The Afterglow

Pregnancies brought many disadvantages, Draco was sure to tell anyone who wanted to listen (and those who didn't, too): swollen ankles, constant backaches, weird food cravings and a bladder the size of a Bertie Bott's bean were only the most prominent. Of course, there were (rumoured to be) good points, as well, like those infamous delights of being parents, adoring big eyes and unique bonding experiences. Draco Potter-Malfoy, though, being eight and a half months pregnant - with twins - could only imagine those advantages in a far away distance, on the horizon, untouchable.

Draco had already delivered a couple of babies before (six, to be precise, at the last counting, which meant that he and Harry were already past half of their quota of twelve children), but these highly praised bonding moments with obnoxious four year olds, introverted three year olds, shrieking two year olds and crying or sleeping one year olds (really, the eleven months old twins did nothing but cry and sleep) were not exactly as exciting as Harry had made him believe.

Poor, little, Minister of Magic, Harry. He would pay dearly for his wrong assumptions and atrocious predictions. Draco was wont to make sure of it, as he, poor Draco, was forced to recreate faster than rabid bunnies and weasels combined.

A tiny limb punched against his insides.

"Ouch," Draco swore softly, caressing his bulging stomach. It seemed as if the newest additions to the Potter-Malfoy household didn't like Draco's thought processes.

"Well, tough," the former Slytherin yawned, turning with difficulties onto the other side and stuffing two pillows below his belly. "As I see it, you're the lodger here - board and lodgings for free, might I add - so you'll have to live with my thoughts."

This resulted in another kick, this time hitting Draco's bladder directly.

"Oh!" he gasped, before a sudden rush of emotion overpowered him. The change of his moods happened more quickly than the switching on of a lamp, nowadays. "It's only about two quarter millimetres large and yet you hit it squarely nonetheless," he sobbed. "Such a fine little Seeker! Just like your Daddy!" He meant himself, mind you.

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It was twenty to nine - way past Draco's usual sleeping time, in other words - when Harry arrived at home. He was moving silently, as usual, but Draco didn't need much to rouse him from his light sleep these days. Dobby looked after the children, so Draco had at least a modicum of peace in the last term of his fifth pregnancy. And while Harry did everything in his might to make things easier for Draco, the pregnant man could see no big results: his ankles were still swollen, his back aching, food cravings were as weird as ever and his bladder the size of a Bertie Bott's bean. The only remarkable things during Draco's months as a walrus-look-alike were the temples-to-feet massages and the frequent sweet lovemaking sessions (because an orgasm relaxed his muscles far better than any massage ever could). Draco deemed it time for another session tonight.

"Hey," he said, making sure to use the most miserable voice he could muster, which wasn't all that difficult, sadly.

Harry gave a start, looking over his shoulder at Draco on the bed. He was still wet from his shower (having used the guest bathroom downstairs, so not to wake his husband), tying the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, walking the short distance to the bed and leaning down for a hello kiss. He sat down on the mattress and put one hand on Draco's belly to convey his greetings to the twins, as well.

Draco shook his head no and groaned, then stretched his back to get the massage across. Harry cottoned on fairly quickly, mastermind that he was.

He grinned and cracked his knuckles, before asking, "Do you want me to rub your back? You look like you could do with some good massage..."

Draco rolled his eyes and tried to shift his weight, which proved futile, because he didn't have enough pillows to support his belly. At moments like this, he hated being pregnant more than usual. With a groan of frustration he fell back into the pillows.

"Yes," he said, and only a deaf man would have missed his sarcasm, "four hours of a body massage should be enough."

"Four hours," Harry reflected with a barely concealed grin. "And what if I decided to concentrate on a specific area?"

To illustrate his point, he let his left hand wander past Draco's hip to grope his bottom. Draco's breath hitched slightly.

"Well," he said, a bit breathlessly, "then one hour might suffice - barely..."

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It was well past midnight as Draco's incessant bladder called for attention, forcing the pregnant one out of bed (which he achieved with much heaving and panting). After a couple of minutes, Draco managed to get to his feet and waddled into the bathroom. He didn't even need his lit wand to show him the way. Because of his pregnancy, he was glowing. Quite literally, in fact. A soft golden halo surrounded him, illuminating his way during the night. It would be deadly embarrassing, were it not so damn handy.

When Draco returned from the bathroom some twenty minutes later (after a quick detour to the kitchen), Harry was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his face.

"Turn off the lights," he grumbled.

"That's me, you prat," Draco said, waddling to the bed.

Harry squinted at him, pushing the pillows into order. "I forget every time..."

"Humph," Draco merely said, lying back down. The halo around his skin slowly dissipated, until there was nothing left but a gentle glow. He held out his arms in a silent request, put on his cutest face, and waited for Harry to hug him. He found he slept more peacefully that way. The bulge of his stomach was nestled in between their bodies, Harry's arms as far around his back as was possible, and Draco's face cuddled against Harry's neck.

Only a couple of years ago, Draco hadn't thought he'd be able to get happy. His Death Eater father and Voldemort had dominated his life. It had taken a lot of time and Harry's patience to make him see something worthwhile again. And now, Draco couldn't imagine what life would be without the man he loved.

Harry sighed in his sleep and muttered something unintelligible. And Draco sighed and closed his eyes, safe in the knowledge that he was not alone.

-End-