, babe, and we’ll make something together. I know a recipe for a Victoria Sponge that will have your friend in raptures. No more tears, though, mm? Spilt cake mixture isn’t worth them. Not when we can so easily sort this out.”
~
As Harry had predicted, the Victoria Sponge was a complete success. Pansy had labelled it the finest cake she’d ever tasted, and Draco’s other mates had been equally flattering with their compliments.
As the party-goers danced and drunkenly fell over themselves, Harry and Draco watched from the periphery. Draco hadn’t felt like drinking, so Harry hadn’t either. Tangling Draco’s fingers with his own, Harry gave his boyfriend’s hand a gentle squeeze. It was time to mention the proverbial elephant in the room.
“Pansy certainly enjoyed her cake,” Harry said, watching the witch as she danced close to Theo Nott. “I even saw her reach for an unprecedented second slice! You did a brilliant job, love, especially after you got so upset earlier.”
Draco laughed lightly and squeezed Harry’s hand back. “Hardly,” he answered. “You did all the baking. All I did was stand around feeling sorry for myself. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately! It's like I'm just not myself. If I’m not exhausted, then I’m crying over the smallest, silliest things. My body aches all over, but I haven’t played a minute of Quidditch for weeks. I can scarcely rouse myself off the settee.”
Harry was glad Draco had brought up the litany of symptoms himself. “I think,” Harry said carefully, but resolutely, “that it might be time to see a Healer.”
~
One of the many perks of saving the Wizarding World as a teenager was how quickly Harry’s name opened doors. Usually, Harry loathed taking advantage of that favt, but today, he felt differently. If being Harry Potter got Draco a same-day appointment at St Mungo’s, then he was all for it.
Actually, it was a jolly good job that the appointment had miraculously become available. It had been another morning of tumultuous emotions, and Harry was at his wit’s end. Draco had locked himself in the bathroom, teary and furious, because a photo of Harry’s ex-boyfriend had featured in the Prophet gossip page. That the story was about the wizard’s engagement to someone else entirely hadn’t done anything to assuage Draco’s strop.
At St Mungo’s, Draco had met with Healer Smith, and for nearly an hour, had been poked, prodded, and magicked. Right now, they were sitting in the waiting room, watching the minute hand slowly moving around the clock. Neither wizard felt much like drinking the dreadful coffee or leafing through the out-of-date magazines on the table.
“Smith was very thorough,” Draco remarked, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose that’s what I get for having the Chosen One for a fiancé. He asked me some odd questions. Have I been off my food recently? Had any strange cravings?”
“I think Smith was just being good at his job” Harry said, turning his head to look at Draco. Despite his jovial, jocular tone, Harry’s husband-to-be was pale and clearly nervous. “What did you tell him?”
Draco picked a loose button on his cuff. “I told him yes. The spaghetti in the Ministry canteen tasted unpleasant the other day, though the food in there is hit and miss anyway… And that I’ve been craving fruit tea, which is very unusual for me.”
“All very curious,” Harry agreed, reaching out to give Draco’s knee a squeeze. “But try not to.worry. Whatever is wrong, Smith will find it.”
Draco grimaced. “I jolly well hope so,” he answered. “My moods have been up and down like a broken broomstick. I never know what’ll set me off next. It’s been driving me crackers.”
Harry was about to reply that he didn’t mind, that he loved Draco whatever mood took him, but that moment Healer Smith returned to collect them so he didn’t have a chance to speak. “Mr Malfoy, if you could come with me? I believe I’ve discovered the cause of your recent symptoms.”
“Could Harry come too?” Draco asked as he stood, his voice betraying his nerves. “Please? He’s my fiancé.”
“Of course,” Healer Smith answered, opening the door and leading the way back to the examining room. “Gentlemen, if you could follow me
As they walked, Harry’s mind whirled with worry. He loved Draco with all of his heart, and the recent mood swings and emotional outbursts weren’t like him at all. Harry hoped desperately that nothing serious was wrong with Draco; they’d wasted too many years without each other, and now every day was precious.
When they arrived in the examining room, Draco was the first to speak. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked, reaching for Harry’s hand. “Am I really poorly?”
Healer Smith shook his head. “Not in the least, Mr. Malfoy. Actually, you’re in excellent health. You’re not ill. You’re pregnant and about eight weeks along. Your emotions are bound to be all over the place; you’ve got a lot of new hormones coursing around inside you.”
Of everything that Healer Smith could have said, those were the words that Harry was least expecting to hear. It was supposed to be difficult for two wizards to conceive, yet it seemed Draco and he had done it without potions or magical intervention of any kind. Harry had been braced for bad news, but this was the opposite. Children had always been part of his and Draco’s long-term plans, but all of a sudden, those plans had become a great deal more urgent.
“Are you sure?” Draco said, voice shaking. “We’re getting married in the spring… This wasn’t… We’ve always wanted children, but I didn’t think it could happen, just like that.”
“Oh, certainly it can,” Healer Smith said, examining his notes. “Your magic is very powerful, Mr Malfoy. I daresay Mr Potter’s is equally strong. I take it that this is good news?”
Fresh tears fell abruptly from the corners of Draco’s eyes. “Very much so,” he said. “The best news. I’ve always wanted to be a dad… But what about our wedding? I’ll have to have my robes extended,” he sobbed. “I’ll look huge in my wedding album.”
Taking a breath, Harry gathered the equally distraught and overjoyed Draco in his arms once again. “And you’ll look radiant and beautiful,” he consoled.
“Promise?” Draco said, burying his head in the crook of Harry’s neck.
“I promise,” Harry said, looking across to where Healer Smith was watching them understandingly. “Bump or not, you’ll still be the most gorgeous man in England.”
The next few months would be tricky for Draco emotionally, but Harry didn’t mind at all. He already knew he’d do everything in his power to make this pregnancy as easy as possible for his darling.
Draco sniffed, and Harry wrapped his arms around his fiancé, overwhelmed with love and joy. Leaning over, he kissed the top of Draco’s head. “I love you so much,” Harry said. “Thank you for our baby.”