Disclaimer: I don't own these boys. None of them. I don't own the girls either. I'd like to say that I snagged the awful jokes from someone else, but those are all mine. Wait, except 'It's not something Malfoys do', which is actually a line written by Libertine in our poetry-fic, In Dialogia (http://veela-inc.net/dialogia).

A/N: This sequel is really late; I intended to write this ages ago. But here it is! The sequel to Extracurricular, where Harry and Draco are told that their sweet, sweet lovin' can solve all the world's problems.

Special thanks to ixchelmala and Mizzy for the alpha reads, and to veelainc (http://veela-inc.net) for putting up with the tease-cookies. My apologies to everyone who wrote serious mpreg stories, cause this isn't one of those.

Extracurricular: Mock Two

By Ivy Blossom

       

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter sat in Dumbledore's office, lollypops in their mouths. Draco looked bored; Harry looked earnest.

"What is it this time, Professor?" he asked confidently, as Dumbledore stroked his lush, full head of glossy hair, one of the inevitable results of the tremendous rate of shagging going on between the hero and his consort sitting in Dumbledore's office. Filch's sensitive skin problem had cleared up and he could shave properly (a vast improvement), Sybil Trelawney's athlete's foot had disappeared, and she had descended from her lofty perch at the summit of Hogwarts was now constantly throwing fancy dress parties for all and sundry in the Great Hall, Professor Flitwick and grown an entire three inches and now fit perfectly into his favourite set of robes, and finally Dumbledore retired his comb over in favour of this new beautiful head of hair. Harry sat on the edge of his seat, his jaw firm with resolution. "What kind of danger is the world in today? Comets speeding madly toward the planet? Dinosaurs resurrected and destroying American cities? Is it the Ozone again?"

Draco yawned and picked lint off his trousers.

"I'm afraid it's not that, Harry. It's something…far more personal. As wonderful as it is that you two can save the world and solve problems great and small with your vigorous copulation, I'm afraid it's got to stop. Right now."

"What?" Draco's head shot up. He looked somewhat less bored.

"No more saving the world? But…what about the penguins trapped on ice floes in the Antarctic? Dolphins separated from their families, little children without toys at Christmas? What about the—"

"I'm afraid the penguins and dolphins will have to wait, Mr. Potter. You two simply must stop saving the world. We have a new problem."

"Sir?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Well, we hadn't researched all the possible side effects. While your zealous intercourse can do many wonderful things, it turns out that your exclusivity has triggered a new kind of miracle. Extended periods of monogamous, world-saving coitus seems to have prepared the two of you for…things seemingly impossible."

"Monogamous?" Harry gaped, and turned to look at Draco.

"Monogamous?" He repeated.

"Yes well." Draco looked at his nails.

"What about that ongoing fling with Blaise you keep throwing in my face? Or that time when you were convinced that Neville was your one true love? Or that threesome with Crabbe and Goyle you told everyone about?"

"Hmph." Draco's fingernails were clearly very fascinating.

"Your big secret is that you've been monogamous?"

Draco sighed. "It's just not something Malfoys do."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Now, now, gentlemen. On with the problem at hand." He opened a drawer and pulled out a top. Setting it in the middle of his desk, he spun it around, and watched it. Then he continued. "The problem that cannot be solved by your intimate relations but can only be caused by it, you see, is that one of you will almost certainly get pregnant."

There was a lengthy pause, filled only by the sound of the top whirring on Dumbledore's desk.

"I hate to be the one to inform you, sir," Draco said, dryly. "But neither of us possess the equipment required to gestate babies, unless the duodenum has a use hitherto unknown."

"I'm afraid that the amazing power your carnal union knows few boundaries, Mr. Malfoy, in case you hadn't already noticed. If the two of you continue on your heroic quest to rid the world of all suffering," Dumbledore stroked his lush head of hair again, "one of you will most definitely become pregnant. In fact, we suspect that one of you is ovulating in preparation right now."

Both boys shifted uncomfortably. Draco pouted. "How does it determine which of us is the girl, then?"

"That's an interesting question, Mr. Malfoy. It takes various elements into account, including the general enjoyment you derive from certain sexual activities, the size of your libidos, and the, er, girth of your generational accouterment."

"Aha!" Draco smirked and sat back in his chair like a sated cat. Sure, Harry thought. He can afford to smirk. Draco Malfoy was gifted with many things, one of them being a generously proportioned wand of manly glee in his pants. Harry's heart sank. Sure, he had nothing to be ashamed of, but he would lose this competition hands down, which would mean that his title of The Boy Who Lived would suddenly become The Boy Who Had an Adequate But Not Spectacular Penis, or The Boy Who Lived With Six Inches. He could just see the headlines now: Harry Potter: Ovulating. He would be a laughing stock. He wondered if Hermione would share her Midol with him. He sunk into his chair.

The top stopped spinning, and a bright yellow arrow popped out. It wavered for a moment between Harry and Draco, and then picked its target.

"Well, that's settled," Dumbledore said.

"WHAT?!" Draco screeched, knocking the top off the desk. "But but…it can't choose me, it simply CAN'T. Mine is BIGGER! There must be some mistake."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "What made you think that smaller genitalia would be the answer, Mr. Malfoy? I don't know if you've talked to your mother about this, but giving birth takes a lot of balls."

Draco looked a little tearful, and Harry, relieved and a bit randy over the discovery that Draco had been faithful to him all these months, leaned over and patted his shoulder.

"YOU get AWAY from me!" Draco hissed.

"It hasn't happened yet," Harry said, hopefully. "We could always use condoms."

Draco and Dumbledore stared at Harry blankly.

"You know, condoms? Pieces of latex, in the shape of a…you know, that you put over your…oh, come ON! Don't wizards have condoms?"

Draco had stopped looking blankly at Harry and now looked at him with a rather more horrified expression. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Now. Mr. Malfoy. Some things you should be aware of. Have you been experiencing any strange pain in the abdominal area?"

"Er…my indigestion?"

"That's known as Middelschmerz. I'll give you a special letter to leave class if it gets too difficult for you to manage." Dumbledore rifled through some papers on his desk. "You may also get some breast tenderness and bloating."

"Um…breast tenderness?" Harry asked, glancing at Draco's chest.

"Shut up, Potter," Draco snarled. Harry was really beginning to despair getting in his afternoon romp with Draco, and then realized, with a sinking heart, that the likelihood of a little action between classes was actually pretty much nil today.

Dumbledore had taken to rhapsodizing about ovulation while Draco turned more and more green. "But keep in mind that at ovulation there is a ripeness and receptiveness to giving something physical form, a readiness to merge with another and nourish a new life into being, to participate in the act of generation…so you should probably keep your distance from Mr. Potter."

"I want to merge Potter into something alright." Draco glared at Harry, who looked scared.

"You might also feel a slightly heightened sense of aggression."

Draco sighed heavily. "So how do we stop this? Can I go back to being a normal boy after this…ovulation thing?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "When can he go back to his, er, regular activities?" He shrunk back into his chair as Draco redoubled his glare.

Dumbledore furrowed his brows together. "Well, from what we can learn, it's the frequency as well as the monogamy that was the real problem. We didn't count on so many problems coming up all at once, you see. The answer will be for Mr. Malfoy to…er…sow his wild oats, as it were, to re-establish a sense of his masculine inattention."

"Wild oats?"

"Yes indeed. The only hope for ending your, erm, cycles, Mr. Malfoy, is to convince your body that you are simply too immature and too scared of commitment to produce a baby by sleeping with as many people as possible in a short span of time. Professor McGonagall has made a general announcement to the school, and all of the students' and teachers' names have been placed in the sorting hat. Mr. Malfoy, you will need to take all comers in turn, until this has sorted itself out."

The first name out of the hat was Ron's.

       

Hermione and Harry waited in the common room for Draco and Ron to finish up. The sorting hat sat smirking on the table. Harry's mouth was all twisted up, his hands balled into fists against the arms of the chair.

"Harry," Hermione said peevishly. "Can you please breathe a little less noisily? I can't even think with all this noise."

"Think? Who needs to think? Hermione, that's your boyfriend and my…er, well, my…"

"Your what, Harry?"

Harry twisted his face up some more but didn't say anything.

"It's not as if they're doing it because they want to."

"Hmph."

When they emerged finally from the depths of the Gryffindor dorms, Ron looked pale and his eyes were supernaturally wide, as if he had just seen the world's largest spider. Again.

Draco looked annoyed. "Now I remember why I don't screw Gryffindors more often."

Harry chose to ignore that remark. "Well?"

Draco pulled the spinning top out of his pocket and showed it to Harry. Dumbledore had explained that when the top (which was currently entirely clear and made of plastic turned blue, it would signal that Draco had returned to his normal state of masculinity. It was still clear, however, and hummed in an annoying way that seemed to imply that Draco wasn't nearly as much of a man as he thought he was in the first place, and ooh aren't you just dying to see who's next on the list? Draco growled at it and shoved it back in his pocket. "This is truly disgusting."

Ron blinked rapidly, but his eyes still looked altogether too large. "It wasn't that bad." He sat down on the couch next to Harry and looked at him with a kind of wonderment and new respect that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"Red hair with blond hair, aesthetically speaking it does nothing for me." Draco sighed heavily. "The things I must endure."

"Well," said Hermione brightly. "Let's see who's next, shall we?" She reached into the hat and pulled out a folded slip of paper. "Millicent Bulstrode." The loud thump against the floor made them all turn their heads. "Harry, help Malfoy up, will you? I don't want him getting the rug dirty."

       

Harry managed to sidle up to Draco right before dinner. "How did it go?" he whispered.

"Have you ever been mauled by a tiger while being hit by a tram?"

"That bad, huh."

"Worse."

"Hmmm. Well, I, you know, I just wanted you to know, I mean, given the circumstances I know you need to do this, but I—"

"Potter. Stuff it. I'm not dealing with your emotional insecurity issues right now. I have to go shag Snape after dinner and I really want to gather up my strength for that." He sighed loudly. "And I'm feeling quite bloated and a little depressed, frankly, so don't push it."

Harry gave Draco a quick peck on the cheek before heading over to the Gryffindor table and avoiding another murderous glare.

       

Draco considered a couple of things while the potions master did his part to help Draco avoid getting pregnant; the dungeons really were kept several degrees too cold, as Harry had always complained (though, he realized that his skin was ultra sensitive at this time in his cycle, and that he could never admit that Potter was right about something), and that from this position he could at least pretend that he was roleplaying really awkward, terrible, laughable sex with Harry and not actually receiving Snape's best try. Snape, for God's sake, he thought. The man is in his forties at least. Even with the regularly washed hair and the bronzer, he still looks too close to undead for my taste. From the feel of things, he might actually be dead. Draco had to admit that he had had a slight and extremely foolish crush on Snape when he was young and stupid, but that was long since over, and now, leaned over an altogether too feminine fainting couch in Snape's private quarters, this felt a little too much like a tutorial.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said as Snape shifted about in a move that he clearly thought would be sexy and appealing, but only made Draco snigger.

He had seen Potter, standing with the sorting hat in hand, outside the potions dungeon just before he went inside. He looked positively purple. Who is he to complain? I'm the one who has to endure all these atrocities. But secretly, he enjoyed watching Potter get more and more jealous. And just to keep things interesting, he noted, as he walked past him on the way to meet Snape, "Well, what do you know. Dreams really can come true."

"I can't believe this was your first time," he said cockily, watching Snape readjust his robes. "No, wait. After that little performance I can believe it, I'm just shocked that they let virgins teach potions." Draco smirked. At least I can blackmail him for the best potions grade without much effort.

The top still hummed nastily and stayed as clear as Draco's perfectly moisturized face.

"Well?" Harry said, impatient.

"Stop biting your lips, Potter. It's not attractive."

"Did it work?"

Draco dropped the clear top in Harry's hands. "At least a good time was had by all," he said, and smiled sweetly. Harry grumbled something incoherent.

       

"So? Is it working yet, Harry?" Ron asked. "I could give it another go if you think it might—"

"I think it's under control, Ron."

"Hmm, if you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"I could ask Malfoy, maybe he might—"

"Ron."

"Yes?"

"I think Hermione is looking for you."

"Ah. Right. Okay, thanks."

       

When Colin Creevy arrived back in the Gryffindor common room that night, he was flushed. Harry glanced up at him warily and tried to control his jealousy. Didn't anyone understand that months of saving the world through all that energetic copulation (sometimes as many as five or six times a day) might leave Harry feeling a little…something…for Draco? Couldn't they be a little more sensitive? Couldn't they at least manage some degree of discretion, rather than gabbing loudly about Draco's amazing tongue, his silky hair, his sweet-smelling skin? It was driving Harry absolutely batty with jealousy and with sexual frustration. And for God's sake, did Colin need to show off the pictures he took?

       

The next morning at breakfast, professor McGonagall thanked the student body again for their receptivity to this heroic enterprise as she stuck her hand into the sorting hat, who was rather enjoying all this mid-year attention. Pansy looked extremely hopeful, and shot a meaningful glance at a tired and bored Draco Malfoy.

"Ginny Weasley!" McGonagall called out. "You're excused from class this morning in order to help Mr. Malfoy get back to being his, er, normal self. The rest of you, be ready for the next announcement, and, oh, good luck, you two."

Ginny paled. She cross his ankles and looked as if she might have a cry.

"It's alright, Gin," Ron said, draping an arm over her shoulders. "I can take your place if you want, I mean, I'm prepared to make that sacrifice for you, cause you're my sister and I love you. Don't worry."

"Oh Ron," Ginny said, her blue eyes filling with tears. "You're so brave, and you're such a great brother." She sobbed into his shoulder for a while. Finally she wiped her eyes and gritted her teeth. "You inspire me, Ron. I want to help. I can do this."

"Are you sure, I mean, I wouldn't want you to sully your virtue this way, Gin, I can totally help you out here."

"I'm sure."

"But, Ginny, seriously, I can—"

"No, Ron. I totally appreciate your bravery and it's taught me an important lesson. I want to be worthy of Gryffindor." She rose. "I can do this. Harry, for you, I'll do it."

"Great," Harry said, staring sadly into his corn flakes. Ginny trotted off to meet Draco outside the Great Hall.

After about twenty Ginny returned to the breakfast table, her hair slightly mussed. Ron looked severely put out.

"Well? How was it?" he asked.

Ginny shrugged. "I've had better," she said, and finished her pumpkin juice. Ron stared at her, his jaw dropping. Harry smirked.

       

In a bit of a surprise move, Dobby the house elf's name came up next. Dumbledore swore up and down that he didn't put Dobby's name in the hat in the first place, and the hat, who wasn't actually all that keen on Draco in the first place and sort of enjoyed the position of power it was currently in, refused to give up another name until the Dobby issue was taken care of. Dumbledore mused that perhaps this would be exactly the kind of thing that would shock Draco's body into stopping its less than manly cycles, and after about fifteen minutes of Dumbledore's graphic description of menstruation ("You'll feel at one with the moon as blood drips uncontrollably from your anus!"), Draco headed off to the kitchens in a huff. "I hate you for this, Potter. I really, really do," he hissed as he left.

Afterward, Draco stumbled back along the corridor outside the Great Hall and collapsed into Harry's lap in a shivering heap. "Memory charm," he whispered.

"What happened?" Harry cooed, stroking Draco's hair.

"Memory charm," Draco sobbed.

"Are you alright?"

"GODDAMMIT POTTER, IF YOU DON'T CAST A MEMORY CHARM ON ME THIS INSTANT, I WILL HANG MYSELF WITH YOUR INTESTINES."

Harry cast a memory charm on Draco, and snuggled him until his sobbing subsided. Suddenly he seemed to snap out of it.

"What are you doing, trying to get into my pants again, you horny little pervert? We're not allowed to do that, remember? I don't want to get my ass pregnant, Potter. Geez. What am I doing here? Who's after Ginny?"

Harry blinked. "Um…"

They walked back to the Great Hall to find the sorting hat, who was making eyes at a cowboy hat dumped there by professor Hooch. It snarled a little when Harry reached over, as though he were cramping its style, flipped it upside down, pulling out another name. "Neville."

"Neville?"

"Oh great, next they'll be hooked me up with a house elf."

Harry choked.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Neville's in herbology, we'd better go get him."

       

"Well?" Harry said, pulling on his hair. "Is it better yet?" Neville stood outside the Herbology hut, having a cigarette.

"I don't think it could get much better than that, Harry, to be perfectly honest."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh. Well, Malfoy's still recovering I think." They watched Draco lying on a bench in the garden in front of them, his trousers still undone and a dreamy look on his face. Harry scowled and pulled the top out of Draco's pocket.

"Hmm. Still no, huh?" Neville took a long, slow drag off his cigarette languidly. "I hear Ron's up for another turn."

"Yeah, I heard that, thanks." Harry pulled Draco to his feet.

       

"No," Draco said. "There are certain things I just can't bear. No mudbloods!"

"Draco," Harry said. "Didn't we agree that you wouldn't use that term anymore?"

"No, Potter. We didn't agree to that. You just keep saying so in the hopes that I will agree."

"But Hermione's been very supportive."

Ron cleared his throat. "I could always—"

"Stuff it, Weasel. You're going to have to work your homoerotic tendencies some other way." Draco rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, where is she then?"

       

"Well?" Dumbledore stepped through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room.

"Still no, professor, but we haven't heard about what happened with Hermione yet. It nearly killed Draco to image sleeping with a muggle-born."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Well, perhaps this was hopeless from the start."

Draco appeared and threw himself heavily into a chair next to Harry. "That was…"

"Yes?" Harry felt his face turn white with jealousy.

"That wasn't as bad as I expected. You'd think they keep their bits in different places than witches do, but they really don't. It's pretty much the same."

Ron looked afronted. "Pretty much?"

"This is exhausting and it doesn't look like it's doing much good. Potter, perhaps we can just stop saving the world now. Haven't we done enough?"

Dumbledore sighed. "You're right, Mr. Malfoy. You are absolutely right."

"What?" Harry and Draco both turned and stared at him.

"We have used you enough, I'd say, perhaps this is a sign that it's time to let you both be free." Dumbledore rubbed his forehead.

"Well, I mean, if we can save the world, shouldn't we at least try?" Harry fumbled, looking nervously up at Draco.

"Now now, Mr. Potter. I know how heroic you are, and how keen you are to help, but there really is no need for you to go on forcing yourself into sexual situations with Mr. Malfoy simply for the sake of the world. You really have done enough. I have asked too much of you both at it is."

"Um," Harry said.

"Thank you sir, I appreciate your understanding on this matter." Draco smoothed back his hair.

"Um," Harry said.

"Well," Draco eyed Harry. "I suppose I could give it one more shot. And if that doesn't work out, well, I'm out of the world-saving game."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Malfoy. Fifty points to Slytherin house for such generosity of spirit."

Dumbledore pulled the hat out and flipped it over, pushing it toward Draco.

He pulled a slip of paper of it, and unfolded it. "Seamus Finnigan. Lovely."

Harry grimaced. "I'll go…let him know."

       

"Well, Finnigan," Draco said, rolling over and resting his head on Seamus' chest. "That wasn't half bad. You're some real competition for Potter."

"Oh, am I?"

"Indeed. Actually, I think you might be a bit better."

"But I…I couldn't be. I'm sure Harry is very good at this sort of thing." Seamus shifted nervously.

"Oh, that smooth move you made, Potter would never have thought of that," Draco purred.

"…really? I think he taught me that."

"Hmm, I don't know about that. Seems very signature Seamus, don't you think?" He pushed Seamus down against the mattress and climbed on top of him. "How about you and me, Finnigan? We could go places. I think this could really work between us, you know? I think we might have some real chemistry here."

"But…what about Harry?"

"Harry's old news. I'm all about the Irish thing now. You're cute and I like your style."

"Er…I gotta get out of here." He squeaked, and then covered his mouth, a look of horror spreading across his face.

"Finnigan?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. Seamus' strawberry-blond hair suddenly turned dark brown; his eyes went from blue to green. He grew suddenly taller and thinner, and a scar appeared on his forehead.

"Polyjuice finally wore off did it?" Draco leaned over and nuzzled Harry's neck.

"You knew?"

"Of course I did. I'm not stupid, you know."

"But…why didn't you stop me?"

"I missed you, you poof."

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and sighed. "I missed you too. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. But what if…"

Draco pulled out the top and they both stared at it. "Hmm."

"It's pink." Harry noted.

Draco bit his lip. "That can't be a good sign."

"Maybe we should start picking out names."

Draco shook his head. "What will my mother say."

"Well, a grandchild is a grandchild."

"True."

"Since it seems that you're already pregnant, I guess there's no risk of…well, since the risk is already…I mean, maybe we can…"

"Shut up and kiss me, Potter."

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