Chapter Text
Harry returned to the dusty old house on Grimmauld Place, for the lack of a better place to go. He fished in his pocket for the rusted key - one he had never used before. Not since Kreacher had given it to him after Sirius’s passing three years ago. But now, for some reason, he felt the urge to try it. Something about it felt… official, like a quiet acknowledgment that he was truly moving into his godfather’s old house.
It was unnerving to be without his friends after months of being inseparable. Ron had chosen to live in Hogsmeade to help his brother with the new branch of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes - and, of course, to be near Hermione, who had decided to return to Hogwarts to complete her education.
Still, at least Harry wouldn’t be completely alone in this eerie house. Sort of.
Casting a quick glance at the person following behind him, Harry pushed open the door with a muttered “Welcome to my house.” . He hauled his trunk inside first, relieved to see that the dreadful curse Moody had set against Snape had been lifted. Even Walburga Black’s portrait’s usual scream was nowhere to be heard. Instead, he was met with nothing but an eerie, dark hallway.
Malfoy brought the luggage in after him, looking around cautiously, curiously. He still hadn’t looked Harry directly in the eye - not once since Harry had announced his decision to take him in for his two-year house arrest.
To be honest, Harry could hardly believe he’d volunteered for it himself. One moment, he had been sitting in Malfoy’s trial, arguing for a reduced sentence—hoping to keep him out of Azkaban. Next thing he knew, his own words had sealed Malfoy’s fate: house arrest.
Malfoy had avoided prison, sentenced instead to house arrest. The only problem? Malfoy Manor was out of the question, locked under heavy investigation. And so, before he even had time to reconsider, Harry had offered not just his house, but also his time to personally oversee Malfoy’s sentence. He hadn’t expected them to take him seriously. But clearly, he had underestimated just how much weight the Chosen One’s words still carried. Either that, or Malfoy was such a minor case compared to other Death Eaters that the Ministry simply didn’t care.
Either way, the Head of the DMLE had handed him a stack of papers to sign: one declaring Harry’s full responsibility, another stating Malfoy’s admission of guilt and his agreement to comply with all conditions. And just like that, the two of them had been free to go.
“I didn’t live here before so there’s no food available.” Harry said, leading the way to the kitchen. “I don’t have a house-elf either, so after we settle in, maybe I will go out to find something for dinner.”
Malfoy was inspecting some spot out the window, his expression unreadable. He gave no sign of having heard Harry at all—no reaction, no acknowledgment. Harry was just about to give up, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort today, when he turned to leave for his room. That was when he heard it—a single, quiet word slipping from Malfoy’s pale lips.
“Why?” Malfoy asked, finally looked at Harry for the first time in the last hour. “Why did you help me?”
Because I held sympathy for someone who hadn’t had a choice in the war like me. Because I knew how it felt to have your loved ones’ life depending on one single decision of yours. Because I had the ultimate motive in helping you…
But what Harry said was. “My kindness isn’t free, Malfoy. I expect you to repay me later.”
Malfoy was slow to react. “My family’s wealth is being inspected, I think at least half of it will be confiscated. But… however much I have left, I definitely will pay you back.”
It took a moment for Harry to understand that Malfoy was implying he was after the man’s money. That brought a curt laugh out of Harry.
“I already have this huge house, and my vault will probably have more gold than yours by the end of this year, so no, I don’t want your money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“So… whatever you want then. If it’s within my power, I will try to do it.”
“You’re going to live here with me for two years, of course I will ask you to do a lot of things. Are you sure you’ll do whatever I want?”
There was a beat of hesitation, then Malfoy stood straight up, staring at Harry with determination. “Yes.”
Harry considered, then decided there was no need to frighten the man immediately. He nodded simply. “Let’s take a look at rooms first then. There are a bunch of rooms in this house, but I guess most of them are very dusty. Even when Kreacher, that is Black’s previous house-elf, lived here, he only spent time cleaning some certain rooms he liked. But we can just pick out from one of those rooms.”
“Alright.”
True to Harry’s words, other than the kitchen, the living room and the room where Walburga Black’s portrait used to be (Kreacher had taken the painting with him when moved to Hogwarts for good upon Harry’s order, though the current location of the painting was still a myth), there were only three bedrooms appeared to be of living condition. The big master bedroom, Regulus’ and surprisingly, Sirius’. Without the need for discussion, Harry brought his trunk in his godfather’s old hiding place, while Malfoy hesitantly moved in the next den - his cousin’s long-abandoned room.
Dinner that night was a quiet, awkward affair. At least the food was good - Harry had grabbed takeout from the first restaurant he passed after leaving the house. He half-expected Malfoy to turn up his nose when he realized it was Indian food, but to Harry’s surprise, he ate everything on his plate with a steady appetite.
Which, honestly, made sense. Malfoy looked like he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. He had always been slender, but now, he seemed so thin that a strong gust of wind might carry him away.
Harry finished eating first and headed to the only functioning bathroom for a shower, leaving Malfoy behind when he unexpectedly volunteered to do the dishes.
When Harry emerged half an hour later, Malfoy was still in the kitchen—this time, crouched on the floor, scrubbing it with what looked like an old shirt. Every surface around him had already been wiped down, gleaming under the dim light.
It suddenly hit Harry: not only was Malfoy going to be stuck here for the next two years, but he also wouldn’t be allowed to use magic. At all.
“You don’t have to do it by hand, you know. If you ask me, I can help with a wave of my wand.”
Malfoy visibly startled at the sound of Harry’s voice, jerking upright so abruptly that he knocked the entire bucket over. Water sloshed across the floor, soaking his clothes in an instant.
His gaze flickered to Harry - lingering for the briefest moment on his bare chest - before snapping back to his rag. Without a word, he simply resumed cleaning, as if nothing had happened at all.
“It’s ok. Doing chores keeps my mind off things.”
“Suit yourself. Do you need a drying spell for that?” Harry jerked his head at the soaked clothes.
“That’s fine. I’m almost done here anyway. I’ll go straight to the bathroom after this.”
“Alright.”
Harry went back to his room, thinking of an early night. Tomorrow, he would have to start figuring things out - what to do with his life, or at the very least, how to handle his current living situation.
Meals seemed like a good place to start. He could cook - not at a top chef’s level, but well enough that no one had ever outright refused to eat what he made. Still, it might be wise to check with Malfoy, just in case he had any allergies.
Unfortunately, when Harry returned to the kitchen to ask, the question never even made it past his lips.
Malfoy had discarded his wet clothes and now stood at the sink in nothing but his underwear, splashing water onto his face. Under the dim light, his frame looked even more fragile. His ribs starked beneath his pale skin.
Yet, Harry felt no disgust. Part of it was familiarity; he had been in that same state himself not long ago. But another part - something deeper, something unsettling - ignited within him, a flicker of heat he couldn’t quite name.
Whatever he had come to ask was long forgotten. Not that it would have mattered, his mouth was too dry to form words anyway.
Before Malfoy could notice him, Harry turned and slipped away, retreating to his room as silently as he had come.
Lying awake in his bed, Harry could hear perfectly well what was happening in the bathroom across the hall. Soundproof was never strong in a wizard’s house, not when a simple spell would work just the same. But tonight, Harry didn’t want to use it, not when the noise he was hearing supplied his brain with the best imagination of the person creating those noises. He could almost pinpoint what Malfoy was doing at that moment. Arranging his lotions, testing the water, wondering why the bathtub looked so modern compared to the rest of the ancient room, taking off his clothes, washing his hair, scrubbing his body, cleaning his body’s part, up and down, low and high,...
And some time during the creepy eavesdropping session, Harry had made his decision.
The moment Harry heard the bathroom door open and the other bedroom door click shut, he was already on his feet. He knocked on the door merely five seconds after Malfoy returned to his room. When the door swung open, Malfoy stood there, half-naked, his damp hair still dripping onto his bare shoulders.
“Is something amiss?”
“No. You… said earlier that you will do whatever I want.” only chip away at his already fragile calmness.
“If it’s within my power, yes.”
“It’s most definitely within your power. Though I still need your consent on it.”
Malfoy eyed him cautiously. “What is it, Potter?”
Harry took a deep breath and feigned a smirk. “Say, will you let me in tonight, Malfoy?”
Harry woke up the next morning on the chime of his Floo. There were only a limited number of people who could get access to his house that way, so without bothering to dress up, he showed up in the living room in his rumpled pajamas and messy nest of hair. Sure enough, Ron and Hermione were there, looking not at all friendly.
Hands on her hip, Hermione said without greeting. “When are you going to tell us what you did yesterday, Harry James Potter?”
Harry settled into a comfortable spot on the couch, taking his time as he poured himself a glass of water. He drank it slowly, deliberately, letting the tension in the room simmer before finally meeting his friends’ gazes. “And good morning to you too.”
“We have to learn it through Daily Prophet! Daily Prophet, Harry!”
“If you knew it any sooner, would it change anything other than the time you burst into my house and yell at me?”
Harry knew he was right—once he had made up his mind about something, nothing anyone said, not even his best friends, could change it. Hermione knew it too. That was why she didn’t waste her breath arguing, instead fixing him with a sharp, disapproving glare.
Ron, ever the peacekeeper, stepped in before the tension could boil over, offering a grin that was meant to smooth things over.
“Come on, Her, let Harry wake up fully first. Here, we bought you breakfast, mate. Full Monty, your favourite.”
Harry glanced at the take-away package, realised that there were two portions of breakfast, though Ron clearly omitted that detail on purpose. He suddenly felt better and decided to get in a better mood for this confrontation.
“Thanks.” Harry pushed the package aside, meaning to dive at it later. “I’m going to the grocery store later, would you like to come?”
“Can’t, mate, I have to open the shop in an hour. Hermione also has an appointment with professor Sinistra.”
“Alright, then say what you come here to say then.”
There was a beat of silence that followed as Hermione and Ron exchanged a look, then Hermione cleared her throat loudly.
“Fine, I just go straight to it then. I know it’s pointless to suggest you reconsider your decision, you will just fight me and we end up exactly the same as we are now, so I just want to say… Don’t get into any kind of intimate relationship with him, Harry Potter. Or in another word, do not shag Malfoy.”
Harry had braced himself for Hermione’s lectures. He had even prepared a list of counterarguments in case she demanded him to get rid of Malfoy.
This blunt approach though, he never saw it coming.
“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Hermione continued when Harry didn’t respond. “I can read you like a book, Harry. Sometimes, even easier than a book. I have already doubted your intention since you wanted to testify for Malfoy’s trial, though I didn’t expect you to go this stupid this soon.”
Harry always thought he had hidden his secret desire well, but clearly it wasn’t the case. Then again, he’d picked up on the not-so-platonic tension between Hermione and Ron long before they became a couple. It was only fair that his friends had noticed something about him, too.
Still, his stubbornness refused to let Hermione have the satisfaction of always being right.
“You don’t know me that well, Hermione, otherwise you would have known that advice is completely wasted on me–” And before he got another lesson of how it should not be wasted, Harry pronounced with confidence. “–For I’ve already done it.”
Both Hermione and Ron yelled “What?” in perfect unison.
“I’ve already shagged Malfoy.”
“When?” Hermione demanded.
“You only had him here for what–? Fifteen, sixteen hours?” Ron supplied.
“Yesterday night, of course. And before you ask, no, I didn’t force myself on him. I asked, and he said yes.” Harry conveniently left out the part about asking for it as payment for helping Malfoy - no need to invite another round of scolding. It wasn’t illegal or unethical, after all. Malfoy had given his consent, and even if he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as Harry had, he’d admitted he didn’t hate it. That was enough.
On the couch opposite Harry, Hermione and Ron exchanged another round of glances. From the identical head shakes, it was clear they had already resigned themselves to the situation. Finally, finishing with their telepathy communication, Hermione cleared her throat.
“Fine, I’m not going to judge you over this any more, you’re an adult, you can be responsible for your own stupidity. But I have to ask, did you remember to use protection?”
The hesitant look on his face was all Hermione needed.
“I know it! I know you will never pay attention to such things, even though they are for your own good! What if Malfoy has some unknown conditions, Harry? I bet it never crossed your mind that he had lived two years under the same roof with Voldemort and hundred Death Eaters before you took your pants off!”
It did actually cross Harry’s mind, but Malfoy had confirmed that he was totally healthy and that last night was his first time. Harry didn’t question any further. In front of Hermione, he knew that was not good enough of a reason, so he subdued the urge to snap back.
“Fine, I’ll remember next time.” He said, having no intention to follow through this promise.
“It’s not that bad, mate.” Ron cut in. “Just a simple spell and you can’t even tell the difference. Maybe it made you feel cold for a few first seconds, but a worthy price for sex without fear of diseases or accident pregnancy, right?”
Harry stared at his friend like he was an idiot. Unexpectedly, Hermione grinned, triumphantly, like a cat got its cream.
“Wizards can be pregnant too. You don’t know that, do you?”
If it wasn’t for her cheerful tone, Harry would almost have believed it. “Nice try, Hermione. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Not stupid, just ignorant.”
“It’s true, mate.” Ron supplied. “It’s rare, but it isn’t impossible. Especially there are certain potions to aid with that now. Though impregnating by the natural way is indeed uncommon. I think there are only two or three cases in our history.”
While Hermione looked ready to make a presentation of who those cases were, Harry could only gape at his friends, eyes wide and unblinking. His mouth hung slightly open, but no words came out.
His mind scrambled to process what he had just heard. One half wanted to dismiss it as an elaborate joke—some bizarre attempt by Ron and Hermione to scare him into avoiding unprotected sex with a former Death Eater. But the other half knew better. Hermione had that insufferable I-told-you-so look on her face, and Ron, though clearly uncomfortable, looked both sincere and oddly concerned.
Which meant… they were serious.
Taking a sharp breath, he stammered. “Are you… sure?”
“Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Charles and his boyfriend are trying to have a baby. So far they haven’t succeeded yet, even with the help of potions, but just so you know that male pregnancy for wizards is a real thing.”
That settled it then. If Ron already brought his brother Charles into this, there was no way Harry could refuse to accept that possibility. After all, given all the things he had been through since he found out the existence of the magical world, the male pregnancy thing didn’t seem that hard to digest.
As long as it didn’t happen to him, he supposed.
“Fine, I’ll be careful.” This time he really meant it. He would have to look up for the protection spells after this, hopefully there was a book somewhere in this house that could be useful. Asking his friends was an easier way, though Harry couldn’t take another scold from Hermione if she found out he had no idea how to have safe sex.
Hermione seemed satisfied enough with his attitude. “Yes, you should be. You of all people should know how often rare things tend to happen, right?”
“Yes, Madame Granger. I know.”
Harry wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t find a single helpful book. After all, this house had once belonged to one of the most conservative, old-fashioned families in Britain’s wizarding world. Still, Hermione’s warning had been enough to keep him from taking any risks.
Eventually, he resorted to the only other source of information available - Malfoy himself.
Luckily, Malfoy did know. They had both been virgins until last night, but unlike Harry, Malfoy had a solid grasp of common knowledge. And, as he pointed out, after spending two years trapped in a house full of psychopaths, he had to learn to protect himself in case of the worst.
To Harry’s relief, Malfoy didn’t mock him for not knowing. But he did raise an eyebrow and ask why, all of a sudden, Harry had become so cautious.
“Well, Hermione dropped in this morning.” Malfoy didn’t emerge from his room until noon, when Harry already had both breakfast portions, went out for groceries, made some sandwiches for lunch and went for a nap. He probably wasn’t aware of the visit. “She wasn’t happy to find out we were shagging unprotected.”
Malfoy didn’t seem surprised. “And… you actually listened to what she said? Not that I’m saying what she said is wrong, but you… do not look like someone who would take constructive criticism about sex from anyone.”
“She warned me about potential pregnancy. Did you know that it’s a possibility? Never mind, of course you know. Even Ron knows.”
“Yes, I know.” Malfoy looked like he wanted to say something else, but given that they were both already naked on the bed, he just nodded. “Take out your wand then, I’ll teach you to cast the spell.”
It became obvious just a few minutes later, Ron was lying when he said there was no difference. Harry could clearly feel the unpleasant coldness the spell brought about. It was over rather quickly, but its lasting effect made Harry unable to revel in Malfoy’s heat and tightness as previous night, not to mention it was like a thin veil that covered Harry’s flesh, preventing it from directly rubbing Malfoy’s inside. Malfoy didn’t appear to be disturbed by it though, if anything, his reaction was even more enthusiastic than yesterday. Harry, on the other hand, paid too much attention to the issue of the protection to fully enjoy himself.
That was why right before the second round, he asked Malfoy how to lift the bloody spell off.
“Not worry about accident pregnancy any more?” Malfoy asked in a dazed voice. Just like last night, his guard lowered greatly in the haze of post-pleasure, freeing him to spread his naked body in the most comfortable way among the mess of pillows and blankets.
“They said it was very rare without the aid of potions. And I don’t think I’m that unlucky. I know that my history proves otherwise, but really, there are only two or three cases throughout what? Thousand of years? I cannot be that ill-fated.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment on why Harry used such a fancy word or why Harry knew such a fancy word (from Hermione, of course). He rolled on his front and buried his head into a pillow, looking like he was going to fall asleep any moment.
Harry dragged him back. “I’m not done for tonight.”
“I know. Just a simple Finite Incantatem and you’re good to go.”
As Harry cast the counter-spell, Malfoy returned to their previous topic.
“Five cases during the last fourteen hundred years, to be precise, and counted only within Britain. The latest case was recorded two hundred and fifty three years ago, of a couple of wizards in Kent who were twenty five and forty nine. The latter was the one that carried the child. He was old, but he was the Deputy Head Auror at that time, extremely powerful, and most importantly, he was a pureblood. All four other cases, the ones who were impregnated were also pureblood. So, what I’m saying is, the odds may be greater than you think, Potter.”
Harry stared at Malfoy, then stared back down at himself, where the protection had just been removed. “Bloody hell, Malfoy! Why didn’t you tell me that first?”
“You seemed very confident about your luck. I don’t want to ruin that, but then I think it’s better to let you have all the information. Then again, there are many other pureblood wizards who never conceive. My friend Blaise Zabini is an example, back in Hogwarts, he slept with practically any boy that was willing, and always it was unprotected sex. But nothing ever happened to him, as far as I am concerned.”
For some reason, Harry focused on the wrong point of that example. “Zabini slept around a lot? Did you and he… ever…?”
Malfoy cracked an eyelid. “Would you be mad if we had?”
“No, why would I? It’s just– yesterday, you confirmed that it was your first time.”
“It was. Me and Zabini, there were just a couple of kisses and a handjob. I didn’t like sharing a man with a bunch of other men, and he didn’t need me because, as established, he was shared by a bunch of other men.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, I just brought him up to tell you that it’s not that simple to impregnate a man. I can go on, but I think you get the gist.”
Harry let out a heavy sigh. He understood what Malfoy was trying to say - Malfoy was giving him full control over the decision. It should have been easy by now. All Harry had to do was sacrifice a fraction of his pleasure for the sake of a worry-free sex life.
And yet…
Recalling the lingering frustration of unfulfilled satisfaction, he found himself hesitating, unable to make the call.
Realising his hesitation, Malfoy suggested. “Maybe you should think about it more carefully first? Or read some further research on it? After all, my information may not be completely precise.”
Harry looked at the milky skin spread in front of him, then double looked at the round cheeks where a pink hole was still loose and wet from previous activity, then looked again at the thing that had been inside that hole, once again reliving the overwhelming sensation. His body was ablaze, and before he knew it, he already had the long legs on his shoulders, clearing the way for him to plunge himself inside.
“What a Gryffindor is for if not taking the risk, right?”