Warning: Mpreg. Please do NOT read if this is not your cup of tea along with your slice of bread in the morning.
Chapter Three
The Tapestry
Harry swallowed hard. He would not cry in front of this boy … man.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, and studied Malfoy, under cover of near darkness as the other man busied himself with his wand, cleaning his bloodied face and mending his injured nose.
Malfoy had grown since he'd seen him last … well … that he could remember, of course. He'd only had a vague impression of long, pale limbs and long, pale hair spread across rumpled linen on that long ago morning after.
He had a seeker's build; lithe frame held together with lightly corded sinew. He was also a bit taller than Harry, which caused Harry to feel no small amount of resentment. Too, his features were no longer as pointy as they'd been when they had been school boys, together. He had, in fact, a very attractive face in which was set a pair of impossibly large, grey eyes. His clothes – well-made as far as Harry could tell about these things – hung smartly off his frame and added to his already considerable appeal. Harry was left to conclude that Malfoy's pictures, which commonly appeared in rags such as Witch Weekly and Quidditch Mania, really did him little justice.
Another unspoken moment passed while Harry drew his eyes over the well studied angles of Malfoy's face, but he soon realized that cataloguing Malfoy's finer attributes was perhaps not such a good idea as a warm tendril of remembered heat unfurled and began stirring, pleasantly, in his lower belly. He reflexively cleared his throat, in response, to tamp it down, irrationally afraid that Malfoy could somehow discern his thoughts.
Unfortunately, the sound caught Malfoy's attention and he looked up. "What?"
"I … Nothing," Harry said, thinking quickly. "I'd just like it if you'd get on with saying what you came to say."
"Alright. I suppose I have taken up more than enough of Harry Potter's precious time. Never mind that I was just very nearly maimed in the face," Malfoy said, looking at him with a mocking expression. "You might want to think about getting a leash for your animal if attacking people without the slightest provocation is a part of its normal behavior."
"You were not very nearly maimed!" Harry cried, swelling with immediate indignation. "And Ron is not an animal."
"Tut, tut," said Malfoy. "I beg to differ." Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but Malfoy held his hand up in a forestalling manner. "We haven't got time to argue the point."
Harry held his tongue but fumed silently, thinking Malfoy was much more attractive when his mouth was shut.
"Well," Malfoy said, impatiently. "I don't bite. Come closer so I can say what I've got to say without shouting like an uncivilized lout."
Harry hesitated, before stepping into the pool of artificial light given off by the interior lights of the car next to which Malfoy was standing. He was immediately assailed by the smell of manufactured leather. Why, Harry wondered, was Malfoy in possession of a Muggle vehicle? More to the point, how had he come about knowing how to operate one? And most importantly, how had Malfoy found out about the baby when he, Harry, had only just found out himself?
He was afraid to ask.
Draco was in a foul mood. He was cold. He was tired. And he was hungry. His disposition was not the least bit improved when he recalled the breakfast he'd left uneaten earlier in the day.
The Boy-Who-Lived had much to answer for.
Managing to portray a calm appearance he was far from feeling, Draco calmly drew a folded parchment from the back pocket of his trousers. Unfolding it, he said, "This was owled to me by my solicitor in London, urging me to come to his office on a matter of dire importance."
Potter shook his head, confused. "What –?" he started to say, but Draco ignored him. "His office is bound to Malfoy Manor and he'd been instructed to alert me or my mother about any magical anomalies that took place in or around Malfoy Manor."
Potter shook his head, again, this time refusing to be deterred. "Bound? I don't understand."
Draco sighed impatiently, but he explained. "It's a common Wizarding practice for well-connected witches and wizards anticipating a long absence from their homes. Something the Weasleys are probably not familiar with, I'm sure."
Potter angrily narrowed his eyes at Draco. "Get on with it," he said.
Draco huffed an irritated breath, but went on. "In my case, there'd been a change detected in the Malfoy family tree tapestry – you do know what that is?" he asked, lifting a sardonic brow.
A strange expression crossed Potter's face before he curtly nodded his head and said, "Yes. Although that still doesn't explain how you knew about the baby."
Draco's lips tightened. "Yes, well, I'm getting to that," he said, barely biting back the nasty retort quivering on the tip of his tongue. "A few hundred years ago, in France, where the Malfoy line originated, one of the Malfoy wives, apparently, having grown weary of her husband's philandering decided to take on a unique form of revenge against him. He'd had several offspring with other women, you see, and every time one of his progeny was born, its name appeared on the tapestry without consideration for whether the child was conceived of his wife or not … there were twenty bastard children, at last count, I hear."
"But," Potter interrupted. "How could the tapestry have known to do that?"
"Attach the children's names, you mean?" Draco shrugged. "I'm not sure, but family tree tapestries are ancient and powerful, magical objects. It has something to do with blood magic and lines of heredity. I do know that the magic of the tapestry is woven directly into the magic of the most direct descendent …
Potter winced. "Sounds … painful."
Draco shrugged. He didn't want to admit that he'd often thought the same thing. "This particular Malfoy wife," he continued. "Was a very powerful witch, particularly adept at Transfiguration. Somehow – we're not quite sure how it was done – she changed the magic of the tapestry and made it so that the very next Malfoy-born child would be an heir."
Harry looked blank. "So what? They were Malfoy children. Weren't they? Why would they not have been already included in the inheritance?"
Draco sighed, again. He'd long grown weary of the conversation, but he tried to remember that while admonitions about family curses had been a part of his growing up, Potter had not had that advantage. For all his alleged power, Potter's knowledge about the minutiae of the Wizarding world was probably akin to that of a Muggle-born. He'd not been schooled in things concerning bloodlines and hereditary laws the way a Wizard-born child would have.
"Yes, Potter," he finally admitted. "They were technically Malfoy children, but they never would have been acknowledged as such as they were mostly the issue of whores and scullery maids. Perhaps there were a few women of noble birth in the mix, but if the child was not conceived of the wife, then the child was not and could never have been entitled to any part of the Malfoy inheritance."
"D'you mean to say they had to fend for themselves? But that's … barbaric!" Potter exclaimed, seeming bewildered. "Everyone knows the Malfoys have always been richer than Croesus. There would have been more than enough money to support them all. Even with twenty-odd children."
"Perhaps," Draco conceded. "But that is how aristocratic Wizarding families ensured the purity of their bloodline – carefully selected wives of proper breeding producing legitimate children. Bastards were an unfortunate by-product of illicit affairs." Draco fell silent and watched Potter absorb what he'd been told.
Potter remained quiet for several moments, before he lifted his chin, anger sparking in his eyes. "Is that what my child is?" he queried with a low voice. "A bastard? An unfortunate by-product?"
"No," Draco replied, snidely. "Fauve, the Malfoy wife, changed all that. Didn't she?"
Potter took immediate offense. "Fuck you, Malfoy," he spat out, glaring up at him.
Draco's nostrils flared. "Oh, no, Potter. Fuck you!" Potter opened his mouth, presumably to fire back, but Draco beat him to the punch. "We had a one-off affair, remember? I admit, it was fun. A simple, dirty, fuck to pass the time, but, oh no, nothing's ever that simple with you, is it, Potter? Because weeks later when you should have been a fond and distant memory, I find myself the beneficiary of some rather startling news. 'Mr. Malfoy, I'm told, you've fathered a child.' And not just any child …" he cried, flinging his out arms wildly. "St. Potter's child! So please excuse me for being a little irritated."
"Oh, poor you, Malfoy," Potter said, scornfully, interjecting Draco's tirade. "Well, you know what? It's my body that's been sodding hijacked without so much as a by your leave. How about that? I didn't ask this child … this … this thing to take up residence inside of me."
"Oh, so now it's not even a child anymore?" Draco asked, flatly. "It's a thing?"
"Oh, shut up!" Potter cried, flaring up, again.
Draco balled his fists, but remained silent. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of seeing him lose his cool … at least, not more than he already had.
Potter huffed, angrily. "Go on, then. What are you waiting for? Hurry up and finish that horrid fairy tale of yours."
Malfoy remained silent for another moment, looking as though he wanted to say something nasty, but he finally continued. "As I was saying, Fauve changed the magic of the tapestry, so that the next child born and every child thereafter would be installed as an heir. Needless to say, this greatly displeased my Malfoy ancestor, and he immediately locked his wife away in one of the castle towers," Malfoy blithely said, heedless of Harry's horrified expression. "She remained there for several months, but Fauve, of course, got what she wanted, having cured her husband, Ansel, of his philandering."
Harry blinked. "Alright," he said. "But I still don't understand what all of that has got to do with me."
"There was another proviso woven into the fabric of the tapestry."
"Of course there was," Harry grumbled.
Malfoy ignored him. "The curse, if you will, was passed down to every male heir ever after, including Ansel's son."
"Bet they didn't see that one coming," Harry said, spitefully, unsure to whom he was referring. Ansel, the son, or Fauve herself …
"No," Malfoy agreed. "I don't suppose they did. But it's had the effective measure of keeping a tight rein on the Malfoy men. Contraceptive potions, as you know, are never as effective as abstinence."
"Not the women?"
"No. I don't suppose that would have suited Fauve's purpose."
A small silence fell between them until Harry spoke, again, saying, "So … are you trying to say some moldy piece of cloth, hanging in Malfoy Manor has us … married?" His heart thudded loudly in his chest.
"No, but the child is my heir, and as such I have a duty to protect it – which brings me to another matter."
"What's that?"
"There are those who hunt you still," said Malfoy without preamble. "What do you think they will do when they hear Harry Potter is with child?"
Shivering, Harry opened his mouth, but no sound traveled forth.
"Precisely," Malfoy said. "They will hunt you down, and you will be in no condition to defend yourself and the babe."
"What do you propose I do?" Harry asked, reluctantly.
"I have a home – "
"No!" Harry interrupted. He would not so much as step foot on the grounds of the accursed Malfoy Manor.
"In Italy," Malfoy continued, placidly. "It's where I live most of the year during Quidditch season."
"Oh," Harry said, not knowing what else to say.
"It's well warded and away from prying eyes."
"Why are you suddenly so concerned for my welfare?" Harry wanted to know.
"I'm not," Malfoy bluntly replied. "But you are carrying my child. My heir. And as I said, I have a duty to protect it."
Harry blinked, surprised by how much that had stung. He bit his lip, looking at the shadows lengthening along the country lane in the deepening twilight. He glanced back at Malfoy, anguished. "I can't … I can't …" he stuttered.
"If it will make your decision easier, you should probably know that I'll not be leaving without you," Malfoy said, looking at him with an implacable expression.
Harry gritted his teeth. He was angered by Malfoy's imperious tone, but he could not argue with the truth of his words. There was a bounty on his head, after all, put there by the few rogue Death Eaters that had never been captured after Voldemort's demise. That he was with child made him a more vulnerable target. Still, he couldn't run off with Malfoy on a whim. Malfoy, as everyone knew, was himself an alleged ex-Death Eater. "I've been safe here at the Burrow. Its wards are highly defensible."
"No," Malfoy said, his face screwing up with distaste. "Besides, wouldn't you be putting your friends in even more danger than you are already?"
Harry's face fell although he'd realized that as well. He turned around, blinking furiously against the pressure of rising tears. There was a long silence while Harry considered his options.
Suddenly, he hissed and then exclaimed. "Shit."
"What?" asked Malfoy from behind him.
Harry nodded in the direction of the house. "Look," he said simply.
Malfoy looked up and saw one of his former Hogwarts' professor framed in the window. "The werewolf?"
Harry turned around and shot Malfoy a reproachful look. "Remus Lupin."
Still looking at the house, Malfoy said, "They certainly didn't waste any time."
Harry glanced back at the house, again. "Bloody hell," he muttered. Remus and the curtains partially blocked his view, but through a thin strip of space, Harry was able to see Hermione and other red-haired figures moving around behind Remus. "Bloody hell," he said, again. "They've must've told everyone."
Next Chapter: Cloud of Suspicion
Please see prologue for disclaimer