Chapter 5: The Heir in Her Belly
The nausea hit her before she was fully awake.
It rolled through her stomach like a wave of black water, thick and greasy and wrong. Lyra's eyes flew open. The chamber was still dark, lit only by the dying embers in the brazier, and for a moment she didn't know where she was—didn't know who she was.
Then her stomach lurched again.
She scrambled out of bed, tangling herself in the sheets, nearly falling face-first onto the cold stone floor. Her knees hit the ground hard. She crawled the last few feet to the chamber pot and retched into it, her whole body convulsing.
Nothing came up but bile. Thin and yellow and bitter.
She retched again anyway.
The sound echoed off the obsidian walls, ugly and wet. Her hair hung in her face, sticking to her sweat-slicked skin. She was shaking. Her whole body was shaking, and she had no idea why.
She sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The chamber was spinning slowly, like a ship on calm water. The scent of lavender and old blood was suddenly overwhelming—it had never bothered her before, but now it made her stomach turn again.
"Lyra?"
Draco's voice came from behind her, rough with sleep. She heard the rustle of sheets, the creak of the mattress.
"Lyra, what—"
She retched again.
He was at her side in an instant, his hands on her shoulders, pulling her hair back from her face. She hadn't even heard him cross the room. His touch was warm against her cold skin, and she leaned into it without thinking.
"What's wrong?" His voice was sharp. "Are you ill? Did someone—"
She shook her head, still gagging. Her mouth tasted of copper and acid. She spat into the pot and then sat back, her chest heaving.
"Lyra." His hands cupped her face, turning her to look at him. His gray eyes were wide, wild with something that looked almost like fear. "Tell me what's happening."
She looked at him.
The brazier light caught the angles of his face, the sharp cheekbones, the pale hair falling into his eyes. He looked younger like this. Scared.
"Three weeks," she said.
Her voice came out hoarse, scraped raw from the retching.
"What?"
"Three weeks since the collar came off." She swallowed hard, tasting bile. "We've been fucking every day. Sometimes twice. Sometimes more."
His brow furrowed. "What are you—"
"I missed my bleeding," she said. "Last week. Didn't think anything of it. Bodies do strange things." She paused. "But it's not strange, is it?"
He stared at her.
The silence stretched between them like a wire pulled taut.
"What are you saying?" he whispered.
She reached down and placed her hand on her own belly. It was flat still, unchanged. But beneath the skin, she could feel it—something. A warmth. A presence. A tiny, stubborn flicker of life.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
For a long moment, Draco didn't move.
His hands were still cupping her face. His eyes were still fixed on hers. But something behind them had gone very, very still. Like a predator spotting prey. Like a storm gathering on the horizon.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't a pleasant sound. It was sharp and cracked and half-hysterical, the laugh of a man who had just had the ground shift beneath his feet.
"Pregnant," he repeated. "You're pregnant."
"Yes."
"You're sure."
"I'm sure."
He pulled his hands away. Stood. Paced to the window and back. His bare feet made no sound on the stone floor, but his breathing was loud in the quiet chamber—fast and ragged.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck. Fuck."
She stayed where she was, kneeling beside the chamber pot, watching him. Her stomach was settling now, the nausea fading to a dull ache. But her heart was pounding.
When he turned back to her, his face was different.
The shock was gone. The fear was gone. What was left was something harder. Something hungrier.
"Three weeks," he said slowly. "You've been carrying my child for three weeks and didn't tell me."
"I didn't know."
"You didn't suspect?"
"I thought it was just—" She gestured vaguely. "The transformation. The magic. My body's been through hell. I thought it was still adjusting."
He dropped to his knees in front of her. His eyes were level with hers, gray and intense and burning.
"You're carrying my child," he said again, as if saying it would make it more real.
"Yes."
He reached out and pressed his palm flat against her belly. The heat of his hand seeped through her thin shift, warming the skin beneath. His thumb traced a slow circle below her navel.
"There's a baby in here," he murmured.
"A baby."
"My baby."
She nodded.
Something shifted in his expression. The hunger deepened. The possessiveness sharpened. He looked at her like she was something precious. Something he had to protect. Something he had to claim.
"Get on the bed," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"On the bed. Now."
She looked at the chamber pot, at the mess she'd made, at her own trembling hands. "Draco, I just—"
"I don't care." His voice was rough, almost desperate. "I need to be inside you. I need to feel you. I need—" He broke off, shaking his head. "Just get on the bed."
She stood.
Her legs were unsteady, and she had to brace herself against the wall. He didn't help her. He just watched, his eyes tracking every movement, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
She made it to the bed and climbed onto the mattress. The sheets were still warm from where they'd been sleeping. The scent of him was everywhere—cedar and leather and something darker, muskier.
She lay back against the pillows and looked at him.
He was still kneeling by the chamber pot, still watching her. His chest was rising and falling too fast. His cock was already hard, standing stiff against his belly.
"Spread your legs," he said.
She spread her legs.
The cool air hit her cunt, and she shivered. She was still slick from the night before—they'd fucked twice before sleeping, and his seed was still inside her, drying on her thighs.
He climbed onto the bed and positioned himself between her legs. He didn't waste time with preamble. He didn't kiss her. He didn't touch her. He just grabbed his cock with one hand, aimed it at her entrance, and pushed inside.
She gasped.
He was thick and hot and relentless, driving into her with a single brutal stroke. Her cunt stretched around him, still sore from the night's activities, and the friction was almost too much—almost painful.
He didn't give her time to adjust. He just started fucking.
"Going to keep you filled," he growled. "Going to fuck my seed so deep inside you that it takes root. That it grows. That everyone can see."
She arched her back and moaned.
"Not going to stop," he continued. He was panting now, his hips slapping against her ass with every thrust. "Not going to pull out. Not going to let you rest. Going to keep my cock in you until your belly swells."
His hand pressed down on her stomach, right where he'd touched her before. Right where their child was growing.
"Feel that?" he demanded. "Feel me? Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, I feel you—"
"I'm going to fuck a baby into you over and over again. Until you're so full of my cum that you can't walk without dripping."
She reached up and grabbed his shoulders, her nails digging into his pale skin. He hissed at the pain but didn't slow down. If anything, he fucked her harder.
"I want it," she said. "I want all of it."
"You'll have it." He leaned down and bit her shoulder—not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark. "You'll have everything I've got. Every fucking drop."
His rhythm was punishing now, each stroke driving deep and hard. Her cunt clenched around him with every thrust, milking him, trying to pull him deeper. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into his lower back, urging him on.
"Come inside me," she said. "Please, Draco, come inside me."
"Not yet." He gritted his teeth. "Not until you come first."
"I don't need—"
"Said you'd give me everything." His hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit. "Said you wanted my child. So come on my cock. Show me how much you want it."
His thumb circled her clit in tight, rough circles. The combination of his cock stretching her and his finger rubbing her was too much. She felt the orgasm building, a pressure that started in her toes and raced up her spine.
"Close," she gasped. "I'm close—"
"Then come."
She shattered.
The orgasm ripped through her like lightning, bowing her back and stealing her breath. Her cunt clenched hard around Draco's cock, pulsing with waves of pleasure that seemed to go on forever. She screamed—a raw, wordless sound that echoed off the obsidian walls.
Draco fucked her through it, his hips still pistoning, his thumb still working her clit. He was panting, sweating, his pale hair sticking to his forehead. And then he made a sound—a deep, guttural groan—and she felt his cock swell and pulse.
"Take it," he rasped. "Take all of it."
He came deep inside her.
She felt every pulse, every jet of hot seed spilling into her cunt. It flooded her, filled her, claimed her from the inside out. His hips stayed flush against hers, grinding, making sure nothing escaped.
When he finally pulled out, she was shaking. Her thighs were slick with sweat and cum, and she could feel his seed trickling out of her, pooling on the sheets beneath her.
He looked down at the mess.
"Again," he said.
She caught her breath against the pillow, almost laughed. "What?"
"I said again." He was stroking his cock, already half-hard again. "I told you I wasn't done."
He was on her before she could answer, flipping her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up. He didn't waste time with foreplay. He just pushed inside—sliding through his own seed, through her wetness, until he was buried to the hilt.
This time he fucked her differently.
Slower. Deeper. Each stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her. One hand gripped her hip, the other pressed flat against her lower belly.
"Can you feel me?" he murmured. "Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Right here." His palm pressed harder. "Right where our baby is. Right where I'm going to put another one."
She closed her eyes and let him take her.
He came again after what felt like hours—a long, slow climax that seemed to drain him completely. His cock pulsed inside her, and she felt the warmth of his seed mixing with what was already there. He collapsed over her, his chest pressing against her back, his breath hot against her ear.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then he pulled out and rolled off her. She stayed on her stomach, too exhausted to move. Her cunt was sore. Her belly ached. The nausea was gone, replaced by something she couldn't name.
Draco was silent beside her.
She turned her head to look at him. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His expression was unreadable.
"Draco?"
"I need to send for a healer," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"A healer. To confirm. To ensure you're healthy. That the baby is healthy." He sat up, reaching for his trousers. "I should have done it weeks ago. Should have known—"
"We didn't know."
"I should have." He pulled on his trousers, buttoning them with quick, efficient movements. "You're carrying my heir. My child. Everything needs to be perfect."
She pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Draco, I'm fine. The baby is fine. We don't need—"
"We do." He looked at her, and his eyes were suddenly hard. "You don't understand. If something happens to you—if something happens to the baby—"
"Nothing's going to happen."
He didn't answer. He just crossed to the door and pulled the bell rope.
She watched him from the bed. The morning light was just starting to filter through the high windows, turning the black stone gray. The chamber seemed colder now, emptier.
"Stay where you are," he ordered. "Don't move until I'm back."
She wanted to argue. She was tired of being told what to do, tired of being treated like something fragile. But fatigue pulled at her more than pride did, and her body ached too much to fight.
"Fine," she said. "But hurry."
He paused at the door. Looked back at her.
"You're carrying my child," he said softly. "My legacy. Do you understand what that means?"
"No." She held his gaze. "Tell me."
Something flickered in his eyes—fear, maybe, or wonder. Or both.
"It means you're the most important person in the world to me," he said. "And I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe."
He was gone before she could answer.
The door closed behind him with a soft click. Lyra was alone in the chamber, surrounded by cursed artifacts and dark stone and the lingering scent of sex and old magic. She pressed her hand to her belly and closed her eyes.
Somewhere beneath her palm, a tiny heartbeat was flickering. She couldn't hear it. Couldn't feel it. But she knew it was there.
"Hello," she whispered. "I'm your mother."
The word felt strange on her tongue. Mother. She was going to be a mother.
But whose mother? Was she Lyra—this new person, this transformed woman—or was she still Harry? Could she be both?
She didn't know.
She opened her eyes and stared at the obsidian ceiling.
Not yet, she said, though she wasn't sure to whom.
And somewhere deep inside her, the baby—his baby, their baby—kept growing.
The chamber felt colder once Draco left.
Lyra pulled the sheet up to her chin and stared at the door. The brazier had burned down to embers, casting weak orange light across the black stone walls. The velvet drapes stirred in a draft she couldn't locate—they always stirred, even when the windows were sealed.
She pressed her hand to her belly again.
Nothing there. Flat. Unchanged. But she could feel it—a warmth that had nothing to do with the dying fire. A presence. A certainty.
"Three weeks," she muttered to the ceiling. "Three weeks."
Her mind raced through the timeline. The collar had come off a month ago. The first time they'd fucked without it, Draco had been tentative—almost gentle. He'd asked her, over and over, if she was sure. She'd said yes every time.
After that, he'd stopped asking.
The sex had been constant. Morning, noon, night. In the bed, against the wall, on the floor when they couldn't make it to the mattress. He'd fucked her in the bath, water sloshing over the sides. He'd fucked her from behind while she tried to read a book. He'd woken her in the middle of the night with his cock already inside her, her body responding before her mind caught up.
She'd loved every second of it.
And now there was a baby. His baby. Growing inside her like a secret.
The door opened.
Draco swept in like a storm front, his robes billowing behind him. Behind him came a woman Lyra had never seen before—tall and severe, with steel-gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and eyes that missed nothing.
"Healer Voss," Draco said. "She's the best."
Lyra blinked. "Voss? Like Madame Voss?"
"My sister," the healer said. Her voice was crisp, professional. "Though I assure you, our specialties differ considerably."
She set down the leather bag she was carrying and approached the bed. Her eyes swept over Lyra with clinical detachment—the tangled sheets, the sweat-damp hair, the marks on her shoulders and neck.
"I was told there's a pregnancy," Healer Voss said. "Three weeks, by your estimate."
"That's right."
"Any symptoms besides the morning sickness?"
Lyra hesitated. "I've been tired. More than usual. And my—" She stopped, heat rising to her cheeks.
"Your what?"
"My breasts have been sore. Tender."
Healer Voss nodded, unsurprised. "Normal. Anything else? Dizziness? Changes in appetite?"
"I've been hungry. All the time. But nothing sounds good."
Also normal. Healer Voss pulled a wand from her bag—long and pale, carved with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. "I need to examine you. May I?"
Lyra looked at Draco.
He was standing by the door, arms crossed, face unreadable. But his eyes were fixed on her—watchful, protective. He gave a single, short nod.
"Yes," Lyra said. "Go ahead."
Healer Voss drew back the sheet.
Lyra shivered as the cold air hit her skin. She was still naked from the night before, still sticky with dried sweat and cum. Healer Voss didn't seem to notice or care. She just positioned her wand over Lyra's abdomen and began to murmur.
The magic washed over her—warm and probing, like fingers tracing the inside of her skin. Lyra gasped. It didn't hurt, but it was intimate in a way she hadn't expected. Like being seen from the inside out.
Healer Voss's eyes widened.
"What?" Draco demanded. He was at the bedside in an instant, his hand finding Lyra's and squeezing tight. "What is it?"
"Quiet," Healer Voss snapped. "I'm working."
She moved her wand lower, then higher. The glowing runes pulsed in rhythm with something—Lyra realized with a start that it was her own heartbeat. The baby's heartbeat.
"Two," Healer Voss said.
Lyra's blood ran cold. "Two what?"
"Two heartbeats. Two fetuses." The healer straightened, tucking her wand back into her bag. "You're carrying twins."
The chamber went very, very quiet.
Lyra stared at her. Then at Draco. His face had gone pale—paler than usual, which was saying something. His hand tightened around hers until her bones creaked.
"Twins," he repeated.
"Yes. Fraternal, by the look of it. Two separate sacs." Healer Voss's expression softened, just slightly. "Congratulations. Both seem healthy. Strong heartbeats for this stage."
Lyra couldn't speak. Her throat had closed up. Twins. Two babies. Two lives growing inside her, side by side, sharing space that should have been too small.
"How?" Draco's voice was rough. "How is that possible?"
"The usual way, I imagine." Healer Voss's tone was dry. "Unless you've been engaging in activities I'm not familiar with."
"We've been—" Draco stopped. Cleared his throat. "We've been having a lot of sex."
"I gathered." The healer's eyes flicked to the marks on Lyra's neck, the tangled sheets, the obvious evidence of recent activity. "Twins are more common than people think. Especially with frequent—" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "—copulation."
Lyra made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
Draco looked at her. His gray eyes were wide, stunned. "Lyra—"
"Two babies," she whispered. "We're having two babies."
"Yes." He said it slowly, like he was testing the word. "Two."
Healer Voss cleared her throat. "I'll need to see her regularly. Weekly at first, then more frequently as the pregnancy progresses. She'll need to eat more—twice the nutrients. Rest more. No strenuous activity."
"Define strenuous," Draco said.
The healer gave him a flat look. "Sex is fine. Within reason." She glanced at the sheets again. "Though I'd recommend moderation."
Lyra felt her cheeks flush. "We'll try."
"See that you do." Healer Voss pulled a small vial from her bag and set it on the bedside table. "For the nausea. One drop under the tongue when it gets bad. It won't harm the babies."
She turned to go, then paused at the door. "One more thing. The transformation—the potion accident—it's still in her system. The magic is woven into her cellular structure. I'll need to monitor for any... interference."
"What kind of interference?" Draco asked sharply.
"I don't know yet. The potion was designed to change a male body into a female one. It wasn't designed for pregnancy. There's no precedent." Healer Voss's expression was grim. "We'll have to take it one day at a time."
She left without another word.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Lyra lay back against the pillows, her mind reeling. Twins. The word bounced around her skull like a bludger. Twins. Two babies. Two children with pale blond hair and gray eyes, or dark hair and green eyes, or some impossible combination of both.
Draco was still holding her hand. His grip hadn't loosened.
"Twins," he said again.
"You keep saying that."
"It's a lot to process."
She turned her head to look at him. He was staring at her belly—at the flat, unremarkable expanse of skin that hid two lives. His expression was strange. Wonder and terror and something else, something softer.
"Are you happy?" she asked.
He blinked. Looked at her. "Happy?"
"About the babies. Are you happy?"
He was silent for a long moment. Then he pulled his hand away from hers and climbed onto the bed, lying down beside her. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, his chest against her back.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm happy."
She closed her eyes.
"Two babies," she murmured. "We're going to have two babies."
"Two heirs." His voice rumbled through her back. "Two Malfoys."
She should have corrected him—she was still Harry, technically, even if her body had changed. But the words felt wrong now. Harry was a ghost. Harry was a memory. Harry was someone else.
She was Lyra. She was going to be a mother. And Draco Malfoy was going to be a father.
They were going to have two sons. Two daughters. Or one of each. It didn't matter. They were going to have a family.
"Draco?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm hungry."
He laughed—a real laugh, soft and surprised. "Of course you are. You're eating for three now."
"I know. That's why I'm hungry."
He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "I'll have the elves bring something. What do you want?"
She thought about it. "Bacon. And eggs. And toast with too much butter. And—" She paused. "Strawberries. Strawberries with cream."
"You hate strawberries."
"I know. But the babies want them."
He laughed again. "The babies want them?"
"Shut up. It's a pregnancy thing. You wouldn't understand."
He pulled her closer, his hand sliding down to rest on her belly. "I suppose I'll have to get used to it."
"You will."
His thumb traced a slow circle below her navel. "You know what this means, don't you?"
"What?"
"You're not going anywhere. You can't run now." His voice was low, possessive. "Not with two of my children inside you."
She should have been angry. She should have felt trapped. But all she felt was a strange, warm contentment.
"I wasn't planning on running," she said.
"Good." He kissed her shoulder. "Because I wasn't planning on letting you."
They lay in silence for a while. The fire in the brazier had died completely, and the chamber was lit only by the gray morning light filtering through the windows. Lyra could hear Draco's breathing even out, feel the slow thump of his heart against her back.
Just when she thought he might have fallen asleep, he spoke again.
"I'm going to kill whoever did this to you."
She blinked. "What?"
"The potion accident. It wasn't an accident, was it?" His voice was hard. "Someone did this. Someone turned you into—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I'm going to find out who. And I'm going to make them pay."
She turned in his arms to face him. His gray eyes were burning with a cold fury she hadn't seen since their school days.
"You think it was deliberate?"
"I know it was." His jaw tightened. "Potions don't just malfunction. Not like that. Someone made it happen."
She thought about it. The accident had been strange—she'd been brewing a simple restorative, nothing out of the ordinary. And then the explosion. The heat. The darkness. She'd woken up in a body that wasn't hers, with no idea how it had happened or why.
"You're right," she said. "It wasn't an accident."
"I'll find out who did it. And when I do—"
"You'll what?"
His eyes met hers. "I'll make sure they never hurt you again."
She should have been afraid. The look on his face was murderous—cold and intent. But she wasn't afraid.
"Okay," she said.
The door opened again.
A house-elf appeared, carrying a tray laden with food. Bacon, eggs, toast dripping with butter, a bowl of strawberries swimming in cream. The smell hit Lyra's nose and her mouth watered instantly.
"For the lady," the elf squeaked. "And for the master."
"Leave it on the table," Draco said.
The elf set the tray down and disappeared with a pop.
Lyra was out of bed before she'd consciously decided to move. She crossed to the table and grabbed a piece of toast, biting into it with a moan of pleasure. The butter was perfect—salty and rich. The bread was warm. She couldn't remember the last time something had tasted this good.
"Slow down," Draco said. "You'll make yourself sick."
"I don't care." She took another bite. "I'm starving."
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His chin rested on her shoulder, his breath warm against her ear.
"Look at you," he murmured. "Eating for three. My two children growing inside you."
She tilted her head back against his chest. "You're going to be insufferable about this, aren't you?"
"Probably."
"Great."
He laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Eat your breakfast. Then we need to talk about the wedding."
She choked on a piece of bacon. "What?"
"The wedding. You can't have two children out of wedlock. It's scandalous."
"Since when do you care about scandal?"
"Since I'm about to become a father." He pulled away and crossed to the wardrobe, pulling out robes. "We'll do it small. Family only. But it needs to happen before you start showing."
"I'm not marrying you because you knocked me up."
He looked over his shoulder at her. "I didn't say you were marrying me because I knocked you up. I said you were marrying me because having my children out of wedlock is unacceptable."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not." He pulled on his robes and turned to face her. "I'm going to marry you because I want to. Not just because of the babies. Because you're mine. And I want everyone to know it."
She crossed her arms. "That's very romantic."
"I'm not a romantic."
"I noticed."
He crossed the room and took her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, gentle. His eyes were serious.
"I know I'm not good at this," he said quietly. "I know I'm possessive and controlling and generally unpleasant. But I want you. I want the babies. I want a family." He paused. "I want it with you."
She looked up at him. His pale hair fell into his eyes. His jaw was clean-shaven. His lips were slightly parted.
"Okay," she said.
He blinked. "Okay?"
"Okay, I'll marry you." She reached up and grabbed his wrists. "But you have to do two things."
"What?"
"First, you have to find out who did this to me, and you have to make them pay. Not just for the transformation. For everything."
"Done. What's the second?"
She pulled his hands away from her face and stepped back. Then she reached down and grabbed the hem of her shift, pulling it over her head. Her body was bare, her belly flat, her cunt still slick with the evidence of their morning activities.
"You have to fuck me," she said. "Right now. Before the food gets cold."
For a moment, Draco just stared at her.
Then he grinned—a real grin, wild and hungry. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Maybe." She walked backward toward the bed, her hips swaying. "But not today."
He followed.