Archive of Our Own ^beta

Harry wasn't sure what had compelled him to follow Draco in the first place. It was as if he had some sort of strange power over him lately, one that caused Harry to harden under the simplest of gazes and need to do whatever ridiculous thing Draco asked him to.

It started with sex. The sex was good. No, it was great, euphoric, although it wasn't as if Harry had a lot to compare it to. He hadn't thought he'd lose his virginity to Draco Malfoy, mostly because he hated him, but then there was the side oddity of his not being gay. Yet, when those piercing grey eyes met his, he couldn't seem to tell him no.

Today, Draco had convinced him to take him to a luxury resort in a valley of the Mount-Blanc and Aiguilles Rouges range in France. He'd called it "camping." Harry was shocked that Draco had wanted to go camping, or anywhere near a mountain range, but again, the hypnotic eyes and voice of the now sleek-instead-of-pointy and witty-instead-of-annoyingly-arrogant boy had left him with little choice by to comply.

He watched in fascination as Draco picked through his trunk, swiping sweets and anything shiny. The treasured objects were then shoved onto the middle of the sumptuous bed, whose covers had been pulled into a doughnut shape. Presently, Draco was weaving his new finds in with the linens.

"This is hardly camping, Malfoy."

"Oh Potter, room service closes at 9 o'clock. We're practically without running water!" Draco seemed to have finished with his odd ritual on the bed and began to strip.

"No, it just means that you can't order food at 9:05." He paused and tilted his head as he examined Draco's large stomach. "Which is probably just as well, you're gaining weight."

"Pfft. Oh sure, knock me up and then get upset when I start to show. For your information, Potter, I'm about to have a diet right now. By the way, where are my sweetbreads and mashed cauliflower?" Draco squatted over his nest of blankets. His face flushed and he began to grunt.

"As it is half seven, I'd suppose the kitchen is working it up to bring-- are you... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!? GO TO THE LOO, NOT ON THE BED!" Harry rushed to Draco to keep him from leaving what appeared to be-- by Draco's immense strain-- quite the steamer on the duvet.

He was stopped when one of Draco's gracefully bird-like hands shot out. Bird-like? "Stay where you are." He grunted again and gave another hard push.

Harry took a step back and then crab-walked around to watch with horror what Draco was doing. While normally watching Draco in this manner of activity was something he didn't care to indulge in, since his lover had chosen to make a spectacle of it by having it happen where they slept, he felt drawn to watch.

What he saw shocked him. No, it horrified him.

Crowning between the wrinkled band of muscles that he'd licked, fucked, sucked and otherwise violated in as many ways as he could come up with, was something surprisingly white and solid looking. If this were feces, it was Quite Unusual. "WHAT IS THAT?"

Draco paused in his strain and the whiteness faded from view, leaving Draco's gaping hole in answer before he spoke. "Our baby."

"Our... what?" Eyes glued to the again apparent whiteness, Harry took a step back as a surprisingly large, egg-shaped... well... egg... worked its way through Draco's anus.

He ran to Draco's side and took his hand, still watching the agonizingly slow movement of the egg working its way into the nest. Draco screamed and then hissed and then screamed again, his hand vise-like around Harry's. "BABY!"

The egg eventually was marbled in pink traces of blood from where it had torn at Draco, but once it was out, Draco insisted on sitting on it and pulling the blankets around as much of it as he could.

"Baby? But... that's an egg."

"I suppose you think the stork brings them." Draco rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He shifted uncomfortably on the giant, white mound. Certainly he must've been uncomfortable, because... well...he'd just pushed an EGG out of his ANUS.

Harry rubbed his scarred forehead. "Well... er... no, but I did think that some manner of a womb was involved."

"Oh? You think so, do you? Well, then how do you explain that I just laid an egg?" Harry didn't have a chance to answer this question, as room service showed up. After signing for the food, Harry insisted on pulling the food inside without the aid of the waiter and tipped him generously. Draco sat on his throne of egg and shiny items and contentedly dined on the mushy brains and even mushier vegetables.

"I just don't... understand." Harry gestured helplessly and then finally shrugged and sat on the bed next to his... baby.

"I'm a Veela and you're my mate. It's chosen from... well, I don't know how it happens. Supposedly most of them are female, although that doesn't explain reproduction that well. Birds aren't really asexual reproducers either, but... eh... it's magic." He shrugged and used his wand to summon the latest issue of The Sun. "Terrible business about Jude Law."

"What?" He really couldn't fathom how he'd missed Draco being a Veela. Beyond that, he wasn't sure how he'd resisted Fleur's Veela magic and not Draco's. Oh well. Magic, he supposed. Just like how boys could have babies, or lay eggs.

"Cheated with the nanny. If you ever got up to something like... oh, what am I saying? We're magically bound. You really have little say in it now." He snapped the paper shut and then curled around the large egg, pulling Harry down to curl around the other side of it so that they could keep it warm together.

"I'm going to be a father? At 17? Is that really wise?" Harry winced but set his glasses on the nightstand and reached across the egg to hold Draco's hand.

"Probably not, but, since I'm a Veela, it will somehow work out; much like pregnancy, eggs and your sudden attraction to me in spite of not being gay or otherwise liking me at all." He grinned and leaned forward to kiss Harry, who happily kissed him back.

"I guess you're right. You're always right, my beautiful ice prince. I love you."

"I love you too, my raven-haired unruly Gryffindor."

And then they lived happily ever after.

With their egg baby.

Who hatched and was a boy.

That they named Donald.

Middle name Duck.

Later, Draco got very fat and Harry had sex with his belly button.

Donald grew up to need loads of therapy, which he received from Voldemort's sekrit lovechild with Remus Lupin.

Voldemort was also sekritly a Veela.

Donald and Voldemort's sekrit baby had a were-Veela.

Eventually, the were-Veela ate a bad piece of chicken and died somewhere in the valley of two mountain ranges in France.

Which just goes to show you that: 1) chicken can be dangerous when not properly cooked, and 2) birds shouldn't eat other birds.

The end.